Wolf O’Donnell zipped through the vacuum of space in his Wolfen star ship while Fox McCloud lagged behind in his Arwing, like he’d been doing for the past few hours.
“Is your ship alright? You’ve been loosing speed since we left the planet,” said Wolf though his ship’s transceiver.
“My G-diffuser is cooked,” Fox responded. “If I go any faster I’ll feel like I’m on a rollercoaster with no brakes.”
“Think someone back on that planet might’ve messed with it?”
“Yeah, right. That place is lightyears behind our tech. They couldn’t open the cockpit if they tried, let alone get to the G-diffuser.”
“…But they did tie you up and tickle you.”
There was radio silence as embarrassing scenes from the couple’s stay at Zootopia replayed in Fox’s mind. Scenes of the ace pilot getting tricked by a certain foxy denizen into baring his body for a wild night of tickle torture.
“He gave me a place to sleep! How could I know he was gonna tickle me?!”
“Because, Fox, you are deliciously ticklish.”
“Agh! Shut up! You got tickled too!”
Wolf could practically feel his lover’s cheeks burn all the way up to his ears from his tone of voice.
“C’mon, I’m just teasing ya,” he laughed. “No need to get so worked up.”
He pulled up the ship’s star map and scanned it for the nearest civilized place they could land at. They were at least a couple hours away from any settled planet but there seemed to be a space station nearby.
“There’s a space station close by, let’s have your ship looked at there.” He decreased the throttle until he was side-by-side with Fox before transmitting him the coordinates of the space station. “Go easy on the throttle until we’re there. If you feel anything else is wrong with your ship, eject. I’ll pick you up and tow your ship ‘till the station. Got that?”
“Heh, sir yes sir.”
The space station grew on the interstellar horizon into an impossibly complex amalgamation of structures jutting out from the side of an asteroid. A symbiotic crisscross of steel beams and walkways brightly lit by sharp splotches of neon – the signature traits of a commercial station. Aboard, Fox and Wolf could expect to have every one of their vices fulfilled, should they wish. Bars, restaurants, lounges, shops, casinos, pleasure houses. Every earthly desire had a shrine dedicated to it, nested somewhere within the jumbled mess of corridors and compartments.
Every desire except the desire to find a damn mechanic.
They went looking for one as soon as they landed. But, for about an hour and a half, they stumbled through the station without so much as a whiff of the smell of motor oil.
After the unsuccessful search, they decided to take a breather at one of the many bars. They sat at the counter and ordered (surprisingly cheap) drinks.
“I refuse to believe that there isn’t a single mechanic in this place,” Wolf said in-between sips of his beer. “If an airlock bursts, who’s gonna fix it?”
“Could be one of those fancy nanobot repair systems that integrates with the station. Which would suck for us ‘cause those don’t repair anything apart from the station itself,” proposed Fox as he stirred his cocktail with its straw.
“Bullshit. Too many people coming in and out. They’d have to be dumb as rocks not to have a mechanic.”
“Either that or deathly allergic to making money.”
“What’s that about a mechanic and making money?” The voice came from behind them. It was a raccoon, no taller than 3’8” and covered in light brown fur under an orange jumpsuit that hid everything but his arms, legs and head. His ringed tail snaked inquisitively as he stood there with his arms crossed and a confident look on his face – as if expecting a reaction from the duo. When all they did was stare back at him in perplexity, he cleared his throat and relaxed before speaking again. “What I meant to say is: Do you guys need a mechanic?”
“That depends. Who’s asking?” barked Wolf.
“A mechanic.”
“That right? You don’t look like a mechanic to me.”
“Find me a ship I can’t fix and I’ll dress up in a tutu and dance for you.”
The raccoon seemed genuine enough. That is to say: if he was putting on an act, Wolf’s bullshit detector couldn’t see through it. Fox looked at his partner inquisitively, a wordless expression of the phrase: ‘What do you think?’
“Fine. We’ve got a ship with a busted G-diffuser docked at the spaceport. Can you have a look at it?”
“I could probably build you a new one from a battery a couple of paper clips.”
“Don’t oversell yourself, shorty.”
“Rocket, if you please. Rocket Raccoon.”
Rocket most definitely wasn’t overselling himself. He maneuvered around the ship like he’d been in it a million times, popping open the cover of the G-diffuser container and finagling around with it for a total of five seconds before stating his conclusion.
“Half of your artificial gravity cells are broken. I’ll take her down to my workshop and replace them. She’ll be good to go in no time.”
Fox’s ears perked up.
“For real? That easy?”
“For me? Yep. For you? It’ll cost ya.”
“We’re fine with paying, just fix the damn thing,” Wolf interjected.
“Oh I can fix it. Keep it fixed, though… That’s up to the ship’s pilot.”
Wolf frowned at the hint of condescendence in the raccoon’s tone.
“And what do you mean by that, exactly?”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna mention it but I had a look at the ship’s logs and it’s pretty obvious why the G-diffuser broke. Is this your ship?”
“It’s mine,” said Fox.
“Then I guess you don’t like her very much. You can’t just go pulling full throttle sharp turns all the time like you’re some combat pilot. The G-diffuser is good for short bursts of tight movement, not for flying for throwing your ship around like a hockey puck.” He slapped the ship’s hull with his tiny hand. “She’s a good ship. If you can’t treat her right then you’re better off selling her. Could find you a buyer if you’re interested.”
Fox was perplexed. “My Arwing is notfor sale. And as a matter of fact, I ama combat pilot. I run my own team.”
“Too bad for them.”
“Now listen here, you pint-sized fur ball—” barked Wolf as he stepped towards the raccoon only to be stopped by Fox’s hand on his shoulder.
“Just fix my ship. We’ll be back for it tomorrow.”
“And back next week if you don’t learn some proper flying…” Rocket remarked before turning his attention to the broken G-diffuser.
They left the ship with Rocket and decided to kill some time at one of the empty lounges. Fox sat on a luxurious couch and peered out through the window of the spacious compartment at the swarm of ships entering and leaving the station like bees to a beehive. He sighed.
“You shouldn’t let people talk to you like that. That little shit was way offhand with that comment. The fuck does he know about flying? I doubt he can even reach the pedals,” said Wolf.
“Look, he’s the only ship mechanic we could find in this place. He can say whatever he wants as long as he gets that G-diffuser fixed.”
“He could be the galactic president for all I care. Still doesn’t give him the right to treat you like that.”
“We can forget about him as soon as we’re out of here.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to do some shopping. You coming?”
“Nah, I think I’ll stay for a bit and then head back to my ship.”
“Alright, then. Later.”
Wolf waited for a moment after Fox left before he sprung to his feet and left the lounge in a hurry. He made his way through the snaking hallways in search for Rocket’s workshop. Oh yes, he wasn’t just going to let those comments slide. Despite Fox acting as if he was unaffected by them, he could very clearly tell that they hurt him. He was going to find the raccoon and make him apologize.
As he ran along a corridor two levels below the spaceport, he spotted Fox’s ship out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough, it was in Rocket’s workshop. A large compartment with a space-facing hatch that could be opened to allow ships in or out. The door was open so Wolf stepped on through.
Rocket was there, hunched over the broken G-diffuser, which he had pulled out of the ship and set upon a metal cart next to it, with his back turned to the door. Wolf found a small coil of nylon rope and sneaked behind the raccoon, towering over him with his full six feet and four inches of height.
“Hey, dipshit.”
“Wha-? Hey!”
He scooped up the shorter man from behind and effortlessly threw him on a table – which was thankfully devoid of sharp and dangerous tools. The fight that ensued was short and one-sided. Rocket was feisty, but he just couldn’t compete with Wolf’s superior size and physical strength. In a matter of seconds, he found himself securely bound to the table, spread-eagle and vulnerable.
“The hell do you want?” he barked, attempting to hide his growing anxiety behind a curtain of fighting spirit. “If this is about the ship, I’m working on it as fast as I can. Tying me up doesn’t exactly help.”
“Oh, don’t worry your tiny little head about that. I’ll let you get back to work soon… but not before I teach you some manners.” Wolf’s primal instincts kicked in, and he started to circle the bound raccoon like his quadrupedal ancestors would have done to cornered prey. “You really shouldn’t talk shit about your customers to their face. You never know when it’s gonna come back to bite you in the ass.” He leaned closer and bared his fangs in a sadistic grin that sent a shiver down the raccoon’s spine. “And I’m about to bite you in the ass big time.”
Rocket fell speechless. The sight of the predator’s sharp canines shimmering in the cold lights of his workshop was enough to thoroughly pulverize his bravado, and the flash of claws poised to attack made him shut his eyes and prepare for the worst. But instead of pain, he felt a cold rush of air wash over his torso.
His naked torso.
Wolf ripped his jumpsuit clean in half from neck to waist. But he didn’t stop there. He sliced open the sleeves and pants of the garment before completely pulling it off the now naked raccoon.
“T-The fuck do you think you’re doing?!” He considered punctuating that sentence with an indignant “pervert!” at the end, but decided against it. The situation was bad enough and there was no reason to make his captor any angrier. “Look, I’m sorry I dissed your friend, okay? If you can just untie me, I’ll get his ship in tip top shape! I’ll even throw in a new paint-job for free!”
“That’s cute, but you’re not talking your way out of this.”
Rocket went quiet as he realized there really was no escaping whatever was about to happen to him next. He tensed up, involuntarily flexing his fairly-impressive muscles. Though his limbs were short in proportion to his height, his penis was comparatively quite impressive. The pride with which it hung between his bound legs transcended the present humiliation felt by it’s owner.
“A-Are you gonna beat me up?” he dared to ask.
“Normally, I would. But recently I’ve come to favor an… alternate approach to these things. Tell me Rocket, are you ticklish?”
The absurdity of the question made Rocket think he might’ve misheard. Perhaps due to his nervousness. “I’m… what?”
“Let me rephrase that,” growled Wolf. His voice had taken a sultry tone that further added to Rocket’s uneasiness. “Would you laugh if I were to, say, scratch your armpits? How about if I licked your bellybutton? Or maybe if I used a brush on the soles of your feet?”
No, Rocket had indeed heard his captor right. And he just been asked if the raccoon was ticklish. Well, that question had an evident double purpose. It also served as a blunt declaration of the kind of punishment he was about to endure. Suddenly, he seemed to become acutely aware of his nakedness, casting a worried look over his bound body as if the reality of his helplessness had just dawned on him.
“I don’t know!” he blurted out, not realizing he gave the one response you should never give when asked if you’re ticklish… Well, truthfully, the answer to that question is almost always irrelevant. The reality is: if someone asks if you’re ticklish, you are getting tickled.
And this was no exception.
Wolf began with his armpits, gently pressing his clawed fingertips past the thin layer of fur and slowly dragged them on the supple skin underneath. Rocket flinched and bit his lip just in time to stop a panicked snicker from getting out and giving away the extent of his sensitivity. An entirely futile effort, of course.
“Oh yeah, you areticklish. You’re a ticklish boy, aren’t you, Rocket? I bet your really want to laugh right now.”
The verbal teasing accompanied an intensification of the torture. Wolf both sped up and diversified the movement of his fingers. Rocket’s initial bout of resistance started to fall apart as his lips contorted into a goofy grin and his efforts to break free from the bondage became more and more frantic. He was breaking and Wolf could see it. When his tickler began rapidly wiggling his fingers it was all over for the poor raccoon.
“Pffft-hahahaha!!”
“Ah, there we go! Isn’t that better? Laugh for me, Rocket. It’s no use resisting. I’m only just getting started.” He dragged his claws down from Rocket’s pits through the bumps caused by his protruding ribs until he reached his sides and then started squeezing. Rocket wiggled from side to side on the table, leveraging whatever freedom of movement he still had to get away from one of the hands only to get closer to the other. So on he wiggled, left to right, right to left, accompanied by the swinging of his penis in the opposite direction, which by now – willingly or not – had risen to half mast already.
Indeed, the intimate touch of another man still aroused the poor raccoon regardless of the current precarious situation.
“Getting hard already? I guess I expected that, but not so soon. You must reallyenjoy getting tied up and tickled by another man.”
“I dohohon’t!”
“Really? Your cock here seems to disagree.” He flicked the semi-hard member to make his point.
Rocket failed to come up with a good reply to that. His captor was right. Despite the alarm bells ringing in his head, there was an undeniable eroticism in the situation.
Wolf would give his penis some attention… eventually. For now, he was perfectly content with making the raccoon scream with laughter. He bent over and poked his cold wet nose against Rocket’s tense abdomen.
“Hehey! Get off, that feels weird! Ah-!”
Rocket was thrown into another laughing fit as Wolf let out his tongue and planted a long lick from the waist up to the neck – which was actually not that long, considering the raccoon’s diminutive stature. Spine-tingling shivers intermingled with a strong tickling sensation and hit Rocket like a freight train. His laughter during that lick spanned over three octaves, reaching it’s highest pitch as the tongue made a dangerous pass over his belly button.
And then came another lick. And another, and another…
Wolf was licking his tummy and chest like it was his favorite ice cream. Slurping noises could be heard between peals of desperate laughter and Rocket fought his bondage harder than ever. But Wolf’s knots were too well-tied. He was well and truly at the larger predator’s mercy.
Throughout this, his cock had reached the apex of its excitement, and looked just about ready to blow. Upon noticing this, Wolf stepped back and contemplated the panting raccoon with a sadistic grin.
“Look at that, another tickle slut. I’m starting to think every guy secretly likes getting the shit tickled out of them.”
“Please… Stop… I don’t… Like it…” panted Rocket as he looked shamefully upon his raging boner.
“First off, like I said, your cock disagrees. And second, I didn’t like it either when you insulted my boyfriend to his face.”
Rocket cast a dejected look away from his captor. It wasn’t the first time that his abrasive mannerisms had landed him in hot water, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Still, if he could go back, he would surely refrain from making any snarky comments about Fox’s flying abilities.
“I already said I was sorry, alright? In fact, I’ll go apologize to him face-to-face if you just untie me now.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Wolf chuckled. “No, Rocket. Your punishment has only just started.”
He made his way to the end of the table and came face to face with the raccoon’s feet. They were small, like the rest of him, but reasonably wide and flat. Their cumulative ten toes curled defensively as Wolf’s fingers approached them. As those claws made contact with the soft bottoms, Rocket moaned.
That’s right. Moaned.
Wolf’s ears peaked with curiosity. “Oh? What’s this?” He swiped Rocket’s arches sideways and was surprised to get another moan from the raccoon, though this one was followed by cute string of giggles and wiggling toes. “Don’t tell me. You like having your paws played with?”
Rocket didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need to. The steady stream of pre-cum that leaked out from his cock tip already spoke volumes.
A more ideal scenario could not have presented itself to Wolf. He planned to make Rocket cum eventually, as he was well aware of the effects an orgasm had on one’s sensitivity. (He had plenty of first-hand experience, after all.) The fact that the raccoon’s paws seemed to be abnormally erogenous was perfect for him. He continued to wiggle his claws over the soft soles and watched with glee as their owner made desperate efforts to pull his legs up while fighting back the waves of arousal.
He stopped after a brief moment, not wanting to bring the raccoon to orgasm too early. There was still plenty of fun to be had before the real torture started. He pulled a palm-sized bottle containing a clear liquid out of his pocket and showed it to his prey.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Massage oil, if I had to guess…”
“I’m impressed,” exclaimed Wolf as he popped the cap open and drizzled the viscous liquid over Rocket’s body.
“W-wait. What?! It really ismassage oil?”
“Oh you were really guessing? I’m even more impressed now.”
“I was being *snarky[/i]! Thought that might be acid or something – wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Come on. I’m not that cruel.”
Wolf spread the oil evenly through every inch of Rocket’s body, not even sparing his genitals. While he was careful not to stimulate the raccoon too much, he couldn’t resist giving a few teasing pumps to his rock-hard cock and a short tickling below his hanging balls, resulting in some adorable whimpers from the once-tough raccoon who now seemed to have mostly resigned himself to his torment.
As he spread the substance over Rocket’s pectorals, he noticed small bits of metal encrusted in his skin. He took a break from the massage to examine those curious bits.
“What? Never seen implants before?” growled Rocket.
“Sure, I’ve seen plenty but never like these. What are they for?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Wolf cocked a curious eyebrow. Why was Rocket getting so defensive all of a sudden? “I could just tickle it out of you.”
“You’re gonna tickle me anyway!”
“Precisely,” chuckled Wolf. “But there’s a lot of different ways I can go about doing that. I could feather your cock a little, maybe use my claws on your feet, make you cum, and that’ll be the end of this little session.” He removed another object from his pocket, one that made Rocket’s heart race as he saw it. An electric toothbrush. “Or I could use this. I’ll brush your armpits, your belly button, your balls and your cock – especiallyyour cock. And don’t think I’ll stop after you cum either. I’m gonna milk you like a cow, and you’re gonna laugh and scream and struggle until I’m satisfied.” He flicked the switch on the toothbrush, filling the workshop with an echoing buzz that rang like a fire alarm in Rocket’s ears. “So what’s it gonna be?”
Rocket sighed in defeat.
“…They’re access ports. The ones on my chest hook up to my circulatory system. There’s another one on my back that connects to my spine and central nervous system. There, happy?”
An ear-to-ear smile spread across Wolf’s muzzle.
“Very.”
He plunged the toothbrush into Rocket’s belly button.
“W-Wait! Pahahahaha, flahahark! B-but you prohohomised!”
“I lied.”
Rocket’s struggle was comparable to that of a fish out of water getting simultaneously electrocuted and roasted alive. He was in hell. After begrudgingly confessing the function of his implants to his captor, he thought he would be shown at least some mercy from the tickle-crazed wolf, as if he could leverage anything to his advantage in the present situation. Obviously he was wrong. Wolf sought only to punish him.
And punished he was.
The stiff, hyperactive bristles of the toothbrush violated the inner walls of his belly button like an army of battering rams demolishing the stone walls of a castle from the inside. There was no chance of resistance. The vibrations spread across his abdomen and made him feel like his entire midriff was shaking – which it was, on account of his crazed struggling.
Consciously, he knew perfectly well that resistance was pointless. He had to endure the tickling. That was the reality of his situation. Subconsciously, however, every nerve on his body unanimously agreed on a single thing: Make. It. Stop. So he struggled, and fought, and shouted for help, fully knowing how futile it all was.
When the brush finally left his belly button, it was only to move to his side, sliding between his flank, ribs, and the sensitive area in-between. His other side, meanwhile, was being treated to Wolf’s claws scribbling about. He couldn’t quite decide which was worse: the predictable but intense electric toothbrush or the unpredictable but comparatively lighter fingers. It didn’t matter. For the time being, he would have to endure both.
“You feel sorry yet?”
“Bwahahaha!”
“No? Guess we’ll have to keep going then.”
It wasn’t fair, Rocket thought. One off-hand comment didn’t warrant this degree of punishment. He was starting to think that this had less to do with payback and more to do with his captor’s apparent fascination with tickling. Then again, he was one to talk. If Wolf was to so much as blow on his cock at that moment, he would cum.
In the end, Wolf didn’t blow on his cock, instead he pressed the toothbrush against its head.
“Aaaaah!!”
With a loud moan, an arched back, and curled toes, Rocket came. Ropes of seed flew through the air and landed on the metal floor of his workshop. Surprisingly, Wolf let him bask in the afterglow of that orgasm in relative peace, mercifully withdrawing his claws and the brush from Rocket’s abused ticklish spots. In fact… he walked away out of Rocket’s field of vision almost immediately after he came.
“Hey… Where the flark are you going?” the raccoon said, fighting through the mental haze of post orgasmic bliss. He didn’t get an answer, but he could hear rummaging and the clattering of objects.
“Ah! Found it!”
Wolf came back with a laptop in tow. Rocket’s eyes widened.
“No. Holy crap, please don’t do what I think you’re about to do.”
“Why? Does it make you nervous?” Wolf said as he plugged a cable from the laptop to the access port in the back of Rocket’s neck.
“I’m begging you. Please, don’t do this.”
“Let me think about it… No.”
He executed a command on the laptop and Rocket immediately felt its effects. A startling (but not painful) jolt shook his spine, and a comprehensive list of bodily parameters and functions sprawled vertically across the laptop’s screen. This was Rocket in a spreadsheet. From broad senses like sight and hearing to minutiae like how much his pupils would shrink when in direct sunlight. Every bit of Rocket’s being was there at Wolf’s fingertips, like clay to be molded to whatever shape he desired.
“Don’t worry, I’ll leave most of this stuff alone. Like I said, I’m not thatcruel.”
Rocket watched helplessly as Wolf casually toyed with the variables that dictated most of how his body functioned. The orgasmic afterglow was fading quickly… With a press of the Enter key, another jolt traveled down his spine, and Wolf closed the laptop and unplugged the cable.
“What did you do to me, you sick bastard?”
“Nothing much, really,” Wolf said nonchalantly. “A few minor things. Here, how does this feel?” He jabbed Rocket’s armpit.
“BAAHAHA! SHIT!”
“Whoa. It really worked!”
“D-Did you increase the sensitivity of my pits?!”
“Oh no, I did it to your whole body.”
Rocket’s heart sank to the bottom of the ocean.
He let out a meek whimper that was a far cry from his earlier demeanor. “What can I do to make you stop?”
That distinctly submissive tone was music to Wolf’s ears.
“Nothing.”
Fireworks went off in Rocket’s head (and not the good kind) as his torturer went crazy on hypersensitive body. One second he was getting his sides raked up and down by claws, and the next he was getting his belly button licked while his armpits were pinched and jabbed.
Everything felt a thousand times more intense than before. It was as if his nerves had woken up from a deep sleep they’d been in during all of his life, and were now ready to relay every minute touch to the raccoon’s brain in excruciating detail, regardless of how ill-equipped it was to deal with the sensory overload. He didn’t even have the mental capacity to move anymore. His entire became nothing but a receptacle for tickling.
When he felt the electric toothbrush jam itself between his toes, he screamed. The sensation was incomprehensible but its immediate effect was not.
He came.
“Again? You must really get off on this if you can cum twice within such a short time.”
“PLEHEHEASE!!”
Wolf kept tickling. He moved the electric toothbrush to his swollen cock head and used his rough, canine tongue to lick his abs and even dip it inside his belly button.
Rocket was sure he was going to pass out from this. The combined sensations were amplified a thousandfold by post-orgasmic over-sensitivity as well the artificial increase in his ticklishness. Surprisingly, he was still somehow conscious. Even more surprisingly, he could feel another orgasm building up in his gonads. Not long after, he shot his load again – what little was left of it, anyway.
“Again?! Less than a minute before your last one? You must really, reallylove this. Either that or your refractory period has magically disappeared. Wild, huh?”
So that was it. He should’ve known. Wolf had also eliminated his refractory period. That was the reason why he was able to cum again so abnormally fast after each orgasm.
“Figured it out, yet? Ah, but I guess you can’t think too clearly right now. That’s alright, maybe a couple more orgasms will help you clear your head.”
Rocket saw no point in talking back anymore. Unfortunately for him, his best (and only possible) course of action was to try and persevere through the torture.
Wolf pulled out another electric toothbrush and duct taped both of them to Rocket’s soles so that the bristles pressed firmly against his arches to deliver an endless erogenous tickling that was enough to bring him to orgasm once again. He knelt beside the table so his head was at the perfect height to lick all over Rocket’s torso. Another orgasm. His hands toyed with the raccoon’s dick, tracing his fingers over the unfathomably sensitive head and wiggling them underneath his empty balls. Another orgasm.
He was well past shooting blanks. Every ejaculation was equally pleasurable and painful. His body simply wasn’t built for that kind of abuse, abuse that the physiological limits that Wolf so sadistically removed were there to prevent.
For a short while, Rocket forgot. Forgot what? Everything. His name, where he was, why he was being tickled. None of it mattered. For a few short seconds, all he knew was being tickled to orgasm after painful orgasm. The brushes on his soles, the fingers fluttering over his cock, the tongue that bathed his entire torso in tickles.
That became his world.
He lost track of time and of how many times he came. His higher brain functions only eventually returned to him when the tickling finally ceased. Well… mostly. Wolf was still tracing the outline of his abs with a lone index finger. Slowly. Teasingly.
“Now, are you ready to say sorry?”
“I already… hehe… apologized… hahaha, stop!” said Rocket, amidst heavy breaths interlaced with sporadic chuckles.
“Say it again.” Wolf tapped the side of his eye patch, setting it to record. “Say, ‘I’m very sorry that I insulted you, Fox.’”
“I’m sorry… hahaha… t-that I insulted you… haha… F-Fox…”
“Good boy. Now say ‘I’m a ticklish little raccoon and I lovebeing tickled’”.
Rocket’s cheeks burned. Just hearing that sentence out loud filled him with second hand embarrassment. He didn’t want to saying it, but he knew the alternative was to get tickled again, and that was not something he could take at that moment.
“I’m a t-ticklish little raccoon… and I… I love being tickled…”
“Attaboy, Rocket!” He tapped his eye patch again. “I think you’ve learned your lesson.”
After what felt to Rocket like hours, he was finally set free.
He did not stand up right away after Wolf untied him. He was too exhausted for something that physically demanding. Besides, he feared what might happen when his bare soles made contact with the cold metal floor. His sensitivity was, after all, still inflated beyond measure.
Wolf let out a sadistic chuckle at how thoroughly he had broken Rocket. By now, tickle torture had firmly cemented itself as his favored method of punishment for both friends and foes alike. He finally took notice of his own pants-tightening erection and of the small but visible stain of pre-cum it had made. Feeling accomplished (and in need of sexual release), he turned his back on the mechanic and started making his way towards the door, hesitating just as he was about to step out.
“Oh, and Rocket. You better get to work. I want that ship good as new by tomorrow.” He shot a cocky grin at the raccoon. “I’d hate to have to punish you for not doing a good job.”
He left without closing the door.
Back at the space port, Wolf leaned against the outer fuselage of his Wolfenand waited for Fox. Probably still out shopping, he thought.
A sly grin crept across his muzzle as he pictured the look on Fox’s face once he recounted how loudly that bad-mannered raccoon screamed when he licked his belly and tongued his belly button. Oh he would be quite mad at first – Fox wasn’t the vengeful type, after all – but he’d come around eventually.
After about half an hour of idle people-watching later, he became tired and stepped into the cockpit to shut out the noise from the busy spaceport. Now enveloped in peaceful quietude, he drifted off to sleep.
Metal walls, fluorescent lights, scattered bits and bobs… this wasn’t his ship.
Wolf blinked repeatedly, as if expecting the view to magically change if he did just that enough times. More worryingly though, he couldn’t move. He sat on a metal chair with his arms tied above his head and his legs outstretched before him, ankles bound in wooden stocks. There was a distinct lack of clothes on his body.
“You’re a heavy sleeper, you know?”
Rocket.
He tugged on whatever was holding his arms – rope, he guessed – but he couldn’t pull them down.
“The fuck do you want?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Just thought I’d being you down to my workshop and treat you to a nice massage after you tied me up and tickle-tortured me!”
“Hey, I only did that because you talked shit about my boyfriend. We’re square now, so let me go.”
“Oh, no, no, no. We’re farfrom being square, asshole. When I pump you full of neural implants and use them to jack up your sensitivity to astronomical levels, thenwe’ll be square.”
It was only when he was faced with the threat of reciprocity that Wolf started to worry that he may have gone a little overboard with the whole artificially-enhancing-Rocket’s-sensitivity thing.
“Okay, I admit that might’ve been too much, but so what? Just change it back.”
“I can’t.”
“…You can’t?”
“I fuckingcan’t!”
“Why not?”
“Because you fried my input chip! I tried to fix it, but apparently you’re not supposed to change more than one parameter at the time, you moron! It’s not safe!”
“How should I know that!? And why didn’t you say anything.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I was a little tuckered out after you tickled the nut out of me!”
“It’s not my fault you’re so ticklish.” Wolf sighed. “Look, I’ll pay you extra so you can get that looked at, but you gotta let me go. Now.”
“Nope. Not doing that.” Rocket raised his hands above Wolf’s belly, poised to attack. “You can pay me back another way.”
Ten little raccoon claws assaulted Wolf’s belly. The sensation was alike to tiny, irritating shocks that made him flex his abs involuntarily. Rocket’s technique was unrefined, to say the least. Clearly inexperienced. He went hard and fast right off the bat. If Wolf’s belly had an itch, it would’ve surely been scratched by the abrasive movements.
He cracked a smile and avoided speaking for fear of a snicker betraying his true sensitivity. Luckily for him, Rocket wasn’t hitting any of his panic spots. As long as he kept focusing on his comparatively less ticklish belly, he’d be fine. Maybe after a while, the raccoon would get bored and and let him go.
“Not that ticklish here, huh? Don’t suppose you wanna tell me where your sweet spots are.”
Wolf shook his head.
“Yeah, I figured. Guess I’ll have to find ‘em myself. ”
Whatever hope Wolf still held on to of Rocket letting him go soon vanished. He knew that if he was going to be submitted to a full-body tickle session, then the raccoon was bound to hit his panic spots sooner or later. And when he did, Wolf’s resistance would crumble like a soggy cracker.
“Let’s try your paws. Maybe they’re as ticklish as mine.”
Wolf’s feet, bound in those stocks, were as vulnerable as the rest of him. And Rocket’s explicit mention of them only made them feel more so. Wolf curled his padded toes and braced himself for the pointy claws that were headed towards his soles.
When they hit, it was as if a jolt shot up through his legs and threatened to force open his maw which he had up until now successfully kept shut. The same crude and untrained touches that he felt on his belly were now skittering and scratching over his paw pads and under his toes. Claws coursing from his heels and up to his arches, following their slight curvature from side to side before briefly visiting the stems of his toes.
“C’mon. Laugh! I can tell this is tickling you!”
Rocket was right, but Wolf still managed to contain his laughter. His shaking lips contorted into a dumb grin that betrayed just how hard he was holding back a torrent of laughter. Although ticklish, Wolf’s feet were nowhere near the same level of sensitivity as his panic spots. When Rocket moved away from them, he hoped the next area to be targeted would be similarly resistant to tickling.
“How about your armpits?”
Nope. His luck had just run out.
“Pwahaha! Not t-the pihihits!”
“Ah, there we go. Nowwe can begin for real.”
Wolf had no chance. As soon as those claws touched the soft skin of his armpits – with barely any fur there for protection – he was done for. His larynx resoundingly announced just how ticklish he was, entirely against his will.
“Wow. And I thought my pits were bad.”
The way his arms were restrained certainly didn’t help. They weren’t pulled completely taut. He was still able to waggle them, more or less. It was pulling them down that was impossible. Turns out that having some mobility can be worse than having no mobility at all.
Still, among the seemingly unbearable torture, something else stirred within Wolf. A very familiar feeling that he’d learned to associate with being helplessly bound and tickled in recent times.
His cock started peeking out from its sheathe.
“Holy shit, no way. Is this actually turning you on?”
There was no point in denying it.
“N-no!”
But he still tried to.
“Then why is your dick showing?” Rocket crouched beside Wolf’s crotch and observed with curiosity. “Huh, right, you canines have this sheath thing. I wonder…” He flicked his claw over Wolf’s glistening cock tip.
“Eek!”
“Aha! You’re dick ticklish too!”
So far, under the circumstances, Wolf had been pretty relaxed, but things were different now. Now his dick was getting attention. He started getting excited. Nervous, but excited nonetheless.
“You really shouldn’t be touching another man’s dick, y’know? C-can’t you go back to tickling my pits?” he stuttered.
“Buddy, c’mon. You milked me like a cow and now you got a problem with me touching your dick? I think you’re just really ticklish down here.” He walked off for a second and came back with a toolbox from which he took a small, stiff paintbrush. “Let’s see…” Gently, he dragged the brush over Wolf’s tip in a circular motion.
“Ah… Ah, fuhuck! Hahaha!”
As was typical of all canines, the entire length of the penis was safely protected at all times when flaccid, only fully showing itself during moments of arousal. This meant that the shaft itself had little to no built-up resistance to touch.
In simpler terms, canine dicks are really ticklish.
At first, it was only the tip, then the middle, and finally, the base where the knot was starting to swell.
“Bahaha! Sh-Shihit! Not my cohohock!!”
“Puppy’s got a ticklish cock, eh? I wonder if I can make you cum just by tickling it.”
Wolf knew for a fact that he could.
Luckily for him, Rocket didn’t linger there. Unluckily for him, he moved up towards his belly button. As soon as the tips of the bristles breached the entrance and made contact with the bottom of it, Rocket knew he’d just hit jackpot.
“Ahawwwoooohohohooh!”
“Found your weak spot, huh?” He drilled the paintbrush into Wolf’s belly button and watched as the larger canine squirmed in his bonds, desperately trying to shake off the intruding tool. “Yup, definitely.”
The brush’s range of motions inside that hollow was fairly limited – it could do little more than drill and dip into the belly button – but it didn’t really matter to Wolf. It all felt the same to him. An unbearable assault on his nervous system that commanded, beggedeach and every working muscle of his body to struggle at max capacity even as he had full knowledge that escaping was impossible.
An agonizing total of five minutes(!) were spent demolishing the space pilot’s resistance through his overly sensitive belly button before Rocket finally relented. With an aching abdomen and a dry throat, Wolf did the one thing he hated doing the most.
“P-Please… Have mercy…”
He begged.
“I’ll show you exactly as much mercy as you showed me.”
That vicious tone sent a chill of excitement up Wolf’s spine. As much as he despised being vulnerable around someone unfamiliar (and tickle-tortured, for that matter), he knew exactly how much his body craved sensations like these. All his life, he had worked to maintain an appearance of power and dominance over others, whether they be friend or foe. Only recently had he discovered how good it felt to have that power temporarily stripped away from him by nothing more than a few touches to the right places. That blissful submission manifested, as it often does, in the form of a fetish. Or rather a set of fetishes.
Being tied up. Tickled. Teased. Humiliated.
These were the things that made Wolf’s cock throb. And throb it did. Pre-cum trickled along from its tip to its now swollen knot.
“So if I got this right…” Rocket said, “Your worst spots are your pits, your belly button and your cock. That right, Wolfy?”
He whimpered.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Hold on a second.” Rocket disappeared from Wolf’s field of view. Something came from behind Wolf’s head and snagged his snout shut. A muzzle. “As much as I like hearing you howl, I think I’d rather you be quiet for this next part. Oh, and…” he came back into Wolf’s view with a blindfold in his hand. “You don’t need to see what I’m about to do to you either. All I need you to do is be a good ticklish puppy.” He slipped the blindfold over Wolf’s eyes, taking away his sight.
Raw excitement coursed through his veins. He was actually thankful for the muzzle, otherwise he might’ve just begged Rocket to tickle him harder. His tickle slut side was starting to take over his mind, temporarily overpowering his inhibitions.
Whatever was about to happen next, Wolf knew that he was going to love it.
He gasp as an unexpected cold gripped his shaft, sliding from its middle all the way down to his knot. That feeling actually got him close to the edge.
“Do you know what this is, puppy? I’ll give you a hint: what did I say a minute ago about you having milked me like a cow?”
Of course. It was a milking machine, the kind used to pump a man’s cock until he orgasms whether he wants to not. A bit overkill, Wolf thought, the lightest touch or a slight tickle would be enough to make him cum in his current state. Why would Rocket go for such a powerful device when he was this close to cumming? The answer was obvious, of course, and it lay within Rocket’s hint.
Milked like a cow.
He finally realized what Rocket really meant by that. Wolf was about to get his balls drained.
“Here it goes!”
The pumping began. An overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over him as he finally received direct stimulation to his cock. The tickling made him horny, and sure, he could even cum from that alone with nary a touch to his genitalia – he was thatmuch of a tickle slut – but nothing beat the simulated penetration provided by a well-lubed, well-tuned milking machine carefully designed with the highest degree of precision with the express purpose of making him cum.
“I made this from a broken pipe and an old vacuum cleaner when I got lonely one afternoon. Do you like it?”
Oh Wolf liked it alright, and his cock agreed with him. So much so that it decided to show its appreciation by erupting in a powerful orgasm. He tensed up and let out a blissful howl that the muzzle filtered into a rather pathetic whimper as the milker coerced rope after rope of canine cum from him.
Of course the milker kept going – not that he expected it to stop. Shortly after the initial wave of sense-dulling bliss faded, it was replaced by a feeling of discomfort. The creaking and clacking of the ropes and stocks filled the room as he battled his bonds in response to the unbearable over-stimulation assaulting his cock.
“Feels bad, doesn’t it?” taunted Rocket in a casual tone that heavily contrasted with Wolf’s maniacal struggles and panicked yelps. “Felt pretty bad when you did it to me too.”
As Wolf writhed, thinking it couldn’t get any worse than that, Rocket made it worse. Something touched his armpits, both of them at once.
“MHHFNHFNHFNHF!”
“What? Thought I was done tickling you? Not even close, puppy. I’m only getting started. The chair your sitting on has a bunch of features that I think you’re gonna love. Including but not limited to a shit ton of multi-purpose arms.”
The objects intruding upon his ticklish pits were brushes of some kind. Dense, rough, and in perpetual motion. Although unmistakably mechanic, they moved with a degree of randomness that made it impossible to predict exactly where they were going to hit next.
Wolf’s mind was now divided between processing the discomfort emanating from the milker jerking his dick post-orgasm and the brushes ravaging his ultra-ticklish armpits. It reminded him of the most intense session he’d gone through at the hands of his former colleagues of Team Star Wolf – Panther in particular.
But, at the same time, it also reminded him of the most blissful, mind-shattering and orgasmic sessions he’d performed with his lover. The ones where Fox went completely bonkers on him, showing no mercy whatsoever as he destroyed his most ticklish spots.
As those thoughts started infiltrating his head, he started seeing his torture through a different lens. The fact that his refractory period was nearing its end may have had something to do with that…
“How does that feel, Wolfy? I know you can’t stand it when your pits are tickled like that. You must be in Hell, right now– Huh?!”
He came again.
“Holy crap. Already? It hasn’t even been a minute since your last one!” Rocket let out a snicker. “Color me impressed. I guess that means you really like getting tickled. Well, if that’s the case…”
As Wolf was once again assaulted by post-orgasm sensitivity, Rocket got to work setting up another device to torture him. But before he did that, he began slipping loops of string around Wolf’s toes, tethering them to a set of hooks at the top of the stocks. When that was done, Wolf’s paws had been rendered completely immobile. Any foot paddling and toe wiggling that might’ve otherwise alleviated the tickling was no longer possible.
Claws. That was the implement that Rocket chose to take advantage of his captive’s newly immobilized feet. Tiny, pointy metal claws on the ends of articulated arms were given those soles as playthings – and so they played with them. Almost childishly poking and prodding them, searching every nook and cranny for the most reactive spots.
But even then, Rocket wasn’t satisfied. He knew Wolf’s feet weren’t among his most ticklish spots – it wasn’t through them that he could make his captive squeal like he wanted too. No, he needed another spot to tickle.
“Hey, Wolfy. I’ve got a set of pinwheels that I really want to try out on ya but I don’t know where I should use them, so help me chose, would you? Nod for sides, shake your head for belly.”
*What kind of question is that?[/i], Wolf thought. He gathered whatever scraps of defiance he still had and decided that he would not satisfy the raccoon with an answer.
“You’ve got five seconds to answer or else I’m tickling both spots andsetting the milker to max speed.”
Oh, shit!
Defiance now promptly crushed, Wolf nodded furiously. Belly was too risky.
“Sides it is!”
Even with their rougher bristles, the brushes assaulting his Wolf’s armpits felt comparatively soft to the prickly claws poking and scratching at his paw pads, and those claws, in turn, felt like cotton in the face of the aggressive pinwheels now making infinite round-trips from his ribs to his hips.
They weren’t regular single-row pinwheels either – the type ordinarily used for medical reflex-testing – no, these had at least five rows of prickly spikes that absolutely destroyed everything they touched with an electric tickling sensation.
First he screamed, then he laughed. His stamina was starting to run out, both physical and mental. Thoughts of torture and pleasure coalesced to the point where he couldn’t really tell them apart anymore. He saw Fox’s face, then Panther’s, then Rocket’s. They all flashed in his mind at the same time as phantom sensations from the countless tickle session he’d endured manifested and merged to become indistinguishable from the real sensations – an effect of his lack of sight.
Yet another orgasm was forced out of him. This one Rocket failed to notice (likely due to the lack of any visible ejaculation) but Wolf certainly did. Tears streamed down from underneath his blindfold. He couldn’t resist anything anymore. His body was Rocket’s property, at least for the time being.
Whatever the raccoon wanted him to feel, he would.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself, puppy.”
Wolf whimpered pathetically.
“Daww, too much? At least you get to keep your sensitivity at a normallevel!”
Wolf couldn’t help but wonder if Rocket was lying. He really couldn’t picture anything much more intense than the torture he was going through. Did hacking Rocket’s sensitivity really make it that much worse for him? If that was true, then he truly regretted doing it. Not only because it came back to bite him in the ass but also because it felt almost… inhumane to subject someone to that kind of tickling. In retrospect, he was surprised Rocket didn’t pass out back then. That raccoon was a lot stronger than he looked.
The same couldn’t be said for him. Having passed out from tickling before, he knew he was getting close to that point, and Rocket seemed intent on speeding up that process as he added one final device to the army of little machines already tormenting his body.
But this one was worse.
It went for his cock.
He hollered, but soon fell silent as his vocal chords finally gave out. It wasn’t clear if this new device was part of the milker apparatus or detached from it, like the ones tickling his pits, sides and feet. All he knew is that it felt like a tiny cluster of feathers was circling his cock tip while a small platoon of electric toothbrushes pressed against his knot from all sides. How these things were possible with the milker on, he didn’t really know. Perhaps he would find out if he managed to resist until the end and Rocket proved benevolent enough to remove his blindfold.
But he knew that was impossible at this point.
Another orgasm, another white-hot wave of sensitivity.
The brushes that swished across his armpits felt like full-sized rakes, the claws drumming against his soles were like jackhammers, and the pinwheels on his sides felt like acupuncture needles piercing through his ticklish nerves with surgical precision, and his cock… oh his poor, abused cock. It felt amazing. It felt awful. It tickled. And it came, and came, and came again…
At the very least, Rocket was merciful enough to leave Wolf’s worst spot out of the torture.
“You were having fun tonguing my belly button earlier. I wonder how yours tastes…”
As luck would have it, that tiny raccoon tongue was the perfect size and shape to slip snugly into Wolf’s belly button – a serious contrast from his own wider tongue. It was rough, almost like a cat’s. (Thoughts of Panther’s terrible tongue on his paws popped into his head for a moment.)
The room was filled with a symphony of kinky machinery torturing the bound space pilot as well as the occasional wet shlorpfrom the belly-button worship. Wolf didn’t know how he was still conscious, perhaps it was an effect of the rush that came with what must’ve been his tenth orgasm.
Tickling, pleasure, discomfort… Brush, pinwheel, tongue… It all felt the same to his mind. He was crying, silently sobbing in rhythm to what would’ve otherwise been laughter, provided his vocal chords still worked. He was drenched in sweat, one of the bodily fluids that matted his fur (the other ones being tears and cum) from the intense workout that all the struggling and laughing he’d done up until now had given him.
It was horrible. It was torture. It was inhumane.
It was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.
Underneath the apparent physical suffering, deep past the layers of simple nervous reflexes, there was bliss. A type of almost spiritual release that could only be attained through utter and complete destruction of one’s inhibitions.
Once again, he pictured Fox instead of Rocket. The thought of his lover tying him up, depriving him of his senses, and setting a small arsenal of automated tickle machines to torture him while he personally delivered an overzealous tongue-bath to his belly button was enough to make him hit his eleventh orgasm.
“I admit, I’m starting to see the appeal,” Rocket said as stopped licking Wolf’s belly button for a brief moment. “Let’s see how long you last.”
The answer was: not very long.
As soon as Rocket dove back into his belly button and delivered a long, circular lick against it, propelling Wolf to his twelfth orgasm, his body finally gave out.
Cushioned seat, flight controls, computer terminal… he was back on his ship.
He opened his eyes to the scenery of a busy spaceport on the other side of the darkened glass of his cockpit. Everything ached, most of all his dick. He patted his crotch through his pants – which thankfully Rocket hadn’t kept as a souvenir – to make sure it was still there and had not fallen off from the non-stop milking.
As hot as the whole experience had been, he was glad it was over. Now he just wanted to get out of there. Standing up on wobbly legs, he slowly made his way out of his ship and was surprised to find Fox’s Arwingdocked right next to his *Wolfen,*looking good as new.
He grinned. Rocket came through with the repairs after all.
“Hey, I’m back.” Fox’s familiar voice was the audible equivalent to getting cozy with a blanket on a cold autumn evening to Wolf and it instantly made him feel better. “You won’t believe what they had at one of those exotic plant stores, I had to wait in line for– Hey, are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” Wolf didn’t realize how hoarse his voice was. “Had a little… adventure. That’s all.”
Fox let out a worried sigh. “You look like shit. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, just a little tired.” He stepped forward and embraced Fox. “I missed you.”
“Aww, what’s gotten into you? You’re not usually this sweet.”
“Shut up and hug me.”
“Fine, fine.” Fox placed his shopping bags on the floor and reciprocated his lover’s embrace. “Tell me honestly, what happened while I was gone.”
“Ship mechanic was acting up. Had to set him straight.”
“Looks to me like *he[/i]set youstraight.”
“He, uh… Didn’t like it too much.”
“I figured.” Fox eyed his repaired *Arwing[/i]. “At least he fixed my ship. Wanna set off now or take a moment to rest?
“Nah, let’s go now.”
As he stepped back into the cockpit, he noticed something taped to the back of seat. A picture. There he was, bound and naked at the height of his torment, swarmed by devious mechanical arms wielding devious mechanical instruments against his most sensitive spots while that milker dutifully pumped away at his shaft. In fact, the picture was taken mid-orgasm as evidenced by the string of cum shooting out from his dick.
Rocket was smiling at the camera, naked and stroking himself. He had apparently enjoyed the torture as much as Wolf – perhaps even more.
He grinned and stuffed the photo into his pocket, already feeling his dick harden again. That was one more stranger in whom he had awoken a tickle fetish.
The ship’s comms beeped and he put on the headset.
“Ready for take-off?”
“Yeah.” He plopped down on the pilot’s seat and started the engine. “Let’s get out of here.”
They flew in radio silence for a while until they were out of the space station’s air-space.
“So, are you gonna tell me what happened between you and that mechanic?” Fox asked over comms.
Wolf was about to tell him the truth, but something stopped him. He had an idea, one that sounded a lot more fun that simply telling Fox.
“Nope.”
“No? Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Oh I trust you. I just don’t wantto give information away that easily.”
“…Oh. I think I know what you’re getting at.” Fox said, having finally caught on. “You should be careful. I’m a realgood interrogator. You of all people should know.”
“Are you? I can’t really remember…” teased Wolf. “Maybe I need a reminder. Y’know, my belly button has been awfully sensitive these last few days…”
“Oh, you’re in for it now! I’m tying you up as soon as land somewhere.”
Wolf trembled with excitement. His session with Rocket had left him hungry for more. He took the photo from his pocket and took a long look at it, taking in all of the small details. He was hard again in no time. As for Fox, he wondered why his partner was so horned up all of a sudden, though he certainly didn’t mind.
“Hey, Fox.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sending you a picture.”