The cell was hot and humid with the sweat of countless prisoners whom had suffered at the hands of the town sheriff and his goons. Motes of dust rolled around in the stale air illuminated a the single ray of scorching hot sunlight that infiltrated the cell through a barred window. Iron shackles dangled from the cracked ceiling and assorted anchor points dotted its bare walls in arrangements that conjured up gruesome images of torture within Sly Cooper’s mind. The raccoon thief and his Old West counterpart, Tennessee Cooper, were marched in black and white striped prison uniforms escorted by a pair of guards. The sheriff followed behind them, an infamous armadillo known as Toothpick.
“Thought you could bust outta here, huh?” he taunted as he spun his revolver, “I should just shoot you two for that but I promised Flint and Dusty here some fun so count yourselves lucky.”
The guards - two lanky coyotes with cowboy hats and a pair of shiny new revolvers each - threw the raccoons on a pair of wooden tables in the middle of the cell and forcibly spread out their limbs before shackling their wrists and ankles to the corners of the tables.
“We’ll find another way out! And when we do, you’ll get what’s coming to you, Toothpick!” Sly bravely declared.
“Damn right!” Tennessee added. “You’ll be in more pain than an elephant who stepped on his own trunk!”
The coyotes shared a smirk. They were profoundly unfazed by the pair’s empty threats.
“We’ll see who’s in pain after my boys are done with you.” Toothpick turned towards the door. “Now, I’d love to stay and watch but I’m afraid your screams of agony will hurt my ears. I’ll come by later to ask you a few questions. Have fun!”
With that he left, leaving the prisoners alone with their two soon-to-be torturers who looked at them with ear-wide grins. One of them placed his hand on Sly’s chest and gently petted him.
“Well, look-y here, Flint. We got us a couple a’ bad coons who need a lesson. What should we do to them?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Dusty,” the other said, roughly grabbing Tennessee’s muzzle and forcing him to make eye contact. “Was thinkin’ we could rough ’em up a bit.”
“Do your worst, scum!” Sly taunted.
Tennessee wasn’t feeling so defiant.
“Can’t we talk about this?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, ya crook.”
It was useless. The coyotes had made up their minds and there was no avoiding whatever they had planned.
Sly gritted his teeth as the hat-wearing canine rolled up the shirt of his prison uniform to reveal in slim stomach.
“Ohohoh, you look mighty soft!” he taunted, “This is gonna be fun!” Teasingly, the coyote dragged a claw up from Sly’s waist to his belly button, making the raccoon flinch.
“Hey, don’t touch me, pal!”
“And why not?” Dusty repeated the gesture and was rewarded with another full-body contraction from his victim. His lips parted into a toothy grin as if he had just struck gold. “Are you ticklish, little thief?”
As anyone who has ever been asked that dreaded question can attest to, there is only a single possible outcome regardless of one’s answer.
“Wait! Please don’t do that!”
Sly sucked his stomach in as much as he could while he watched Dusty’s hand get dangerously close to it.
“I think I know how we’re gon’ torture this one, Flint.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
Dusty held both hands above Sly’s bare stomach, fingers spread out like the talons of a bird of prey ready to swoop down on its unsuspecting prey. Only this bird’s prey could see it coming a mile away.
“We tickle ’em ’till they’re crazy!”
The torture began. The sound of rattling chains filled the chamber as ten sharp claws ran around the surface of Sly’s tummy. The coyote groped at the thief in a manner not unlike a baker kneading dough. If only dough squirmed as much as Sly did. Despite the initial surprise that threatened to throw him into fits of uncontrollable laughter, Sly did a decent job at holding himself together. He did not want to give his tormentor the satisfaction of getting a laugh out of him, or if he could not prevent that from happening, then at least he could delay it as much as possible.
“Aww, not even a smile?” Dusty said, affectionately petting the raccoon’s head. “C’mon, it’s okay to laugh when someone tickles ya! Flint does it all the time!”
“Dude!” Flint exclaimed, clearly flustered. Dusty’s demeanor had changed from that of an intimidating henchman to that of a playful sadist. Sly wasn’t just another victim to him anymore. He was a playground to explore. To poke and prod to see which spots produced the best reactions. An uncharted raccoon-shaped island that only he could map.
Sly was a toy.
A helpless, powerless, ticklish toy.
“Come on, coon boy! Laugh or I’m gonna have to go harder on you!” Dusty then aqueezed Sly’s sides. That almost made the raccoon burst with laughter. He was at his limit.
“Hey! Leave him alone, ya nut!”
The coyote threw an annoyed glance at Tennessee. “Y’know, Flint, I think a little company might help Sly here loosen up a bit.”
“Oh yeah? Whaddaya say, Tennessee? Feel like laughin’?”
As Flint began unlacing Tennessee’s boots, the raccoon couldn’t help but feel a sudden spike of anxiety bury itself deep in his chest. Unlike Sly, and on account of a past encounter with a particularly kinky barmaid, Tennessee was fully aware of how terribly ticklish was.
“Wait! Fellas! There’s no need to be hasty!”
His first boot fell on the floor with a dry thud.
“Oh, I agree,” Flint said as he finished unlacing the other boot. “Let’s take this slow and really savor every moment.” True to his words, he slowly pulled the second boot from Tennessee’s foot, taking an agonizingly long time to remove it before letting it drop next to the first one. He examined the two bare raccoon feet. Long and slender with ivory-colored soles whose smoothness betrayed many hours inside those signature leather boots Tennessee was known to wear. Eight hyperactive toes that refused to stay put until being visited by two sharp claws which causing them to clamp down tightly.
“Fwehehe!! N-Nohohoho!”
“Why, don’t tell me those boots of yours were for hiding these ticklish paws!” Flint touched the raccoon’s heels and dragged his claws upwards towards his arches, eliciting a surprised yelp from the prisoner and a spasm out of his toes. “They always crack when we find that one special spot, ain’t that right, Dusty?”
“That they do,” Dusty said as he moved up from Sly’s sides to his furred armpits. “But let’s not jump the gun. That’s only his paws and you still got a lot of raccoon to tickle. Remember that bobcat?”
“The one that snapped the table in half when we lickled his pits? How could I forget?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. We thought we hit jackpot when we used the horse brush on his belly but his pits were way worse.”
“I get your point,” Flint admitted as he stepped away from Tennessee’s quivering paws. “We should explore our friends here more thoroughly.”
Dusty flashed a toothy grin. “That’s right.” He leaned over Sly’s face so his nose almost touched the raccoon’s and their eyes locked. Sly looked terrified. “We’re going to find out every soft spot. Every ticklish bit of skin. Every cluster of nerves below the fur of these two bandits.”
“And then?”
“And then we’ll make them scream.”
The raccoons were screwed. Doomed. Utterly fucked.
Dusty went to work on Sly’s abs while Flint groped around Tennessee’s sides in search for hot spots and the torture chamber became filled with screaming laughter. There was something about having his abdomen messed with that Sly absolutely hated. Having such a vital area touched by someone who so openly expressed ill-intent set something off inside his mind. Some primal instinct that compelled him to struggle ferociously and yet made him cruelly hyper-aware of every scrape along his abs, every pinch of his waist and every squeeze of his sides.
“Bwahahaha! Leheheave mehehe alohohohone!” he begged.
“Aww, what’s the matter? Lil’ thief can’t handle his punishment? What if I do… this!?”
Two sharp pricks sent ripples across Sly’s whole body.
“AH!”
He craned his head to see the coyote nibble his stomach, his two sharp canines pressing with just enough pressure to set off his most ticklish nerves.
“Hnf!! D-Don’t do that!”
Dusty smirked and peppered the raccoon’s stomach with a series of light nibbles. Each one felt akin to being struck by lightning to poor Sly. His nervous system lit up like a Christmas tree and his limbs spasmed like fish caught in a net and pulled ashore.
“BWAHAHA! P-PLEHEHEASE!!”
The earlier touches felt like an invasion of his personal space but this new treatment felt like his very essence were somehow being molested. The sharp teeth cutting through his thin layer of fur to dimple the skin underneath while also violently stimulating the clusters of nerves that made Sly so ridiculously ticklish provoked sensations that the poor raccoon knew for a fact would break him.
Tennessee, as it turned out, had a lot more fight in him.
“Iihis t-thahat all yohohou got!?”
Sly’s Old West relative was currently dealing with Flint playing his ribs like a piano. He squirmed and writhed on the table but kept up the defying act, even though that was all it was: just an act. Giving up easily just wasn’t in his character.
If the coyote wanted to break him, he’d have to work for it…
“Not even close.” Flint grabbed a pair of horse brushes.
…but not very hard.
“W-Wait just a sec now, partner! I was just trying to act tough! Ya really don’t need to use those!”
“Oh, but I want to use them.”
Tennessee’s fate was sealed. He was going to be brushed whether he liked it or not. The question now was: where? Was Flint going back to his paws? The bristles would certainly wreak havoc on his soft soles. Or maybe his tummy? The brushes were big enough to get practically the entire area. No, that didn’t seem to be it… Flint seemed to be looking somewhere else. Somewhere that made Tennessee’s stomach turn.
“W-Wait! Not there! Look here, partner, I’m serious! I might pass out if you tickle me there!”
“Better hope you don’t, then.”
Flint set the brushes down on the raccoon’s ribs. Tennessee let out a small yelp and hoped the coyote didn’t decide to move the brushes up into the sensitive hollows of his armpits which, of course, he did.
“No! No, no, no! Wait! I beg you, please do—HAHAHAHAHA!!”
“Ah… Music to my ears!”
And just like that, Tennessee’s brave facade crumbled into nothingness. The skin of his armpits was unbelievably soft beneath the fur. Even a feather would’ve made him scream. The many thousands of stiff bristles wreaking havoc at that very moment were orders of magnitude more intense than that. The poor tortured raccoon could do nothing but scream in ticklish agony in reaction to the overwhelming sensations.
“You were right, Dusty! His pits are much worse than his paws!”
“See? Told ya it’s always worth exploring every inch of a prisoner. Especially ones as cute as these two!”
The raccoons were in Hell. There was no other way to describe it. Never before had they been subjected to such a childish yet effective torture. They were not prepared for it. How could they have been? Pain - that they could handle - but tickling? Aside from a few much less intense experiences in the past, the sort one might share with friends or a lover, they had never gone through something like this. Tied up, near naked. Helpless.
Being masters in escape artistry meant nothing when their brains were too busy being screamed at by their nervous systems to be able to formulate any kind of escape plan. It was horrible. It was humiliating. It was unbearable.
…So why on Earth were they erect?
“Hey Flint, how long was it?”
The coyote tending to Tennessee paused for a brief moment to reach for his pocket watch. “About twenty minutes.”
“Huh! That’s almost quicker than that one chipmunk!”
“I know, right? And he was a horny bastard. Made him cum, what, three times?”
“Four.”
“Yeah, that. I wonder how many times we can make these two bust.”
“Wha… What?” The raccoons, still coming out the intense bout of tickling, took a second to realize what the coyotes were referring too. “Gah! What the—?!” And where horrified by the realization that their bodies was expressing pleasure of all things in response to the torture.
“Surprised? Don’t be. Happens to every prisoner we have down here,” Dusty said, grabbing a small pocket knife.
“Don’t worry. We’ll let you cum, you freaks,” Flint laughed, mirroring Dusty’s movements with his own blade.
“Oh you’ll cum alright. Again, and again…”
“…and again, and again!”
With a series of sharp, well-practices slashes, every last garment covering the bound raccoons’ bodies was cut off, falling to the floor in scraps. They thought it was impossible to feel any more vulnerable than they already did. Sadly, they were wrong.
“And we’ve got a little something special for boys with ticklish tums like you,” Flint told Tennessee. He grabbed a pillow from under Tennessee’s table and wedged it under his lower back, forcing him into an arched laying position with his abdomen left protruding and exposed.
“W-Wait! Please don’t tickle me there! A-Anywhere but there!”
“Oh, little thief,” Flint petted his chest. “From now on, I’m only gonna tickle you there! How does that sound?”
Tennessee could only watch as the coyote’s tongue neared his exposed belly button.
“No! NO! NOHOHOHOHO!!”
He actually did it. That devious sadist began licking his belly button. Predictably, Tennessee erupted in laughter, the most intense bout he’d had so far. He strained against the shackles to the point where the metal was starting to dig into the skin of his wrists and ankles. He could barely feel the pain. All he felt was the excruciating sensations that mutt’s tongue inflicted upon his ticklish belly button.
“Stop! It’s too much for him!” Sly said with a tone of genuine concern.
“Too much? But Flint’s barely even started! And let me tell you, when he gets like this he only stops when his victim passes out. A real fiend, he is.”
The coyote seemed to have entered a trance. In his mind, there was nothing besides his tongue, his victim, and the positively delicious sound of howling laughter.
“BAHAHA! PLEE— PLEHEHEASE!”
Sly’s Old West relative was, for lack of a better term, fucking losing it. He shook atop the table like a fish out of water as his belly button was devoured by the ravenous coyote. And yet, his cock had neither gone soft nor stopped leaking. Some part of him was enjoying this. Clearly not a big part but a part nonetheless. Maybe it was the vulnerability he felt. Being left at the mercy of an evil beast who wanted nothing more than to tickle him out of his mind… The idea had some appeal to it.
“You taste good, little thief! It’s like you were made to be licked!” Flint doubled down. Nibbling, nuzzling and licking the entirety if the raccoon’s tummy. While he did this, he reached out to his cock and tickled it with his claws.
“AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!”
A scream. His full body seized. Then more laughter. Ragged, uncontrolled laughter.
This was music to the coyote’s ears and it only served as encouragement for him to be as merciless as he could. He tickled Tennessee’s hanging balls before sliding his claws up towards his tip and circling a single claw around it, using his own pre as lube. His frenulum was quite sensitive, as was his slit. Flint became intimately familiar with the anatomy of the raccoon’s penis and, more specifically, where it was most sensitive. Something he became quite adept at doing after many years of tickle-torturing prisoners.
Sly looked on in abject terror, not noticing Dusty approaching his bare paws until he grabbed his toes and pried them back.
“Hey!”
“What? Though you partner-in-crime there would be getting all the fun?”
The coyote stuck his tongue out and moved his head towards Sly’s paws.
“Wait! Please, not there! Not my paws! Not my pahahahahaws!”
Just as Flint did with Tennessee’s belly button, so did Dusty start to lickle Sly’s soles with a major focus on his toes which the raccoon tried his absolute best to curl but with no success. Just as any canine’s, coyote tongues were rough. An accidental lick could tickle a lot. A purposeful one was so much worse.
“I-I’ll do ahahahanything!” Sly begged as his paws were tortured. Much like Tennessee, though, his cock stood proudly between his legs. He was smart enough to know that it was only a matter of time before his tormentor decided to tickle it as well and he dreaded that. Not because he thought it was more ticklish than his hypersensitive sides and paws, but because he really did not want the coyote to touch it. That would just feel wrong.
“AHAHAHA! AHA! AH—! GRRNH!!”
What was bound to happen finally did. Tennessee’s tortured body could no longer cope with the stimulation to his genitals and reacted the only way it could. By giving him an intense orgasm that coated the coyote’s hand in raccoon seed.
“Whoa! Already? You must really love having your cock and belly button tickled like this, huh, thief?”
“Ugh… Guh- I-I, please…!”
Tennessee’s mind was hazy with pleasure. The sense of dread and panic he’d been feeling during the entire session had temporarily turned into comfortable bliss. Somehow, after its payoff, the torture session he’d just gone through didn’t seem so bad. Maybe that small part of him that enjoyed the sensations was right. The raccoon could not remember the last time he had an orgasm as powerful as that one.
Maybe, just maybe, Tennessee liked being tickled?
Something to ponder when they took him back to his cell to rest, he thought. They were going to let him rest, right? Surely these coyotes didn’t mean to exploit his post-orgasm sensitivity to continue torturing him, right? That thought alone was enough to dissipate any and all lingering pleasure.
“You’re not tired, are you?” The smugly grinning coyote asked. “Now’s when the real fun begins!”
“Please, no!”
Now fully lucid again, Tennessee could only beg as Flint resumed the tongue treatment on his belly button. At the same time, he used one hand to tickle his armpit and the other to tickle his cock head.
“HAHAHA—”
It was pure torture. An onslaught of sensation that threw the poor raccoon into silent laughter, lungs unable to keep up with having three of his most ticklish spots tortured at the same time.
“Stohohop! Hehe’s gohohonna p-pahahass Ouhouhouht!” Sly begged with his toes still being licked.
“Oh he wishes. But let’s focus on you, now. Don’t you wanna cum too?” Dusty grabbed Sly’s erection and began slowly stroking it much against the raccoon’s will.
“Grrr! Don’t touch me there!”
“Oh? Don’t wanna cum? Then I guess I’ll have to make you!”
He sped up his strokes and started pinching and squeezing Sly’s bare sides with his free hand.
“Ha! Hahaha! W-Wahahait! Stop!”
“That’s it, thief. Be a good boy and cum for me so your body will be nice and sensitive after! I’ll tickle you all day if I have to!”
Dusty was beginning to enter the same torturer’s trance that Flint had been in for a while. Looking his captive in the eye, the coyote could only see panic and desperation, and the fact that such desperation was being caused by something as harmless as tickling was nothing short of intoxicating for him. He alternated between slowly trailing his claws from the coon’s pits down to his hips and rapid bursts of squeezes to his sides. Sly never knew what to expect next and that made the torture so much worse. Unfortunately for him, and much like his relative, this also gave the stimulation an erotic edge that he was getting closer and closer to succumbing to.
“Plehehehease!”
“It’s no use begging, thief. But please do keep doing it. Only makes me want to tickle you more!”
Dusty switched from steadily pumping Sly’s erection to tickling its head and that was it. Sly arched his back on the table and shot his load. Unlike with Tennessee, he wasn’t given any time to bask in the afterglow. Dusty never stopped tickling him. In fact, he was tickling him more! His claws darted all around the raccoon’s body, rapidly and randomly switching between his pits, sides, feet and everything in between in what Sly could only describe as pure torture.
“Coochie coochie coo! How does it feel now, thief?”
“AHA! Ugh— AAAAHAHAHAHA—!”
Sly was actually having trouble breathing. If this kept going he might pass out. Tennessee wasn’t doing much better. Soon after Sly’s first orgasm, his second came crashing through, refreshing his nervous system for another intense round of post-orgasm torture.
All this time, the raccoon duo were trying their best to come up with an escape plan. A loose chain link, an old wooden plank… Anything that they might be able to use in order to escape! But that was when they could still think at all. Now? Now all they could do was laugh. Sly fell into silent laughter every time Dusty so much as breathed on his feet and the same happened to Tennessee when Flint’s tongue touched his belly button - which it did a lot.
Time passed. Hours. Days. Years. They couldn’t tell. Their entire bodies had been extensively lashed by the coyote’s tongues. Then came the brushes for their bellies, the pinwheels for their toes, the feathers for their cocks… Their cocks. They had been tickled raw. The very air that moved around the cell was enough to provoke a reaction whenever it blew past their poor, spent lengths.
They regained some of their lost lucidity only when the coyotes dragged their limp bodies back to their cell, carelessly throwing them on the stone floor. Maybe it hurt when they fell on the floor but the phantom tingling that still covered the entirety of their bodies overpowered any pain the could have felt.
“Don’t go thinking we’re done just yet, boys. We’ll be back later for more.”
“That’s right. And now we know all of your weak spots!”
“See ya! Wouldn’t wanna be ya!”
The coyotes sauntered off laughing, leaving the two naked coons to rest. They lay motionless and silent on the floor for a few minutes. Moving after the most intense full-body workout they had ever gotten was no easy task. It was Sly who first tried to stand up using the wall as support. His legs were still shaking, muscles barely able to withstand his weight.
“Y-Yeah… That’s not happening,” he lamented as he slid down the wall and into a sitting position. He looked over at Tennessee who was still on the floor. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be in a sec. Boy, that was… something. Of all the things I expected them to do to us, I never thought there would be tickling!”
“Me neither. I had no idea I was that ticklish.”
They fell into an awkward silence as both realized this topic would inevitably lead them to talking about the fact that both of them had cum from being tickled. It was still way too soon to talk about that. For the time being, they both pretended it didn’t happen.
“So what’s the plan?” Tennessee asked with enough of his strength back to stand up. “I dunno about you, but I don’t want to stay for another tickling. My belly button can’t take it.”
Sly grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He produced an iron key seemingly out of thin air.
“Whoa? Now how’d you go and get that?”
“Swiped it from the guard when they carried us here,” he poked his arm out from between the bars and inserted the key in the lock. “What do you say we leave this dump?”
“Now hold your horses, partner. I’d say we owe those tickle-crazy mutts a taste of their own medicine, don’tcha think?”
“You know what? You have a point.”
Sly turned the key and opened the lock.
Just as the sun was beginning to set, Flint and Dusty returned to the raccoon’s cell to pick up their new playthings for another session only to find it empty.
“Evening, gents. Hope you’re all rested up because— Huh?!”
“Where are they?”
“Right behind you.”
That was all they heard before an impact to the back of their heads knocked them both unconscious.
When they came to, they were in the torture chamber with the two raccoons, except this time the roles had been reversed. It was the coyotes who found themselves shackled to the very same tables where the coons had been tickled to near unconsciousness before. The fact that those same coons were standing smugly next to them holding horse brushes told them everything they needed to know about what would happen to them.
“L-Look, boys, we can talk this out!” Dusty stammered, already pulling on the shackles.
“Yeah! If you let us go, Toothpick’ll make ya rich!” Flint added, feeling especially exposed around his torso. “P-Please don’t tickle us!”
“We also begged you not to tickle us, remember?” Sly said as he teasingly stroked Dusty’s sand-colored chest. “And what did you do?”
Dusty blushed. The raccoon wasn’t tickling him, but his gentle touch felt violating enough without that. He knew there was no avoiding the inevitable and the anticipation was killing him.
“Squirmy, ain’tcha? Guess I don’t have to ask if you’re ticklish,” Sly teased.
“I think the question is where.”
Tennessee opted to go for Dusty’s pits first. The scream that left the canine’s maw as soon as he did confirmed his choice as the right one to make.
“Are you ticklish on your pits, Flint?” He teased. “Then just lower your arms?”
“Gahahahaha!!” The coyote laughed.
“Can’t do it? Guess that means you want me to keep going!”
Then it was Dusty’s turn. Sly stopped petting him and started brushing his stomach instead. The coyote squirmed on the table under the raccoon’s gentle touch.
“Hehehehe! Not there! Not my stomach!”
Sly ditched the brush and used his dexterous fingers to part the coyote’s scruffy stomach fur and tickle at the soft skin underneath.
“Who’s a ticklish coyote? You are!”
The raccoons had to admit: this was fun. Having the two canine guards who were so full of themselves a couple of hours earlier begging not to be tickled was extremely gratifying. Sly loved the way Dusty tried to suck his stomach in to avoid his claws. He loved it so much that he found himself repeatedly teasing the ‘yote by holding his hands just above his stomach and slowly inching them down towards his victim.
“You ready?”
“No! P-Please, not there!” Dusty begged, eyes wide in fear.
“Three… Two… One…”
“No! NO!”
Sly couldn’t help but smile at how nervous Dusty looked. He looked cute enough that he might get a pass. If only he hadn’t spent the morning tickle-torturing the raccoon.
“Tickle tickle tickle!”
“NOHOHOHOHOHO!!”
Ten dexterous raccoon claws wreaked absolute havoc on the coyote’s stomach. Scratching, drumming and poking all around his hidden belly button before one of them accidentally fell into the hollow. This made Dusty squeak like a chew toy.
“Oh? Did I find a weak spot?”
Sly concentrated his efforts on Dusty’s belly button and the coyote broke.
“BWAAHAHAHAHA! NO, WAHAHAIT! NOHOT THEHEHERE!”
He screamed. He begged. He even started to cry. The table rattled under the pressure of the squirming canine and the shackles were tested to their limits. Sly only smiled.
“There we go! Now you know how I felt when you were tickling my feet. Feels awful, huh?”
Dusty couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own squealing laughter. Every fiber of his being wanted to cover his stomach, to protect his vulnerable belly button from the evil claws.
Meanwhile, Tennessee was still ravaging Flint’s armpits with the horse brushes. The coyote was indeed sweating like a horse from the treatment.
“Bwhahaha, nohot my pihihits!”
“Yes your ticklish pits, mutt,” Tennessee teased as he brushes faster. “You and your partner here deserve this for torturing us earlier.”
“I’m sohohorry!”
“You should be! Now be a good boy and answer me this: where else are you boys ticklish?” He slowed his movements down enough to let the coyote speak, something he still refused to do. “Cat got your tongue? Fine, then. Maybe an hour of armpit brushing will make you more talkative!”
“Wait, please! I-I’ll talk!”
“That’s more like it.”
“My stomach is really bad! I’ve also got a pretty bad spot on my hips and uh…” He fell silent. His face took on a flustered expression.
“Talk!” Tennessee made good on his threats and began furiously brushing Flint’s pits once again.
“AAAAH! I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK!”
The raccoon stopped.
“If you’re bad one more time, I’m gonna gag you and lick those pits until you’re crying. Got it?”
The coyote nodded frantically.
“Good. Now, what’s your worst spot?”
The coyote blushed and looked away for a second, but the threat of another burst of pit tickling - gagged, nonetheless - was enough to convince him to spill the beans.
“…Me an’ Dusty are really ticklish on our cocks…”
Both coons were taken aback by this. Even Sly had to stop digging into his victim’s belly button to make sure he heard right.
“F-Flint… You promised…” Dusty said, out of breath.
“I’m sorry, Dusty! It’s just too much!”
Tennessee let out a falling whistle. “Well, that I wasn’t expecting. How’d you know your partner is cock ticklish?”
“We…” Flint hesitated, but soon realized there was little point in hiding anything at this point. “We like to tickle each other every once in a while. Boss is in on it too.”
The cell fell silent once again, a silence that was soon broken by Dusty’s squeal when Sly grabbed his sheath and began tickling his balls.
“So you freaks are into this, eh? Then I guess you’ll enjoy what we’re about to do next.”
Tennessee followed suit, taking a hold of Flint’s sheath and sliding it down a bit to reveal the tip of his cock, promptly tickling it with a feather.
“You boys are in for it now! We’ll make ya buck harder than a bronco in heat!”
“Wait! Plehehease!”
“Not the cock! Nohohot the cohohock!”
Now that the secret was out in the open, the raccoons would make full use of it. They didn’t care that the coyotes might be enjoying the torture. They considered the satisfaction of making them beg and squirm on the tables as enough payback for what they’d gone through earlier. And although they wouldn’t admit it, they enjoyed it too.
They were laser-focused on the coyote’s cocks for a while. The first stage was getting them hard to expose the sensitive meat hidden within their sheaths. Sly did this by tickling Dusty’s balls while rubbing and tickling his belly. Every dog likes belly rubs, right? Even if coyotes weren’t dogs, they were close enough in genus for this maxim to still hold true. Soon enough, Dusty’s sword was fully out of it’s sheath. Tennessee, for his part, was a bit more forceful. He kept Flint’s sheath rolled down as he teased the soft meat with the feather until it became erect and sprinkled in a good dose of verbal teasing as he did so.
“You just love being tickled, don’tcha? Your little friend here certainly seems to. Coochie coochie coo!”
When both canines were hard and leaking, the raccoons switched strategies. Sly took full advantage of his victim’s canine anatomy and focused the torture on his swollen knot.
“I heard this part here is pretty sensitive. Is that true?” He asked rhetorically as his claws danced over the base of Dusty’s shaft, using the coyote’s own precum as lubricant. Just as he expected, this tickled madly. That particular part of a canine’s anatomy was intended to be steadily and pleasantly stimulated during copulation, not to be tickled by a raccoon’s pointy claws.
“AAAAAHAHAHAHA” Dusty’s individual bursts of laughter were divided by screams of sheer terror as he felt both on the verge of orgasm and of passing out.
Tennessee was a lot more evil.
“FUUUCK! STOP, STOP, STOHOHOHOP!”
Flint looked like he might actually break the table as the raccoon held his cock with one hand and rubbed the palm of the other around the tip in fast circular motions, providing a mix of tickling and overstimulation that the poor coyote just couldn’t deal with.
“Good thing you didn’t do this to me. From the looks of it, it would’ve killed me!”
He and Sly shared a smirk as their victims squealed in ticklish agony. They could definitely see why the coyotes were having so much fun torturing them earlier.
“What do you say we make these boys cum, Sly?”
“And see how much more sensitive they’ll become afterwards?”
“You know it! What do you say, boys?”
“HNGG! N-NO, PLEHEASE!”
“GAHAHAHAHA FUHUHUHUCK!”
“I think they want it.”
“Well, let’s give it to them!”
The canine shafts were both simultaneously gripped by the coons’ and frenetically jerked while their torsos were tickled at random to ensure they would not resist being milked like cows.
“BWAHAHA! STOP! STOHOHOP! PLEHEHEASE!”
That familiar tingling was starting to form in the coyotes’ loins.
“I-I’M GOHOHONNA! HNG!”
They tensed up and their laughter subsided. They were about to cum.
“PLEASE! I—”
The door slammed open. Frightened, the raccoons stopped and turned to the door to find a flabbergasted armadillo at a loss for words.
“W-what in the blazes is going on here?!”
Dusty raised raised his head from the table meekly. “Hi, boss…”
The chamber echoes with laughter composed of not two but three voices. Toothpick lay on his back in one of the tables. He was stripped of his clothes and tied spread eagle.
“BWAHAHAHAHA! Y-YOU BAHAHASTAHAHARDS!”
“Not so tough now, are ya, sheriff?” Sly teased as he feathered the armadillo’s length.
“Hard to be intimidating when you’re this ticklish,” added Tennessee was he took a brief pause from tickling the sheriff’s sides. “Let’s have a look at our puts, shall we?”
Dusty and Flint were tied together on the other table. Fur matted with sweat and slobber as a pair of horses licked their bodies from head to two. Tennessee grabbed a bucket full of water and dipper a large paintbrush in it.
“Time for another coating of brine, boys!”
“No… P-Please!”
“I can’t… T-take any more!”
The poor canines where exhausted. Their cheeks were red and matted with both dried and fresh tears, and yet their cocks still throbbed. It was clear they been forced to cum multiple times.
“Neither could we when you made us cum and kept tickling us,” Tennessee said as he dipped the brush in the bucket, then applied a coat of brine on the coyote’s feet.
“Hehehehe, plehehehease!”
Their laugh was weak, and they barely moved. After painting their paws in brine, Tennessee moved up to their stomachs, making sure to dip the brush multiple times inside their belly buttons, then continued upwards to their sides and, finally, their armpits. When he was done, he nudged the horses towards the coyotes.
“Have fun, boys! Still plenty of brine in the bucket so we’re probably gonna be here all night! You don’t mind, do you?”
The coyotes didn’t reply. They had accepted their face.
When the coyotes were once again plunged in a fresh bout of tickle-induced hell, Tennessee returned to toothpick who had just shot his load all over Sly’s hand. Perfect. He stuck out his tongue and lowered his head towards the armadillo’s exposed stomach.
“W-wait! What are you doing? No! Not there! Not the belly button! NOT THE BEHEHEHELLY BUHUHUTTOHOHOHON!!”