The feather kissed Aemond’s sole.
“Kitchie coo, buddy!” Roy cooed.
“Grhrhrhr~” The Charizard roared a deep, draconic laugh, struggling to sit still on the carpeted floor of his trainer’s home. The polar bear grinned with satisfaction as he flicked the feather’s tip under his partner’s toes.
“Aww, does the big dragon have ticklish paws?”
Out with the feather and in with the hairbrush, scrubbed up and down the large sole… up and down, up and down… Aemond the Charizard loved his trainer, and would go to great lengths to please the polar bear, such as satisfying his tickle kink even though he himself failed to see the appeal. Of all the things a person could get off on, why tickling? Aemond was quite ticklish, much to Roy’s delight, and these little sessions served as a frequent show of affection from the Pokémon to his trainer.
Roy appreciated his partner Pokémon for going through with all of this for his own pleasure but he wished it wasn’t so taxing on the poor dragon who was now on the verge of hysterically kicking him in the face out of reflex. He withdrew the hairbrush from the overstimulated soles and curled up to the panting Pokémon.
“Thanks, buddy,” praised Roy, gently petting the creature’s head. Aemond panted heavily, eyes half-shut as he leaned against his trainer’s soft white fur which carried the faint scent of shampoo. As grateful as Roy was, he wanted to be rougher with his partner’s tickle sessions, perhaps even tie him up. Most of all, he wanted to share his pleasure and admiration for tickling with Aemond like he did with so many of his other Pokémon. With that in mind, he popped a question. “Say, Aemond… How do you feel about going to tickle therapy?”
The Lucario was bawling. The metallic prongs of the pinwheels dug into his ticklish paw-pads and punched the air out of his lungs which his dry larynx turned into a ragged, hopeless shriek. It reverberated inside the small chamber and, as it faded away, so did his consciousness. The jackal Pokémon slumped forward in the foot stocks, prevented from falling by a chain linking his straightjacket to a D-ring fitted in the wall behind him. His fur was matted with sweat, drool and tears. The muscles on his face remained contorted into a forced smile even as his eyes closed. For a second, the room went quiet.
“This is serious,” said the young, blue dragon in a lab coat, concerned. “He didn’t last five minutes, and he was hyperventilating as soon as he woke up.”
“Yeah. Extreme case of gargalaphobia. Been years since I last saw one this bad,” affirmed an older man, a portly bear, as he peered at the passed out Pokémon through his silver-rimmed glasses. “I don’t think regular exposure therapy is gonna cut it.” He reached into the pocket of his own loose lab-coat to retrieve his phone and searched through his contact list.
“Calling someone?” asked Tagus, cocking his head to see the phone screen.
“Yeah,” answered Viktor as he found the number he was looking for. “We have a… Special treatment for cases such as these. Calling it ‘intense’ would earn you the title of ‘King of Understatements’. So it’s a last resort, of sorts.” He called the number.
The large building towered above them. It looked like a cross between a college campus and a hospital. A large plaque near the front entrance read ‘Pokémon Research Institute’ in bold blue letters. Aemond hugged his flame-tipped tail as the pair made their way through the revolving door. The lobby was wide and well-lit with large vases displaying tall leafy plants. A cushioned trim was fitted around the vases at knee-height to provide sitting space. At the back of the hall, there was a desk with a bored-looking hippo staring at a computer monitor. Roy approached the receptionist.
“Good Afternoon. I have an appointment for 4 p.m.”
“Name?” she asked, her eyes unmoving.
“Roy.” That seemed to get her attention as she finally looked at the polar bear. She half-smiled.
“Oh, Mr. Roy! How have you been? Yes, yes, you’re scheduled for…” she gazed back at the monitor and typed something on her keyboard. “Tickle therapy! For a Charizard?” Roy nodded, her voice reminded him of a rusty nail scraping on a chalkboard. “Just sit tight for a minute, the doctor will call your Pokémon in a minute. And, by the way, your Lucario is doing great!”
“How long until I can come pick him up?”
“As a matter of fact, he’s heading to his last therapy session right now! If all goes well you can come pick him up in a day or two.”
Roy smiled. He admitted his Lucario, Theo, to the Institute to undergo tickle therapy a few days back. Unlike Aemond, who could soldier on through a tickle session for his trainer’s amusement, Theo suffered from a crippling fear of tickling that plagued his day-to-day life. Battles were impossible as any light touch to his tummy, sides, or, Arceus forbid, his paws would set off his phobia, rendering him weak despite his above-average stats.
Roy sat in the lobby with Aemond until the Pokémon’s name was called, then bid him goodbye and left, intent on picking him up in two hours. It was to be a short session, after all, no sense in overwhelming the poor thing.
Aemond had butterflies in his stomach as he was led along the windowless hallway. It smelled sterile, of nothing. At least the doctor seemed friendly enough, a sandy-feathered sparrow in her late twenties who had introduced herself as Dahlia. The claws on her bare talons clicked against the spotless floor tiles. She stopped in front of a door with a plaque reading “Tickle Therapy” and fumbled a key out of the pocket of her lab-coat.
“Here we are!” she beckoned him in and closed the door behind them. The room was comfortably small and plastered with posters illustrating the most sensitive spots of various types of Pokémon. One of them showed a detailed diagram of a Pangoro’s bearish soles, labeled all over, another one showed a Rillaboom’s. There was an assortment of complicated-looking equipment Aemond didn’t recognize nor payed attention to as his eyes fixated on the room’s centerpiece: a large, padded recliner with open canvas cuffs on each armrest and another pair over the footrest.
“Take a seat, big guy. We’ll get started as soon as you’re comfortable,” Dahlia said, motioning towards the chair. Gingerly, Aemond sat down, pushing his tail through a hole in the backrest, careful not to scorch anything with its flaming tip. He rested his wrists and ankles over the cuffs and allowed Dahlia to buckle them shut. When she was done strapping him in, he felt comfortable and anxious in equal measure, which didn’t go unnoticed. “I know it can be a little nerve-wracking, big guy. But I promise I’ll go easy on you, just shout if you need a break, alright?” reassured Dahlia, gently. That made him feel a little better. He nodded.
Dahlia moved to the end of the recliner and inspected Aemond’s feet. They were large and mostly orange, with a lighter hue on the soles. There were three large toes on each foot, capped with large claws. She would have to be careful with those.
She took a soft feather out of her coat’s pocket and began swiping it over the broad soles. Aemond snickered, curling his toes but doing a decent job at keeping still.
“That’s it, very good,” praised Dahlia, probing for the most sensitive spots. “Focus on the feather, big guy. Don’t fight it, just think about how good it feels on your paw.” Aemond tried his best to put her words into action. He closed his eyes and focused on the tickly sensation. He was used to fighting the feeling, in order to keep still for Roy but this time he was strapped down so he thought maybe he could let loose a little… He was laughing his deep, bassy laughter now, and starting to pull at the straps. “That’s it! Just let it all out, you’re doing great!” The sparrow added a second feather to the other foot.
Theo woke up. Or at least he thought he did, he couldn’t see or hear anything. He felt he was laying down on his back with his arms wrapped tight against his torso inside the familiar canvas prison of a straightjacket, everything else felt naked. Twisting around did no good, the jacket must have been tethered down somehow. He felt the bite of leather straps digging into his fur around his thighs and ankles. His toes were tied back… Oh no.
“Subject L0448, Theo,” spoke a synthetic voice in the Pokémon’s ears, monotonous. He must have been wearing headphones. “You have been diagnosed with severe gargalaphobia. In order to treat your condition, your handlers have recommended you undergo gargalesis-aided hypnotherapy. Treatment will begin shortly.”
Oh shit! Oh fuck!
He hyperventilated, feeling his own hot breath condensing and sticking to his snout fur. Was he wearing some kind of respirator mask? Now that he thought about it, he felt a tingly chill with every breath, like drinking water after having a mint chewing gum. What were they making him breathe? Theo didn’t have much time to think about that as he felt fast-spinning bristles hit his feet, right above his paw-pads and into the nook under his toes. He screamed.
Aemond shook his head frantically as Dahlia held his toes back with her taloned hand to expose the tender skin underneath them to the caresses of the feather.
“C’mon, big boy. I know you can handle it.”
“Grahrahrahra–!” She flipped the feather around and ever so slightly traced the pointy end along the slight curvature of Aemond’s arch. The dragon roared and bellowed. Already, he was working up a healthy sweat all over his bound body and tears rolled along his blushy cheeks, the treatment was quite strenuous to the poor creature.
During the last fifteen minutes, Aemond had endured a thorough hands-on examination of his large soles while helplessly bound to the recliner. The experienced therapist had scoped out the Charizard’s weakest spots (just below the arches, under and around his toes) with surgical precision, using that mental map to stimulate the dragon’s ticklish feet as much as she could without overwhelming him. Time for phase two.
“Very good!” Dahlia praised, pausing the treatment and fetching a water bottle which she helped the bound dragon drink from. “I know it was tough, but you did great!” Aemond smiled, weakly. He seemed proud of himself. Dahlia wielded the feather again, causing Aemond to tense up and curl his toes. To his surprise, she didn’t tickle his feet, instead she flicked the feather’s tip around the opening of his genital slit. He yelped, twitching every time the soft fibers made contact. It still tickled, but in a very different way than his soles. His arousal was gently but forcefully coerced from him. Aemond had to admit… It felt pretty good.
“How’s it feel, Aemond? Like it?”
He nodded shyly. His member peeked out of the slit, wet and throbbing. Dahlia giggled and feathered the pink-red flesh, causing Aemond to jerk.
“Shh, it’s alright. Don’t fight it, feel the feather.”
Aemond struggled to do as she instructed until he thought about Roy and how much going through this therapy session meant to his trainer. He loved him. He wanted to please him. Taking a deep breath, Aemond closed his eyes and relaxed, allowing the sensations to wash over him unimpeded, welcoming them. Even moaning out a giggle every now and then. He was fully erect in seconds.
His eyes shot open. Dahlia had started scrubbing his sole with a dense brush while still tickling his shaft.
“Remember: don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”
This time it was easier. The harsh tickling of the nylon bristles on his foot mixed with the pleasant teases of the feather at his cock to create an odd cocktail of forced pleasure. He kept his eyes open and watched his body being stimulated. His cock spurted pre-cum.
Why didn’t he pass out already? It must have been hours since the tickling started. Theo was sure he had at least four brushes on each paw. Robotic, judging from the linearity of their movements as they dragged their spinning heads from his heels to his toes and back. They seemed to linger on his paw-pads, sensing those spots wrung the rawest scream-laughs from him. He was a mess, covered in sweat, bawling his eyes out and twitching as if strapped to an electric chair. Why, oh why couldn’t he pass out?
“Subject L0448, Theo,” the synthetic voice started again, cold and monotonous, “fifteen minutes have elapsed since the start of your session. Nervous response adequate. Vitals green. Commencing phase two…”
…Fifteen minutes? Response adequate? Theo felt on the verge of dying! This couldn’t be right. All of these thoughts swirled in his head, kept as fragments unable to cohere into a conclusion as his mind slowly but surely broke under the overwhelming sensations being forced upon his ticklish paws.
He felt a change in the air he was breathing. It got heavier, smelled muskier, sweatier… purely of sex. His mind filled with lust and his cock hardened, naked. All rational thought left him and was replaced with an unrelenting desire to mate. Theo wanted to cum. Theo needed to cum. His canine phallus raged out of its sheath, forming its fleshy knot at the base and dribbled pre-ejaculate.
As soon as his cock left its sheath, it was taken in by another kind of sheath. Theo recognised the feeling. It was a milking machine. Had to be. He was familiar with the Institute’s standard tickle milkers, devious little devices lined with rings of tickly bristles that spun around the recipient’s penis, quite literally tickling the cum out of them.
He was proven right when the milker turned on, buzzing its internal rings against different parts of Theo’s length. There was one around the base, one in the middle, and another under the glans with a final circular brush pressing against the tip. Normally, he would be screaming bloody murder but in his lust-addled state, he was grateful for any touch granted to his needy cock. He tried to hump the milker but the straps kept him down. The foot tickling never stopped, but Theo didn’t care, as long as he got to cum. He laughed heartily and uninhibitedly.
The voice started again:
“It feels so good to have your feet tickled,” it was different now, soft and warm. Theo couldn’t tell if it was male or female. “Feel the brushes on your soles… Feel them drag along your arches… Scrub your paw-pads… Your toes…” Each word dragged near the end, sweet and viscous, like a spoonful of honey. They seeped into his mind. He felt them. They were so right.
“You love being tickled… You always have… You always will…”
Of course, Theo knew that.
“It’s so hot… It makes you so horny… It makes you cum…”
Cum, Theo was about to. He tensed up, a familiar tingling sprouting in and around his pelvis. He focused on the foot tickling, the brushes were spread over his soles more-or-less evenly, every spot was given attention, like standing on a tickly carpet. The milker worked at full speed, too, ensuring his cock got its fair share of fine brushing. Theo felt it especially intense around his swollen knot and on his frenulum.
He was about to burst. The pelvic tingling unified into a single point, just above his balls, waiting to be emptied. He was ready. He came… Except he didn’t. The milker had stopped. Why? He humped. No good, straps. Why had the milker stopped? The voice started again.
“It feels so good to have your feet tickled.”
Yes, Theo knew that. It still felt good, even if he didn’t get to cum.
“Feel the brushes on your soles…”
Why didn’t he get to cum? He was just about to!
“Feel them drag along your arches… Scrub your paw-pads… Your toes…”
He laughed, desperately. Still horny, still ticklish… The orgasm died down, the unified sensation dissolving back into a generalized tingling spread over his pelvic area. Theo didn’t get it, he had done everything right and enjoyed the tickles. Hazy lust fogged his thoughts. The milker whirred back to life.
Dahlia poured lime-scented oil over the tops of Aemond’s meaty feet and massaged them with her taloned hands. The Charizard half-giggled, his soles had been scrubbed raw, their cream color tinted a strained red hue. The dragon’s cock was still hard and twitchy. He was still tied up.
“You’ve been so brave until now, Aemond,” said the sparrow, warmly, while she wiped her hands dry on a cloth. “Now I’m gonna really tickle these big feet of yours! Are you ready?”
Aemond nodded eagerly.
Dahlia dual-wielded horse brushes, each larger than Charizard’s footprint, and got to work gliding the coarse bristles across the oiled sole skin. Aemond roared a long roar that faded to deep beastly laughter. The brushes felt horrible yet amazing, somehow. There was no point in holding back. He bucked, shook, squirmed and wiggled his toes, and yet his boner held, flinging pre-seminal fluids into his belly.
“Doesn’t it feel good to let go, Aemond? I know it does. Take the tickles like a good boy! Your body doesn’t lie, and it loves getting tickled on these cute feet!~”
Aemond had to agree. It felt amazing to be tickled, especially on his stompers. It was like an itch was scratched for him, one he didn’t know he had. If it felt this good to be tickled by a stranger, he couldn’t wait to go back home and surrender his ticklish body to his trainer who was so, so right to suggest this therapy. He wanted to show Roy his gratitude. Closing his eyes, he thought back to the last time he’d been tickled by the polar bear. It was comical, in retrospect. He used to fight back the tickling just to let Roy have a few minutes of fun when, all along, all he needed to do was to surrender to it. To welcome it. Then it felt good.
Dahlia sensed a breakthrough in her patient. He had no fight left in him and simply took the tickles as they came, cackling madly. She grinned. It was almost over. Pausing briefly, she wrapped a stimulator sleeve around Aemond’s member and turned it on. Air pumped in and out of the device, moving it vertically over the sensitive penis at a speed of over one hundred and twenty strokes per minute. Then she was back at his feet, attacking with the horse brushes.
There was no hope of holding it in, the tickles made sure of that. Aemond howled silently as a tsunami of pleasure crashed into him again and again, and again… His milky seed spewed out from the top of the sleeve, which slowed to a gentle massage after detecting its wearer’s orgasm, just enough to carry it on for a bit longer.
Like the sleeve, Dahlia also switched out the rough tickles for a rewarding massage of those tired feet, still slick with oil. Aemond was covered in sweat, his throat was dry, his ears ringed and every muscle ached. He loved it. Like the aftermath of a tough full-body workout.
“Congratulations, Aemond,” commended the sparrow. “You took it like a champ!”
Aemond grunted in response. He was too tired and too comfortable to vocalize anything else. Even as Dahlia undid the straps, the Charizard lay there. She giggled and helped him get up from the recliner. She was a lot stronger than her frame suggested. “Come on, big guy, let’s go get you washed. Your trainer is coming to pick you up soon.”
It wasn’t fair. He was so horny, so pent up. But they refused to let him cum. Wars were fought on the soles of his feet, civilizations rose and fell during countless millennia, all with the single purpose of bestowing the most unbearably ticklish sensations upon the ground they inhabited, as if to appease some mad deity. Theo could guess a good portion of the tools that had tickled his paws by how they felt: feathers, brushes… The usual. But sometimes there were other, more foreign sensations, ones he had no precedent with which to make assumptions. Throughout the torture he felt hot things, cold things, prickly things, soft things, things that shocked, things that wetted, slimy things… he felt it all on his soles. The voice never shut up.
“You love being tickled…”
Theo loved being tickled.
“You always have…”
Theo had always loved being tickled.
“You always will…”
Theo would always love being tickled. Forever.
Only when these facts had been completely and irreversibly seared into Theo’s psyche did the milker tickle his helpless cock to orgasm. He had no air left in his lungs to scream. The pleasure, the tickles, the lack of sight, the voice. It was all too much for Theo. His world went dark, finally.
“Ready to test out the results of your therapy, Aemond?” Roy asked and Aemond nodded. He was tied spread-eagle on his trainer’s bed, and a separate rope held his tail straight. You could never be too careful with the open flame at its tip.
Roy sawed the feather under Aemond’s toes and the response was immediate: adorable deep giggles.
“Kitchie coo, Aemond. Let’s see if you can… take… it…?” Roy trailed off as he noticed his partner’s cock poking out of his genital slit. They had barely begun.
He locked eyes with the Charizard. There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment on the dragon’s expression, just a defiant smirk. Roy grinned back.
“We’re gonna have a lot of fun tonight.”
He picked up a hairbrush.
Laughter resonated within the cramped chamber before being cut by a loud moan as yet another hands-free orgasm was tickled out of the Lucario.
“Holy shit, that’s like what… the fifth one?” Tagus asked.
“Sixth. He came twice when we used the pinwheels.” Viktor noted.
Theo lay on a padded table, held down by the many strategically placed straps of a segufix restraint system. His cock refused to go soft, even if his balls had dried up a long time ago. Still, he wanted more. He needed more. He needed to have his feet completely destroyed with tickles, nothing else would satisfy him. He was addicted.
With the primal lust of a thousand breeding stallions, Theo humped the empty air above him madly.
“Whoa, there!” Viktor pressed the Pokémon down against the table. “Tagus, tighten the straps. He’s really riled up.”
“Damn, what the fuck did they do to him?” blurted Tagus as he hurried to re-do the straps one-by-one, making sure there was no risk of any coming loose.
“I told you it was an intense treatment. That’s why it’s a last resort. Breaks ‘em down and builds ‘em back up as complete tickle sluts.”
“So what now?” the dragon queried as he finished re-fastening the last strap. “Do we give him back to his trainer?”
“Nope, not yet. He’s scheduled for a full-day session tomorrow.”
Theo’s heart skipped a beat.