PolarBearNSFW
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Feb 12, 2012
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- 470
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- 18
Actually I've made 0120 after this one.
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The Macrovick Traverse was the only junction point connecting the Spadran Collective's Nexus to the Pookian's famed garden paradise, Corinne, making it one of the most valuable clusters in all the Unified Planetary Oligarchy. It also made it one of the most heavily taxed and patrolled burns in all of civilized space. Filled to the brim with toll stations and ship and I.D. checkpoints, it featured the highest concentration of IGTP task forcers in the Seven Systems. And if that wasn't enough, there was a bevy of third party PMC caravans maintaining the region's 'total corporate compliance' through 'synergistic pacification solutions', ensuring the region's safety from pirates and wildcatters and the frontiersman.
Of course, it was the profiteers who dictated who fell into such classifications; the real criminals had to protect their expense accounts, after all.
With what had happened at the Royal Galactic Alien Embassy, it was the only place Pinkerton Poe was trusted to continue her career. Continue. That wasn't what she'd call it. Given two strikes against her record, she was left to rot as a security guard on a garden backwater with a planetary population in the teens, her vision constantly hazy from the glow of security monitors watching over synthetics picking Pookian Peaches on twelve hour intervals. If that wasn't bad enough, she was the only non-Xanderborn fundamentalist on her entire continent.
Quite a steep price to pay for trying to prevent the greatest cable and file snatch-and-grab since the uncovering of the Red Brigade's Verdan poison harvesting black sites by Uvank Kordlore of the Dingalish Snake People.
Then again, maybe it was worth it; not many in the galaxy could say they'd had their ticklish way with the vaunted and feared Captain of the Danneskold, the Rogue of the IGTP, Diedre Ursula Sierra. Or, as anyone who wanted to keep their arms and legs from being broken in half called her, Dusty. The purple Amazonian Goddess was served up on a silver platter, marinated with caustic condescension and gloating about how she'd won, all while unknowingly cuffed and trapped in a suite filled with state-of-the-art toys and tools designed to drive her to the edge of her own sanity. Poe had days before the outbound shuttle arrived, and she made sure to spend every precious second of them exacting her revenge, one tickle at a time.
So lost in her work was Poe that she kept her captive a full seven and a half hours longer than she was supposed to, losing track of time in the midst of her ceaseless taunting of Dusty, telling her all she needed to do to reach freedom was break free from the Spirit Breaker. As for her captive? She'd been systematically ravaged, inescapably bound from head to toe and tickled all over her hypersensitive body, special attention paid to her trapped soles and toes and hypersensitive nipples, all as her lower lips and clit were tenderly tongue teased through tremendous and countless orgasms, each one messier and more intense than the last.
The lucky few around the departure shuttle were treated to quite the sight. Dusty's arm was swung over the shoulder of her tormentor, toes dragging and her eyes rolled deep in the back of her head, drool trickling down her chin. Her white dress barely clung to her body, the spaghetti straps falling off her shoulders and exposing her trio of perfect breasts, along with each of her unendurably sensitive nipples. They'd been left so tender from the Pookian Tickle Sticks that the air running through the departure vestibule was enough to milk lustful giggles from her lips. If that wasn't enough, her inner thighs were a disastrous mess, her lust soaking through the sheer fabric, her throbbing swell weeping crocodile tears all the way down to her ankles.
Poe was even more compromised.
She stumbled in a topless drunken shamble, Dusty's thick cream dripping down her lips and mouth and chin, a prize she had earned and was proud to wear for everyone to see. The rest of her was a mess; her short crop of brunette hair all mussed up, her shorts unbuttoned and unzipped, gravity fighting to keep them at her hips and failing as each step forward caused them to slither slowly down her thighs, exposing her from below the pelvic line. She could barely maintain hold of her captive because she was too busy whispering lurid promises into her ear, each one causing Dusty to helplessly moan. When she finally managed to drop her off and the doors closed, she blew her a kiss, promising her she'd catch her again, and when she did, she wouldn't let her go free.
Both of them couldn't walk right for weeks.
At first, Poe adapted to the mind numbing tedium of playing babysitter for synthetics on an agri-world, thinking of it as a brief vacation until she was transferred someplace where her talents would be better utilized. After all, this was merely a small storm she had to weather. In the end, she knew she'd be vindicated. She just knew it. But in the weeks and months that followed, she came to realize how vindictive the IGTP was. The Xanderborn were real sticklers about impure thought, and had their methods of sussing it out. It was why the Red Brigade were so loathed and feared across the known universe. At first, her lurid longings came out in day dreams, escapism into better times and her many wondrous ticklish conquests. But each time she did, without fail, the grotesque buggish bastards stared at her, piercing her eardrums with a high pitched squeal that gave her a mind melting migraine. Each time was worse than the last. Shaken and constantly looking over he shoulder, she repressed every thought, every vision, every lurid longing she had about tickling and the fun that came with it because she was certain the Xanderborn wanted to cause her brain to explode.
It was bad enough that they could monitor and command her thoughts during her every waking moment. But as time progressed, she became her own worst enemy. At first, the schedule allowed her bunk access by herself for four hours, and while she had managed to maintain control of her aching longings while on shift, it was only because she let her hands and mind wander through her deep and perverse desires when she was alone in bed. Dusty was a frequent visitor, and so was her runaway husband, Peterton, and so too was Cynthia, the Thompson Lovebot she had to have send to be recalibrated eight times in the last year, and so too was Alundra, the tiny Pookian Consulate whose father would disown her if he knew the credits he was wiring to her for trade route access had been spent on a black market Kriptarian Blade that hadn't been properly cured. So many memories to revisit. So many fantasies to explore. She was a tactile creature, though. She needed to feel the person she was tickling. To touch them. To feel them squirm and writhe underneath her fingertips. The satisfaction she was able to coax from herself with nimble pets and strokes underneath the sheets became more and more fleeting, until they alone weren't enough to bring her to orgasm. But she was helpless to the thoughts. They screamed at her through her blood. Every night was filled with vivid dreams with hours of toe curling play, but without the payoff. It was an unendurable torture, causing her to shift uncomfortably in denial every day, unable to stop the aching itch she so desperately needed scratched.
Then, more Xanderborn were stationed at her security outpost. Peach bruising was up a hundredth of a decimal point, which meant more eyes needed to be on the fields. At least that was the official reason given. The schedule was changed. No more privacy in the bunk for Poe. No more touching. No more thoughts and fantasies. Wilting in want, robbed of what little relief the touching gave her, she was riding a painful crest as days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months threatened to turn into years. She could leave at any time, of course. All she needed to do was file a request form with the proper authorities, which would take weeks to make it through the correct channels. And then, it would need corporate approval. And then, the IGTP would have to review the claim. And then, just like they'd done the previous three times, they would unceremoniously deny her, and tell her she could file another request in thirty days UPO time.
She was beyond desperate. What remained of her sense of righteousness had long since eroded. The dam was about to burst. And once it did, she wouldn't be able to repress her desires. She'd be wholly owned by them. And then, the Xanderborn would paint the walls with her brains.
In space, revenge was a dish best served hot and simmering in spices. At least that's what Dusty thought. The dance between brigands meant one sharp cut deserved a slash in reprisal. That dark promises carried with them a heavy burden needing to be met to ensure that one's words and bond could be trusted. Nobody had gotten her like Poe had. Nobody. Not to the point where, before drifting to sleep, her fingertips would lightly trail through her landing strip, swirling down her inner thighs on their way to their ultimate destination, phantom sensations strumming across her skin as real as the captive memories pumping through her racing heart. She remembered what it felt like to be taken apart, piece by piece, studied and ticklishly dissected by a bad cop playing sinister mistress while every bit of her was in free fall, until the only feelings she registered were desire and passion and want, until every bit of her flooded the mouth of her insatiable torturer, lip locked and trapped, her body turned into a fountain of unending lust.
The Expanse was a treasure trove of smuggling opportunities, amongst others, for anyone willing to accept the risk. Dusty loved the challenge. To be right under the nose of the IGTP and the Seven Systems and taunt them into action and laugh after every clean getaway and fruitful score. The added prize of Poe was merely icing on the cake. It had taken months to track her down, but she'd done it. It cost a small fortune to come up with the proper ship signature forgeries, but every credit spent was worth it. Without hefty numbers of IGTP striking them at once, and without the muscle of the PMC overwatch, the Danneskold outclassed anyone who tried to cross them, their enemy's skiffs either deftly evaded or left crippled to beam distress calls into the cold dust of space.
Dusty became obsessed with her thirst for payback. It dominated her thoughts in her private quarters, envisioning Poe's face and form in place of whichever unfortunate crew member found themselves lashed to her bedposts, their tasty ticklish romps growing in such unbridled unrepentant intensity that even the Danneskold's resident psychological healer and chalice of ticklish affection, Booki, steered clear of her. She spent her nights studying and plotting just how and when she would make her move. When she figured out that Poe was stationed at a security depot, her crew sprung into action. Thompson and Slither had heard the whole damn Embassy interrogation through their comms, and knew how far their Captain had been pushed, so they willingly volunteered to be on the strike team when Dusty hit the station. Jessie and Koki were tasked with constructing a counter measure to ensure the synths wouldn't become a problem. Raven and Downey would make sure there wasn't evidence to trace them to the scene, whether it was technological or biological. Audrey had the schematics of the station, every strategic weak point marked, as well as any escape and hiding space. Silki had a route that would have them twisting through the Orion Belt in seconds flat, far from detection of any sensors.
The strike happened in a flash, near the end of Poe's shift, the scanners registering a sudden atmospheric anomaly before they went haywire. Exhausted, she thought she was hallucinating; after all, who would start a war over some peaches? It wasn't until all the station's doors opened up and Dusty's strike team laid waste to the Xanderborn with burst fire and aptly named anal seeking annihilation grenades that she realized what was happening. She reached for her pistol, but before she could draw it, Dusty hit her square in the chest with a concussive round that took her straight out of her boots. Splayed out on the cold steel, all she could manage to do was limply reach out for Dusty's boots as her ears rang and her vision split into fours. "Looks like it's on me to keep your promises," she mocked as she knelt down, her gorgeous satisfied smirk the last thing Poe saw before she blacked out.
As bad as Poe had been, Slither and Thompson saw the hungry look in the eyes of their Captain, and all they could do was shudder. Nobody crossed Dusty without it being the biggest mistake they'd ever made.
Nobody.
***
“Wakey wakey,” Dusty smirked, sitting in her easy chair just to the side of her newfound captive. “Seems the vaunted and disgraced cop, Pinkerton Poe, has gotten herself caught in my little web.”
Poe knew she was fucked before she even opened her eyes.
A dull ache throbbed through her body and mind thanks to the concussive shot that had knocked her out. The air was cool. Her lips quivered, dimples of gooseflesh rising across her body. Naked. She was naked. She groaned as she opened her eyes.
What she saw was a whirlwind of soft, amber light, given off from lanterns. There were wooden tables with coins of Sevens scattered across their surface in piles, the bed and the...she wasn't on the bed. She wasn't on the bed. When she craned her neck from its loose hang, she understood why Dusty had said 'web'; she was suspended in one made up of Tantulus Weave. She couldn't help herself from gulping. It was powerful and 'unbreakable', much like so many rope companies purported their wares to be. And while it wasn't as strong or as thin as Venus Web, Tantulus Weave was specially manufactured to feel like velvet across the skin. No rope burns. She would barely even notice their grasp, save for the fact that it was removing any real movement her body could muster.
The Captain of the Danneskold crossed her legs, bobbing her bare foot at the ankle as her captive looked toward her. “I certainly hope you're comfortable, hon. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself or anything.”
Poe was literally tied to the hilt, suspended in the air, the weave having been run through avavanium grommets and pulleys bolted to the ceiling and floor. How Dusty had tied her was ingenious; her body was at an incline, the restraint points starting at her wrists, leaving them about a foot above the floor. Another clutch wrapped around her biceps, just before the elbow. A huge bolt was wrapped around her waist and hips to maintain her position in the air. Her knees were free, but only because the weave was wrapped just before them at the thigh and calf, done at such a distance as to pull her legs wide open, the tendons of her inner thighs taut to their maximum. And then, there were her ankles, which would've been bad enough, but her captor went the extra malicious mile, tying her big and pinkie toes, binding them to different points so that her toes were spread and unable to move an inch.
“Not going to test your binds?” Dusty chuckled, deep red wine sloshing inside the bulb of her glass, the stem loosely gripped between her fingers. “But I worked so hard making sure you could barely move an inch.”
Poe tried to maintain her veneer of stoic calm, deadpanning toward her captor. “I'm not gonna beg.”
That made Dusty beam in sinister desire, licking her lips as she set aside her wine and rose for her seat, sauntering toward her captive. “Of course you're not. Of course you're not.” When she drew close, she let her hands wander, teasing down Poe's side, fingertips barely touching as she watching the cracks form in her stone facade. “I don't want you to beg. Not yet. I want you to fight.” She took Poe's cheeks into her fingers, looking her deep in the eyes. “I fought. Fought as long as I could. And, yeah, I told you to stop. But I wasn't begging. Not until you got that tongue of yours involved--”
“I'm not gonna beg.”
“You said that already. Which tells me one thing,” she started, a soft, playful lick running across her captive's cheek before she released her grasp. “You already want to beg. You can't help yourself. I know about you. Oh, after what you did and what you said you were going to do to me if you ever caught me again? I had to find out about you.” Her nimble fingertips teased down Poe's outstretched hollows, faintly swirling in their tease. It took everything for Poe to keep her laughter bottled up, but her pursed lips were vibrating wildly. Out of all the times she'd been the one to wield the feather, she never found herself on the other side. She couldn't take the tease, lacked the stamina for the slow burn. Dusty knew it. She could smell the desperation rising from her with each graze of her fingers. “You have quite the reputation, Poe. You're a little tickle freak. Not like most people. Most people out in the galaxy, it's just a fun little romp. But you? You're obsessed. And I obsessed over you.”
Her captor's hands deftly circled just over the tops of her breasts, before hitting the sensitive space between them. She clamped her eyelids shut, her breathing heavy and her words shuddering out helplessly as the giggles bubbled from her quaking lips. “Dusty...please...”
“Your nerve endings are on fire, aren't they? Aren't they? Oh Pinkerton Poe is such the little diabolical tickle monster. Goosing and grabbing anyone she can. Always the first to step up when it comes to interrogating somebody you find even a little attractive. Using up any vacation time to go to the seediest dens of scum to get your little fix...”
Fresh panic set in for Poe as Dusty's fingers went from soft tease to tantalizing tickle across her helpless chest. Having her breasts toyed with like that had her skin flush pink in embarrassment. “You can't...you can't do this to--”
“You can't handle it on the other side. It scares you. It scares you because you know that this sensitive little work of art you call a body couldn't handle five minutes of what you dish out.” Dusty stood up, her fingertips outstretched, strumming up and down Poe's taut, toned ribcage. With the way she'd tied her up, her midsection was gloriously exposed. “It scares you because you know, underneath it all, all it takes is one pull of your thread and you will come undone at the seams, and you don't know if you'll ever be able to sow it all back together again.”
Poe couldn't contain herself. She laughed, loudly, unabashedly. Her body was fit, trimmed, tanned and toned from years of hard work in the gym, and now it was helplessly exposed, stretched to the fullest. Every muscle she had fought in unison to get free, but the Tantulus Weave was every bit as strong as advertised. Her nerves were a frothing mess, soaking in each sensation Dusty bathed them with. The Captain of the Danneskold had found an intriguing weakness between the Pinkerton's ribs, the skin there extra sensitive whenever she lightly scratched across it with her fingernails. Poe's beats of laughter cheered her on, and she continued, rubbing her fingertips coarsely up and down those helpless ribs, playing the ivories, her captive's body jerking fruitlessly as she shook her head, her mouth wide and her gorgeous guffaws bouncing off the walls.
After she spent minutes at the very tip of her ribcage, just below Poe's breasts, Dusty stopped, pressing her palms into her captive's sides. She couldn't stop herself from gloating. “Don't even try to hide it. We're going to become reeeeeal close, you and I, and secrets have no place in my chamber.”
Poe barely choked out a plea from her haze of giggles. “I'm begging you--”
“Didn't you say you wouldn't, though? I've barely started and you're begging?.” She was cutting deep, her lips buzzing down the center of Poe's chest, staring into her captive's eyes as her fingertips began to roll the stiff buds of her nipples. “It's even worse than that, isn't it? When I got you out of those skimpy little shorts of yours, I almost drowned from how wet you were.”
One sharp inhale was all Poe could muster. She'd never been so exposed. Never this compromised. Full and ready to bare. And as the sensation of Dusty's tickles radiated across her burning skin, she was aware. Aware of what she couldn't help. What she couldn't contain. Her shamelessness. Pulsing and throbbing and now, it was all she could focus on as her captor's fingertips rolled every delicate bit of her defenseless nipples. She'd never felt so embarrassed in her life. It took every thread of self control not to cum all over herself.
Dusty was shocked at how her words pierced through her captive, deep down to her very soul. It was another tool to use. A weapon she could wield. She was going to bury Poe with her taunts, going to dominate and drown her completely with them. “You must've been grinding yourself against your cot for weeks. We're you thinking about me, hon? Poor ole ticklish lil me? How you took those little feathered fingers of yours and ran them all across my toes, my sensitive, sensitive toes...God they're so sensitive now, I can't stand it, Poe! Just thinking about how you tickled them, it's making them curl. Just like yours would be if I gave you the privilege.”
Poe was panting. She could still feel Dusty's fingers raking her ribcage. Her mind was a swirl. Sweat, tears, the panicked way her head bobbed to try and catch a glance of her damning mistress ever so elegant and knowing in how she fondled her nipples. Her skin was fire. This was agony. She couldn't take anymore. “PLEASE!”
Dusty wasn't merciful. This had been building for months. The fact that Poe had been riding the bleeding edge for months simply made her conquest all the more delicious. “I know you love it. I know you love it so much. Love everything I do to you. But keep fighting it, Poe. Fight with every bit of yourself because when I'm done with you, you'll be lucky if you remember your own name.”
She clawed out in pure, unadulterated agony. Her mind was a soupy, drenched haze, and while she hadn't cum yet, being so thoroughly undressed and teased by Dusty's husky voice that she was overwhelmed. Every bit of energy she could muster went into her escaping her binds, but there was no give. She was expending energy she desperately needed to save because Dusty was not even ramped up and here she was, playing every inch of her body and causing it to betray her.
When the Captain's hands finally left Pinkerton's chest, they made their ticklish way down her sides, along her hips, down her inner thighs. It was there that she could appreciate just exactly what her words had wrought; Poe's clit and **** literally quaked, her wetness drenching her thighs and down the cheeks of her ass, dripping into a puddle on the floor. “Want to know how I know you love it? Because while you were sleeping, and I was binding you up? You squirted all over me. All over my chest, Pinky. Right when I was wrapping that weave all across that sculpted little tummy of yours. It was so adorable. Every knot I tightened, I saw those little muscles clinch. You couldn't help it.”
Poe threw her head back and panted, doing everything she could to thrust herself toward the Captain, unable to form words, unable to form thoughts, her eyes rolling back into her head as she offered Dusty every tiny bit of her being. And then, it a flash, it happened. History repeating itself. She screamed out at first, the months of denial and the barbed manner of how she'd been so thoroughly verbally conquered erupting from her lower tummy, crying out in wanton spurts. Her body convulsed, her fingers tightly clinching to fists as her toes went white in their attempts to do the same. This was impossible, these smooth and wondrous feelings. She couldn't settle down, the waves moving ceaselessly, the mere thought of being made to cum without being touched almost driving her headlong into another steamy mess.
The show was a sight to behold for Dusty, her captive once again soaking her top with that heady, rich cream. She smirked, stripping it off quickly and tossing it into a pile, ready to continue her damning verbal destruction. “It took me hours to tie you up. Not because of how elaborate it was. It's because I want you to fully appreciate my talents. But even now, I see cute lil Poe can't help herself. Too bad for her that I haven't even begun.”
Poe couldn't register the next onslaught until it was already ravaging her in full. Ten wild fingers devouring the balls and arches of her trapped and defenseless feet, flicking and curving and hitting each and every spot Dusty's hands could in the span of seconds. Her touch was unpredictable, made even worse because the orgasm and the draining of energy left her unable to look up. Wild and helpless laughter exploded from every bit of her, full bodied, straining against her binds with renewed vigor, her back arching as best as she could manage. Her frenzied laughter bounced off the walls of her captor's chambers.
Dusty lazily watched the desperation drain from Poe's pores. “Poor Peterton. If only he knew that all he needed to do on that honeymoon of yours was get those ropes around your wrists and it would've been you running to dark space. I'm sure with how you tortured him he would've gone easy on you, right? Suppose his loss is my gain, Pinky.”
Poe shrieked in horror.
That's when Dusty's nails came into play. Softly, at first, scratching down Poe's arches, then back up them, only to go back down. “Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. Or maybe not. My crew has a little issue with privacy. They're probably at the door, listening in as we speak. They love to do that.” She giggled at the thought, feeling her own helpless want making a sopping mess of her panties. “Maybe you'll meet them. We can make a single file line. Take bets on who can find your most sensitive spots. Everyone can take a turn. And after that, we can even pair off. It's been a while since the Danneskold has had a good ole fashion tickle contest.” The width of her hands made it so her fingertips covered Poe's pampered arches from side to side in full, her touch leaving behind faint depressions which quickly filled back in across her pillow soft soles. “And when it's for sevens, they tend to get real naughty.”
Poe's body attempted to wrench back and forth, the sweat pouring across her body in fresh sheets, making the mixture with her aching lust all the more dangerous when her captor decided to press her full advantage.
It was time to go in for the kill. “You like how I taste, hmmm?” It was a rhetorical question. Dusty's her panties had become absolutely unbearable; the sheer satin fabric was a prison, the gusset so saturated in her lust that every slight movement caused a scintillating sensation because of the way it shifted across the fullness of her lips. She couldn't deal with it anymore. The fact that she could use herself as a weapon to thoroughly conquer Pinkerton Poe was merely the added bonus. She grabbed the sides of her panties from underneath her skirt, pulling them clear off with a slight shimmy. She turned them inside out, surprising herself with just how aroused she'd become. Grabbing Poe by the hair, she pushed her panties into her mouth, playfully smacking her across the cheeks. “You dare spit those out and I'll cover you from head to toe in three layers of Scream Sand.”
The dark promise was what she left her with, swinging back toward her captive's feet. She licked her lips, wetting them, and when she felt confident in their full effect, she lowered her face to Poe's mound. Without warning, her tongue circled along the soft folds of her sex, whisking through her wetness, only for more to bleed through their petals. She took the fold of left labia lip into her mouth, strumming her tongue across the sensitive swell on its underside.
Poe couldn't help herself. She relaxed. Gave in. There was nothing she could do. Her mind was elsewhere, her body a livewire of sensation, her tongue constantly moving across the cream of Dusty's panties, remembering how it felt to have her face bathed in her sweetness.
Dusty smirked as her hands gently gripped her captive's hips, her voice husky and dripping in desire. 添ou don't get off that ea fingertips descended over Poe's soles, caressing around the bow of her arches, licking down the outer edges of her soles before circling around and teasing along the bottom of her heels. And then, she took her vulva into her mouth wantonly. Her mouth bobbed and tongued, devouring every bit of swollen pink in the most seductive of kisses. Her fingertips covered the soft heels of Poe's foot in focused attacks, leaving them to shudder in their ankle and toe binds as she bore her nails and combed them back across the arch from down below her heel, rampaging across her frantic toes.
Poe thrust and gave up everything. Tears poured fresh from her eyes as muffled laughs and moans remained trapped against her captor's panties, the threat of dropping them so sinful she wouldn't dare let them go. She came into Dusty's mouth when the kiss became too much. This was unendurable. She'd lost. But that didn't stop the Goddess. That mouth was even more fervent, more wild, more dangerous as that silken tongue massaged her trembling, clinching muscles, another orgasm ripped from within, right as those maddening fingernails tickled every bit underneath her tender toes.
If only she knew that Dusty's revenge was only just beginning.
Art by Polarbearnsfw
Story by meangry
Check the HD version on Patreon if you can!
Contact me: [email protected]
The Macrovick Traverse was the only junction point connecting the Spadran Collective's Nexus to the Pookian's famed garden paradise, Corinne, making it one of the most valuable clusters in all the Unified Planetary Oligarchy. It also made it one of the most heavily taxed and patrolled burns in all of civilized space. Filled to the brim with toll stations and ship and I.D. checkpoints, it featured the highest concentration of IGTP task forcers in the Seven Systems. And if that wasn't enough, there was a bevy of third party PMC caravans maintaining the region's 'total corporate compliance' through 'synergistic pacification solutions', ensuring the region's safety from pirates and wildcatters and the frontiersman.
Of course, it was the profiteers who dictated who fell into such classifications; the real criminals had to protect their expense accounts, after all.
With what had happened at the Royal Galactic Alien Embassy, it was the only place Pinkerton Poe was trusted to continue her career. Continue. That wasn't what she'd call it. Given two strikes against her record, she was left to rot as a security guard on a garden backwater with a planetary population in the teens, her vision constantly hazy from the glow of security monitors watching over synthetics picking Pookian Peaches on twelve hour intervals. If that wasn't bad enough, she was the only non-Xanderborn fundamentalist on her entire continent.
Quite a steep price to pay for trying to prevent the greatest cable and file snatch-and-grab since the uncovering of the Red Brigade's Verdan poison harvesting black sites by Uvank Kordlore of the Dingalish Snake People.
Then again, maybe it was worth it; not many in the galaxy could say they'd had their ticklish way with the vaunted and feared Captain of the Danneskold, the Rogue of the IGTP, Diedre Ursula Sierra. Or, as anyone who wanted to keep their arms and legs from being broken in half called her, Dusty. The purple Amazonian Goddess was served up on a silver platter, marinated with caustic condescension and gloating about how she'd won, all while unknowingly cuffed and trapped in a suite filled with state-of-the-art toys and tools designed to drive her to the edge of her own sanity. Poe had days before the outbound shuttle arrived, and she made sure to spend every precious second of them exacting her revenge, one tickle at a time.
So lost in her work was Poe that she kept her captive a full seven and a half hours longer than she was supposed to, losing track of time in the midst of her ceaseless taunting of Dusty, telling her all she needed to do to reach freedom was break free from the Spirit Breaker. As for her captive? She'd been systematically ravaged, inescapably bound from head to toe and tickled all over her hypersensitive body, special attention paid to her trapped soles and toes and hypersensitive nipples, all as her lower lips and clit were tenderly tongue teased through tremendous and countless orgasms, each one messier and more intense than the last.
The lucky few around the departure shuttle were treated to quite the sight. Dusty's arm was swung over the shoulder of her tormentor, toes dragging and her eyes rolled deep in the back of her head, drool trickling down her chin. Her white dress barely clung to her body, the spaghetti straps falling off her shoulders and exposing her trio of perfect breasts, along with each of her unendurably sensitive nipples. They'd been left so tender from the Pookian Tickle Sticks that the air running through the departure vestibule was enough to milk lustful giggles from her lips. If that wasn't enough, her inner thighs were a disastrous mess, her lust soaking through the sheer fabric, her throbbing swell weeping crocodile tears all the way down to her ankles.
Poe was even more compromised.
She stumbled in a topless drunken shamble, Dusty's thick cream dripping down her lips and mouth and chin, a prize she had earned and was proud to wear for everyone to see. The rest of her was a mess; her short crop of brunette hair all mussed up, her shorts unbuttoned and unzipped, gravity fighting to keep them at her hips and failing as each step forward caused them to slither slowly down her thighs, exposing her from below the pelvic line. She could barely maintain hold of her captive because she was too busy whispering lurid promises into her ear, each one causing Dusty to helplessly moan. When she finally managed to drop her off and the doors closed, she blew her a kiss, promising her she'd catch her again, and when she did, she wouldn't let her go free.
Both of them couldn't walk right for weeks.
At first, Poe adapted to the mind numbing tedium of playing babysitter for synthetics on an agri-world, thinking of it as a brief vacation until she was transferred someplace where her talents would be better utilized. After all, this was merely a small storm she had to weather. In the end, she knew she'd be vindicated. She just knew it. But in the weeks and months that followed, she came to realize how vindictive the IGTP was. The Xanderborn were real sticklers about impure thought, and had their methods of sussing it out. It was why the Red Brigade were so loathed and feared across the known universe. At first, her lurid longings came out in day dreams, escapism into better times and her many wondrous ticklish conquests. But each time she did, without fail, the grotesque buggish bastards stared at her, piercing her eardrums with a high pitched squeal that gave her a mind melting migraine. Each time was worse than the last. Shaken and constantly looking over he shoulder, she repressed every thought, every vision, every lurid longing she had about tickling and the fun that came with it because she was certain the Xanderborn wanted to cause her brain to explode.
It was bad enough that they could monitor and command her thoughts during her every waking moment. But as time progressed, she became her own worst enemy. At first, the schedule allowed her bunk access by herself for four hours, and while she had managed to maintain control of her aching longings while on shift, it was only because she let her hands and mind wander through her deep and perverse desires when she was alone in bed. Dusty was a frequent visitor, and so was her runaway husband, Peterton, and so too was Cynthia, the Thompson Lovebot she had to have send to be recalibrated eight times in the last year, and so too was Alundra, the tiny Pookian Consulate whose father would disown her if he knew the credits he was wiring to her for trade route access had been spent on a black market Kriptarian Blade that hadn't been properly cured. So many memories to revisit. So many fantasies to explore. She was a tactile creature, though. She needed to feel the person she was tickling. To touch them. To feel them squirm and writhe underneath her fingertips. The satisfaction she was able to coax from herself with nimble pets and strokes underneath the sheets became more and more fleeting, until they alone weren't enough to bring her to orgasm. But she was helpless to the thoughts. They screamed at her through her blood. Every night was filled with vivid dreams with hours of toe curling play, but without the payoff. It was an unendurable torture, causing her to shift uncomfortably in denial every day, unable to stop the aching itch she so desperately needed scratched.
Then, more Xanderborn were stationed at her security outpost. Peach bruising was up a hundredth of a decimal point, which meant more eyes needed to be on the fields. At least that was the official reason given. The schedule was changed. No more privacy in the bunk for Poe. No more touching. No more thoughts and fantasies. Wilting in want, robbed of what little relief the touching gave her, she was riding a painful crest as days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months threatened to turn into years. She could leave at any time, of course. All she needed to do was file a request form with the proper authorities, which would take weeks to make it through the correct channels. And then, it would need corporate approval. And then, the IGTP would have to review the claim. And then, just like they'd done the previous three times, they would unceremoniously deny her, and tell her she could file another request in thirty days UPO time.
She was beyond desperate. What remained of her sense of righteousness had long since eroded. The dam was about to burst. And once it did, she wouldn't be able to repress her desires. She'd be wholly owned by them. And then, the Xanderborn would paint the walls with her brains.
In space, revenge was a dish best served hot and simmering in spices. At least that's what Dusty thought. The dance between brigands meant one sharp cut deserved a slash in reprisal. That dark promises carried with them a heavy burden needing to be met to ensure that one's words and bond could be trusted. Nobody had gotten her like Poe had. Nobody. Not to the point where, before drifting to sleep, her fingertips would lightly trail through her landing strip, swirling down her inner thighs on their way to their ultimate destination, phantom sensations strumming across her skin as real as the captive memories pumping through her racing heart. She remembered what it felt like to be taken apart, piece by piece, studied and ticklishly dissected by a bad cop playing sinister mistress while every bit of her was in free fall, until the only feelings she registered were desire and passion and want, until every bit of her flooded the mouth of her insatiable torturer, lip locked and trapped, her body turned into a fountain of unending lust.
The Expanse was a treasure trove of smuggling opportunities, amongst others, for anyone willing to accept the risk. Dusty loved the challenge. To be right under the nose of the IGTP and the Seven Systems and taunt them into action and laugh after every clean getaway and fruitful score. The added prize of Poe was merely icing on the cake. It had taken months to track her down, but she'd done it. It cost a small fortune to come up with the proper ship signature forgeries, but every credit spent was worth it. Without hefty numbers of IGTP striking them at once, and without the muscle of the PMC overwatch, the Danneskold outclassed anyone who tried to cross them, their enemy's skiffs either deftly evaded or left crippled to beam distress calls into the cold dust of space.
Dusty became obsessed with her thirst for payback. It dominated her thoughts in her private quarters, envisioning Poe's face and form in place of whichever unfortunate crew member found themselves lashed to her bedposts, their tasty ticklish romps growing in such unbridled unrepentant intensity that even the Danneskold's resident psychological healer and chalice of ticklish affection, Booki, steered clear of her. She spent her nights studying and plotting just how and when she would make her move. When she figured out that Poe was stationed at a security depot, her crew sprung into action. Thompson and Slither had heard the whole damn Embassy interrogation through their comms, and knew how far their Captain had been pushed, so they willingly volunteered to be on the strike team when Dusty hit the station. Jessie and Koki were tasked with constructing a counter measure to ensure the synths wouldn't become a problem. Raven and Downey would make sure there wasn't evidence to trace them to the scene, whether it was technological or biological. Audrey had the schematics of the station, every strategic weak point marked, as well as any escape and hiding space. Silki had a route that would have them twisting through the Orion Belt in seconds flat, far from detection of any sensors.
The strike happened in a flash, near the end of Poe's shift, the scanners registering a sudden atmospheric anomaly before they went haywire. Exhausted, she thought she was hallucinating; after all, who would start a war over some peaches? It wasn't until all the station's doors opened up and Dusty's strike team laid waste to the Xanderborn with burst fire and aptly named anal seeking annihilation grenades that she realized what was happening. She reached for her pistol, but before she could draw it, Dusty hit her square in the chest with a concussive round that took her straight out of her boots. Splayed out on the cold steel, all she could manage to do was limply reach out for Dusty's boots as her ears rang and her vision split into fours. "Looks like it's on me to keep your promises," she mocked as she knelt down, her gorgeous satisfied smirk the last thing Poe saw before she blacked out.
As bad as Poe had been, Slither and Thompson saw the hungry look in the eyes of their Captain, and all they could do was shudder. Nobody crossed Dusty without it being the biggest mistake they'd ever made.
Nobody.
***
“Wakey wakey,” Dusty smirked, sitting in her easy chair just to the side of her newfound captive. “Seems the vaunted and disgraced cop, Pinkerton Poe, has gotten herself caught in my little web.”
Poe knew she was fucked before she even opened her eyes.
A dull ache throbbed through her body and mind thanks to the concussive shot that had knocked her out. The air was cool. Her lips quivered, dimples of gooseflesh rising across her body. Naked. She was naked. She groaned as she opened her eyes.
What she saw was a whirlwind of soft, amber light, given off from lanterns. There were wooden tables with coins of Sevens scattered across their surface in piles, the bed and the...she wasn't on the bed. She wasn't on the bed. When she craned her neck from its loose hang, she understood why Dusty had said 'web'; she was suspended in one made up of Tantulus Weave. She couldn't help herself from gulping. It was powerful and 'unbreakable', much like so many rope companies purported their wares to be. And while it wasn't as strong or as thin as Venus Web, Tantulus Weave was specially manufactured to feel like velvet across the skin. No rope burns. She would barely even notice their grasp, save for the fact that it was removing any real movement her body could muster.
The Captain of the Danneskold crossed her legs, bobbing her bare foot at the ankle as her captive looked toward her. “I certainly hope you're comfortable, hon. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself or anything.”
Poe was literally tied to the hilt, suspended in the air, the weave having been run through avavanium grommets and pulleys bolted to the ceiling and floor. How Dusty had tied her was ingenious; her body was at an incline, the restraint points starting at her wrists, leaving them about a foot above the floor. Another clutch wrapped around her biceps, just before the elbow. A huge bolt was wrapped around her waist and hips to maintain her position in the air. Her knees were free, but only because the weave was wrapped just before them at the thigh and calf, done at such a distance as to pull her legs wide open, the tendons of her inner thighs taut to their maximum. And then, there were her ankles, which would've been bad enough, but her captor went the extra malicious mile, tying her big and pinkie toes, binding them to different points so that her toes were spread and unable to move an inch.
“Not going to test your binds?” Dusty chuckled, deep red wine sloshing inside the bulb of her glass, the stem loosely gripped between her fingers. “But I worked so hard making sure you could barely move an inch.”
Poe tried to maintain her veneer of stoic calm, deadpanning toward her captor. “I'm not gonna beg.”
That made Dusty beam in sinister desire, licking her lips as she set aside her wine and rose for her seat, sauntering toward her captive. “Of course you're not. Of course you're not.” When she drew close, she let her hands wander, teasing down Poe's side, fingertips barely touching as she watching the cracks form in her stone facade. “I don't want you to beg. Not yet. I want you to fight.” She took Poe's cheeks into her fingers, looking her deep in the eyes. “I fought. Fought as long as I could. And, yeah, I told you to stop. But I wasn't begging. Not until you got that tongue of yours involved--”
“I'm not gonna beg.”
“You said that already. Which tells me one thing,” she started, a soft, playful lick running across her captive's cheek before she released her grasp. “You already want to beg. You can't help yourself. I know about you. Oh, after what you did and what you said you were going to do to me if you ever caught me again? I had to find out about you.” Her nimble fingertips teased down Poe's outstretched hollows, faintly swirling in their tease. It took everything for Poe to keep her laughter bottled up, but her pursed lips were vibrating wildly. Out of all the times she'd been the one to wield the feather, she never found herself on the other side. She couldn't take the tease, lacked the stamina for the slow burn. Dusty knew it. She could smell the desperation rising from her with each graze of her fingers. “You have quite the reputation, Poe. You're a little tickle freak. Not like most people. Most people out in the galaxy, it's just a fun little romp. But you? You're obsessed. And I obsessed over you.”
Her captor's hands deftly circled just over the tops of her breasts, before hitting the sensitive space between them. She clamped her eyelids shut, her breathing heavy and her words shuddering out helplessly as the giggles bubbled from her quaking lips. “Dusty...please...”
“Your nerve endings are on fire, aren't they? Aren't they? Oh Pinkerton Poe is such the little diabolical tickle monster. Goosing and grabbing anyone she can. Always the first to step up when it comes to interrogating somebody you find even a little attractive. Using up any vacation time to go to the seediest dens of scum to get your little fix...”
Fresh panic set in for Poe as Dusty's fingers went from soft tease to tantalizing tickle across her helpless chest. Having her breasts toyed with like that had her skin flush pink in embarrassment. “You can't...you can't do this to--”
“You can't handle it on the other side. It scares you. It scares you because you know that this sensitive little work of art you call a body couldn't handle five minutes of what you dish out.” Dusty stood up, her fingertips outstretched, strumming up and down Poe's taut, toned ribcage. With the way she'd tied her up, her midsection was gloriously exposed. “It scares you because you know, underneath it all, all it takes is one pull of your thread and you will come undone at the seams, and you don't know if you'll ever be able to sow it all back together again.”
Poe couldn't contain herself. She laughed, loudly, unabashedly. Her body was fit, trimmed, tanned and toned from years of hard work in the gym, and now it was helplessly exposed, stretched to the fullest. Every muscle she had fought in unison to get free, but the Tantulus Weave was every bit as strong as advertised. Her nerves were a frothing mess, soaking in each sensation Dusty bathed them with. The Captain of the Danneskold had found an intriguing weakness between the Pinkerton's ribs, the skin there extra sensitive whenever she lightly scratched across it with her fingernails. Poe's beats of laughter cheered her on, and she continued, rubbing her fingertips coarsely up and down those helpless ribs, playing the ivories, her captive's body jerking fruitlessly as she shook her head, her mouth wide and her gorgeous guffaws bouncing off the walls.
After she spent minutes at the very tip of her ribcage, just below Poe's breasts, Dusty stopped, pressing her palms into her captive's sides. She couldn't stop herself from gloating. “Don't even try to hide it. We're going to become reeeeeal close, you and I, and secrets have no place in my chamber.”
Poe barely choked out a plea from her haze of giggles. “I'm begging you--”
“Didn't you say you wouldn't, though? I've barely started and you're begging?.” She was cutting deep, her lips buzzing down the center of Poe's chest, staring into her captive's eyes as her fingertips began to roll the stiff buds of her nipples. “It's even worse than that, isn't it? When I got you out of those skimpy little shorts of yours, I almost drowned from how wet you were.”
One sharp inhale was all Poe could muster. She'd never been so exposed. Never this compromised. Full and ready to bare. And as the sensation of Dusty's tickles radiated across her burning skin, she was aware. Aware of what she couldn't help. What she couldn't contain. Her shamelessness. Pulsing and throbbing and now, it was all she could focus on as her captor's fingertips rolled every delicate bit of her defenseless nipples. She'd never felt so embarrassed in her life. It took every thread of self control not to cum all over herself.
Dusty was shocked at how her words pierced through her captive, deep down to her very soul. It was another tool to use. A weapon she could wield. She was going to bury Poe with her taunts, going to dominate and drown her completely with them. “You must've been grinding yourself against your cot for weeks. We're you thinking about me, hon? Poor ole ticklish lil me? How you took those little feathered fingers of yours and ran them all across my toes, my sensitive, sensitive toes...God they're so sensitive now, I can't stand it, Poe! Just thinking about how you tickled them, it's making them curl. Just like yours would be if I gave you the privilege.”
Poe was panting. She could still feel Dusty's fingers raking her ribcage. Her mind was a swirl. Sweat, tears, the panicked way her head bobbed to try and catch a glance of her damning mistress ever so elegant and knowing in how she fondled her nipples. Her skin was fire. This was agony. She couldn't take anymore. “PLEASE!”
Dusty wasn't merciful. This had been building for months. The fact that Poe had been riding the bleeding edge for months simply made her conquest all the more delicious. “I know you love it. I know you love it so much. Love everything I do to you. But keep fighting it, Poe. Fight with every bit of yourself because when I'm done with you, you'll be lucky if you remember your own name.”
She clawed out in pure, unadulterated agony. Her mind was a soupy, drenched haze, and while she hadn't cum yet, being so thoroughly undressed and teased by Dusty's husky voice that she was overwhelmed. Every bit of energy she could muster went into her escaping her binds, but there was no give. She was expending energy she desperately needed to save because Dusty was not even ramped up and here she was, playing every inch of her body and causing it to betray her.
When the Captain's hands finally left Pinkerton's chest, they made their ticklish way down her sides, along her hips, down her inner thighs. It was there that she could appreciate just exactly what her words had wrought; Poe's clit and **** literally quaked, her wetness drenching her thighs and down the cheeks of her ass, dripping into a puddle on the floor. “Want to know how I know you love it? Because while you were sleeping, and I was binding you up? You squirted all over me. All over my chest, Pinky. Right when I was wrapping that weave all across that sculpted little tummy of yours. It was so adorable. Every knot I tightened, I saw those little muscles clinch. You couldn't help it.”
Poe threw her head back and panted, doing everything she could to thrust herself toward the Captain, unable to form words, unable to form thoughts, her eyes rolling back into her head as she offered Dusty every tiny bit of her being. And then, it a flash, it happened. History repeating itself. She screamed out at first, the months of denial and the barbed manner of how she'd been so thoroughly verbally conquered erupting from her lower tummy, crying out in wanton spurts. Her body convulsed, her fingers tightly clinching to fists as her toes went white in their attempts to do the same. This was impossible, these smooth and wondrous feelings. She couldn't settle down, the waves moving ceaselessly, the mere thought of being made to cum without being touched almost driving her headlong into another steamy mess.
The show was a sight to behold for Dusty, her captive once again soaking her top with that heady, rich cream. She smirked, stripping it off quickly and tossing it into a pile, ready to continue her damning verbal destruction. “It took me hours to tie you up. Not because of how elaborate it was. It's because I want you to fully appreciate my talents. But even now, I see cute lil Poe can't help herself. Too bad for her that I haven't even begun.”
Poe couldn't register the next onslaught until it was already ravaging her in full. Ten wild fingers devouring the balls and arches of her trapped and defenseless feet, flicking and curving and hitting each and every spot Dusty's hands could in the span of seconds. Her touch was unpredictable, made even worse because the orgasm and the draining of energy left her unable to look up. Wild and helpless laughter exploded from every bit of her, full bodied, straining against her binds with renewed vigor, her back arching as best as she could manage. Her frenzied laughter bounced off the walls of her captor's chambers.
Dusty lazily watched the desperation drain from Poe's pores. “Poor Peterton. If only he knew that all he needed to do on that honeymoon of yours was get those ropes around your wrists and it would've been you running to dark space. I'm sure with how you tortured him he would've gone easy on you, right? Suppose his loss is my gain, Pinky.”
Poe shrieked in horror.
That's when Dusty's nails came into play. Softly, at first, scratching down Poe's arches, then back up them, only to go back down. “Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. Or maybe not. My crew has a little issue with privacy. They're probably at the door, listening in as we speak. They love to do that.” She giggled at the thought, feeling her own helpless want making a sopping mess of her panties. “Maybe you'll meet them. We can make a single file line. Take bets on who can find your most sensitive spots. Everyone can take a turn. And after that, we can even pair off. It's been a while since the Danneskold has had a good ole fashion tickle contest.” The width of her hands made it so her fingertips covered Poe's pampered arches from side to side in full, her touch leaving behind faint depressions which quickly filled back in across her pillow soft soles. “And when it's for sevens, they tend to get real naughty.”
Poe's body attempted to wrench back and forth, the sweat pouring across her body in fresh sheets, making the mixture with her aching lust all the more dangerous when her captor decided to press her full advantage.
It was time to go in for the kill. “You like how I taste, hmmm?” It was a rhetorical question. Dusty's her panties had become absolutely unbearable; the sheer satin fabric was a prison, the gusset so saturated in her lust that every slight movement caused a scintillating sensation because of the way it shifted across the fullness of her lips. She couldn't deal with it anymore. The fact that she could use herself as a weapon to thoroughly conquer Pinkerton Poe was merely the added bonus. She grabbed the sides of her panties from underneath her skirt, pulling them clear off with a slight shimmy. She turned them inside out, surprising herself with just how aroused she'd become. Grabbing Poe by the hair, she pushed her panties into her mouth, playfully smacking her across the cheeks. “You dare spit those out and I'll cover you from head to toe in three layers of Scream Sand.”
The dark promise was what she left her with, swinging back toward her captive's feet. She licked her lips, wetting them, and when she felt confident in their full effect, she lowered her face to Poe's mound. Without warning, her tongue circled along the soft folds of her sex, whisking through her wetness, only for more to bleed through their petals. She took the fold of left labia lip into her mouth, strumming her tongue across the sensitive swell on its underside.
Poe couldn't help herself. She relaxed. Gave in. There was nothing she could do. Her mind was elsewhere, her body a livewire of sensation, her tongue constantly moving across the cream of Dusty's panties, remembering how it felt to have her face bathed in her sweetness.
Dusty smirked as her hands gently gripped her captive's hips, her voice husky and dripping in desire. 添ou don't get off that ea fingertips descended over Poe's soles, caressing around the bow of her arches, licking down the outer edges of her soles before circling around and teasing along the bottom of her heels. And then, she took her vulva into her mouth wantonly. Her mouth bobbed and tongued, devouring every bit of swollen pink in the most seductive of kisses. Her fingertips covered the soft heels of Poe's foot in focused attacks, leaving them to shudder in their ankle and toe binds as she bore her nails and combed them back across the arch from down below her heel, rampaging across her frantic toes.
Poe thrust and gave up everything. Tears poured fresh from her eyes as muffled laughs and moans remained trapped against her captor's panties, the threat of dropping them so sinful she wouldn't dare let them go. She came into Dusty's mouth when the kiss became too much. This was unendurable. She'd lost. But that didn't stop the Goddess. That mouth was even more fervent, more wild, more dangerous as that silken tongue massaged her trembling, clinching muscles, another orgasm ripped from within, right as those maddening fingernails tickled every bit underneath her tender toes.
If only she knew that Dusty's revenge was only just beginning.
Art by Polarbearnsfw
Story by meangry
Last edited:
Thanks for sharing it here. 
