FeatherHeart22
TMF Master
- Joined
- Mar 27, 2003
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The latest chapter in this saga:
In the Plant's Embrace
In the Plant's Embrace 2: The Secret Raid
In the Plant's Embrace 3: Laughing Under Pressure
Enjoy! 🙂
Synopsis:
At the bottom of an alien ocean, corporate greed and incompetence turn an underwater base into a disaster zone. Systems Engineer Jennifer Shaw is the only one who can keep what’s left of the base intact until a rescue team arrives.
However, even as the sea threatens to crush the damaged station, a swarm of alien plants is loose in the hallways, entangling and tickling everyone in their path, including Jennifer herself.
Can she carry out her duty despite the unbearable tickle torture? Or will she die Laughing Under Pressure?
Note from the Author:
In this story, I attempted to dive deeper — pun intended — into the sci-fi survival horror genre than I did in the two previous stories. I drew substantial inspiration from the movies Alien (1979), The Sphere (1998), and Underwater (2020), as well as the game Alien Isolation (2014). Enjoy the read!
Character Illustrations and Inspirations:
Jennifer Shaw
Melissa Ward
The small shuttle descends deeper into the alien ocean, its bulkheads groaning under the mounting pressure. Inside, six passengers are strapped to their seats. They’re all wearing corporate jumpsuits with their names and roles embroidered on their chests.
A sudden, unsettling groan echoes through the cabin, prompting a startled query from one of the passengers. “Is that normal?”
An attractive young woman, reminiscent of Kristen Stewart, turns to address him. She has a slender build and an expressive face with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and piercing green eyes. Her shoulder-length brown hair is tied back in a small ponytail.
“Don’t worry,” she reassures him. “Submersible shuttles always moan and grumble, but the bulkheads are built to handle the pressure. Your first dive?”
“Yes,” the passenger replies, his voice revealing a mix of excitement and nervousness.
“Welcome aboard, then. I’m Jennifer Shaw, Systems Engineer.”
“David Wilkinson, Biologist.”
“We’re approaching DSH-5,” the pilot’s voice suddenly crackles through the speakers. Several screens across the passenger compartment light up, revealing a barely visible underwater complex, lit up by external lights. Its layout is somewhat similar to the shape of a snowflake.
“There it is,” Jennifer says, looking at one of the screens. “Deep Sea Habitat 5. Our home sweet home for the coming months.” Her brow furrows suddenly. “Hold on. Where’s the umbilical?”
“Umbilical?” David echoes, intrigued.
“These habitats always have a lifeline to the surface, connected to a floating vessel that provides power, water, air and communications,” Jennifer explains. “Without an umbilical, the habitat is running on its own resources.”
“Should we be worried?” David asks, sensing a hint of concern in Jennifer’s voice.
“I wouldn’t call it a problem, just... The internal utilities are only meant for emergencies.”
“Why is that?”
“The pressure down here wreaks havoc on our tech. The more we delegate to the surface, the better.”
“Maybe they’re still setting it up?” David suggests optimistically.
“It’s possible,” Jennifer concedes, though skepticism lingers in her tone. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
Upon docking, the passengers join other key personnel for a briefing. They all gather in the habitat’s operations center, sitting on foldable chairs around a holographic map.
“Welcome to Deep Sea Habitat 5, everyone. My name is Sean Hopkins, captain of this station. On behalf of the PrimePath Mining Corporation, I apologize for all the secrecy regarding this assignment. You will all receive hefty bonuses for your discretion and inconvenience.”
“What are we doing here, boss?” someone asks.
“And why don’t we have an umbilical?” Jennifer adds pointedly.
“This isn’t your typical mining expedition,” the captain begins. “Remember that infamous plant found in the jungle? The one over which a huge area was marked off-limits?”
Recognition flashes across everyone’s faces.
“Rumors had it, that plant came from a crashed alien ship,” the captain continues. “You shouldn’t listen to rumors, but in this case, they’re mostly right. The plant did originally come from an alien vessel which crashed on this planet thousands of years ago. Except this vessel wasn’t really a ship. It was something much smaller, like an escape pod.
“A month ago, a PrimePath drone detected a large underwater deposit of a strange alloy; an alloy matching the composition of the jungle vessel. Our working theory is that this deposit is the mothership from which the jungle vessel was launched, but we won’t know for sure until we reach it. Which brings me to our mission — to dig a one kilometer shaft, allowing us access to the alloy deposit.”
No one says anything for a moment, as they process these incredible revelations. “What will we be digging though, exactly?” someone finally asks.
“Coral. Well, something very similar. The ocean floor in this sector is covered by some sort of alien honeycomb, which looks a lot like Earth coral. The habitat was set down on top of it.”
“Erm... Is that safe?” another voice asks, their concern evident.
“The coral — or whatever it is — appears to be stable,” the captain assures them, before a sudden tremor interrupts his reassurances.
“Was that an earthquake?!” Doctor Wilkinson asks, visibly worried.
“Yes. There are thermal vents in this sector, and once in a while, tremors. They’re pretty small, though. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Speaking of which,” Jennifer breaks in, “why don’t we have an umbilical? Especially with the habitat standing on a seismically active mountain of alien... Not-coral?”
“Corporate discretion,” the captain replies cryptically. “We need to keep a low profile, and having a ship floating above gives away our position.”
“Why does that matter? Why the secrecy?” Jennifer presses.
“That’s above your paygrade, Shaw,” the captain replies firmly. “I know it sucks, but your discretion will be well compensated. Please focus on keeping this habitat in one piece. Alright?”
Jenniffer shrugs. “Fine. As long as I get that big, fat bonus, I don’t really care.”
A crewman working at a computer console stands up. “Captain, that last tremor caused a fault in the hydrostatic pressure regulators. I could use another pair of hands to sort this out. May I borrow Miss Shaw?”
“Shaw, get to work,” the captain orders.
“Yes, Captain,” Jennifer replies, rising to join the crewman. Under her breath, she mutters, “And so it begins... I’ve literally just arrived, and things are already breaking down. This is going to be the longest mission ever.”
Two weeks later.
Despite the extreme depth, this patch of ocean floor holds a thriving ecosystem sustained by volcanic fumaroles, constantly spewing hot water, gasses and minerals. As the shaft takes shape — slowly, because blasting would be ill advised — the miners occasionally bring back samples of coral, flora and fauna. All of it is brought to a small team of scientists whose primary duty is to catalog any findings and prepare them for shipping to the surface.
Among the miner’s findings is a sort of bulbous pod, about the size of a fist, with an opening from which tentacles emerge. A dozen instances of this creature are now swimming and crawling inside a pressurized canister.
“It’s not an animal,” Dr Wilkinson says, looking over the scan results on a computer screen. “It may look like an octopus inside a seashell, but according to these readings, it’s actually a plant. It’s basically a large seed, with roots sticking out.”
“It must draw nutrition from the fumaroles,” a colleague remarks. “I can’t see any other way this thing could survive down here, in complete darkness.”
“And then there’s the matter of pressure tolerance. This is truly fascinating. Look at this scan. There’s at least 30 meters of roots, or seaweed, or whatever they are, wrapped up tightly inside the pod. That must be how it counters the pressure, preventing itself from getting crushed.”
“Fascinating. And look at those readings. These things may be able to adjust to the surface pressure.”
“Yes, I agree. Perhaps we should try to normalize their pressure. It would make them easier to study,” Dr Wilkinson proposes.
“Sounds good. And if they don’t survive, we can always get more. From what the miners reported, these things are relatively common.”
And so, the scientists set the canister to slowly decrease pressure and leave it alone overnight.
The next morning, Wilkinson and his colleague are shocked to find the canister stuffed to the brim. A quick scan reveals that without the crushing pressure, the plant's tightly coiled appendages have come out of the pod and expanded by 200%.
While they debate their next course of action, the canister’s lid bursts open and a rush of ivy comes pouring out, like a dark-green geyser.
“GET OUT!” Dr Wilkinson shouts, he himself rushing towards the door.
The researchers successfully escape from the lab and seal it, narrowly avoiding getting tangled as the door slams shut.
Later that day, Jennifer enters the ladies shower room, exhausted from an extra long work shift, due to a malfunction which absolutely had to be fixed before it started affecting other systems.
She sits on a bench, takes off her work boots, her socks, and simply sits for a moment, feeling the tiled floor beneath her bare feet. With her eyes closed, she imagines the vacation she’ll spend her bonus on. Two weeks in the capital city, being pampered in a hotel spa, preferably by muscled, sexy guys. Extra points if they’re not wearing anything above the waist.
Jennifer absolutely adores massages, especially on her very pretty, size 6.5 (US) feet.
“Mmmm...” she moans, imagining her slender, sensitive feet being squished like dough by a man’s large, strong hands. After being expertly pedicured, of course, because even though she grooms her own feet regularly, they’re overdue for a proper scrub.
Suddenly, the captain’s voice cracks through the loudspeakers. “This is the captain. I’ve discussed the science lab incident with the higher-ups. They’ll dispatch a cleanup crew, equipped to handle the infestation.”
During this announcement, Jennifer frees her hair from the tight ponytail, allowing it to fall freely in a very sensual messy bob.
“Until further notice, the science lab must remain sealed. I cannot emphasize this enough; under no circumstances is anyone allowed to enter the science lab. That will be all. Keep up the good work.”
She grunts in acknowledgement, then starts undressing to take a shower.
After showering, Jennifer changes into loungewear. From her locker, she grabs fresh panties, a pair of gray sweatpants, and a matching sports bra, slipping them on. Before she can complete the outfit with a t-shirt and flip-flops, the habitat is shaken by a powerful tremor — the most violent one so far.
“That’s a big one!” Jennifer shouts, dropping to the floor and rolling under a bench.
She screams as the entire room suddenly drops by about a meter and tilts at a precarious angle. Panels tear away from the bulkheads, showering the room with electrical sparks.
“Structural integrity compromised! Clear section immediately!” a male computer voice blares through the speakers.
Still trembling, Jennifer scrambles from under the bench and bolts out of the room. She halts momentarily, disoriented and unsure which way leads to safety. A loud metallic groan from the hallway to her left provides an instant answer.
Jennifer darts in the opposite direction, adrenaline fueling her frantic flight. She reaches the next compartment just as the far end of the hallway begins to succumb to the pressure.
“FUCK!” she screams, terror gripping her as she repeatedly punches the button to close the door.
The heavy door slams shut just as a wall of water crashes against it, the impact sending Jennifer hurtling into a bulkhead and knocking her unconscious.
Jennifer wakes up on the cold metal floor, the acrid smell of burnt circuits filling her nostrils. Miraculously, she survived the shockwave with only minor cuts and bruises.
“I need to... I need to...” she mutters, her voice trembling as she tries to organize her racing thoughts. “I need to reach ops. Find out what’s happening.”
The dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows along the corridor, making the twisted metal and dangling wires look like grasping hands. With a clear goal in mind, she starts limping along the damaged hallway. Each step sends a jolt of pain through her body, but it slowly subsides.
It doesn’t take her long to find a wall-mounted communicator. “Shaw to ops,” she calls, yet obtains no response.
“Ops crew, respond. Shaw here. Ops, please respond. Shaw to the Captain,” she keeps trying, to no avail.
“This is really bad. I need to get there. Or at least find a terminal,” she thinks aloud.
“Shaw to all crewmembers,” she asks in a last ditch effort to make contact.
To her complete surprise, a cacophony of female hysterical laughter and calls for mercy blasts from the communicator, startling her. “YAA-HAHAHA! HELP! YIIII-HII-HII-HIII! NO! PLEASE!”
“What the hell?” she asks in bewilderment.
“No! Please! Not there! NAAAA-HAA-HAA-HAAA! I can’t! I can’t handle it! STAAAAAP!”
“Who is this?” Jennifer asks, but her only reply is more laughter, more pleas for mercy, and more calls for help. “What’s going on?!”
A male voice known to her rises above the others. “Jennifer?!”
“Dr Wilkinson! What’s going on? Why are those women laughing?”
“Wilkinson to Shaw,” the man calls out, but that request does nothing because Jennifer’s communicator, left behind in the locker room, has been destroyed.
“Shaw to Wilkinson,” Jennifer tries, which successfully opens a private line with David, cutting out the background cacophony.
“Where have you been? Are you safe?” David asks.
“I was knocked out. I’m in... Section B, hallway 4. Do you know why ops isn’t answering?”
“Ops is gone. A lot of compartments ruptured. I don’t exactly know which ones, but many.”
“Shit. Where are you?”
“In my quarters. I’m stuck here. Hallway is flooded. Listen, you need to get to an escape pod as soon as possible! Most of the crew already left. Those who survived, anyway. And those who aren’t stuck. But whatever you do, stay away from Section D!”
“Section D? Why?” Jennifer asks, then widens her eyes with terrible understanding. “The science lab.”
“That’s right. The lab was breached and those plants got loose! As far as I know, they're still stuck in Section D, so just stay away from there.”
“Is that why those women were laughing?”
“Yes, that’s exactly why.”
“But why would they be laughing? What kind of plant does that? Are they hallucinating?”
“No, that’s not it. We didn’t realize it, but this plant is obviously related to the one from the jungle. And that plant doesn’t just wrap up people — it feeds on them, and... Well... The feeding process has been described as... Unbearably ticklish.”
Jennifer swallows dryly, a shiver running up her spine. She’s extremely ticklish and can’t stand being tickled. However, she decides to keep that info private, as she always does.
“Thanks for the warning. I won’t go anywhere near those things. Now... I need to get to a terminal. What about you? Are you in immediate danger? Are your quarters stable?”
“Well... I wasn’t going to say anything... But it is getting a little hard to breathe...” David admits.
“I’ll see what I can do about that when I find a terminal. Shaw out.”
As the connection is severed, Jennifer bolts down the creepy hallway, trying not to think about her colleagues’ hysterical laughter and cries for mercy, nor the terrible fact that their tickle torture is ongoing and will carry on for who knows how long.
The first terminal she finds is not operational, but the second one is. She logs in and brings up the habitat general status report.
“Holy shit,” she utters, horrified with the extensive damage.
The CO2 scrubbers servicing David’s section are down, but that’s not the worst of it. There’s critical damage across the whole station. If nothing is done about that, all remaining survivors will be crushed or drowned long before David’s oxygen runs out. To make matters worse, the only remaining escape pods are in Section D.
“Dammit. The escape pods aren’t an option, then. No way I’m risking getting caught and tickled. If I can’t get out, then I have to keep this place intact until help arrives. Let’s see what I can do about the damage,” Jennifer says to herself.
However, when she attempts to start making remote repairs, the interface refuses her commands, claiming that her access hasn’t been acknowledged by the ops crew.
“There’s no ops anymore, damn you! Gaaa!” she vents in frustration. “How am I supposed to... Oh. Wait,” she then utters, an idea crossing her mind. “The auxiliary control room! I can do it from there!”
A quick peek at the status report reveals that the auxiliary control room, located in Section C, is still intact and reachable. Jennifer takes off immediately, running barefoot towards her destination.
En route, she stumbles upon the body of a dead crewman, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The grim sight fills her with dread, a cold chill creeping up her spine. As her eyes run over his boots, she’s tempted to take them for herself. Yet, she decides against it, repelled by the thought of touching the cold, dead flesh, and aware that time is of the essence.
However, the communicator on his belt also catches her eye. Steeling herself, she yanks it free, as it will surely be useful.
As the door to Section C opens with a hiss, Jennifer freezes in terror. The flickering lights have revealed a lone ivy, slithering away from her. She takes one step back, tempted to retreat.
“There’s no other way,” she reminds herself.
After regaining her composure, she starts creeping along the dim hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Suddenly, a blood curdling scream of ticklish agony echoes from further ahead. “GAAAAA! GET AWAY FROM ME! Haaaa-Hahahahaha-HAAAA!”
Jennifer swallows dryly and forces herself to carry on, one step at a time. A bead of nervous sweat trickles down her forehead. Her heart races, pounding in her chest. Her nerves are stretched to the breaking point.
Not long after, one of the seed-like creatures emerges from an adjoining room, dragging itself forward like a sort of octopus. Jennifer quickly ducks into another room, barely daring to peek out. The creature slithers away from her, heading towards the distant laughter.
Jennifer forces herself to inch forward, her breath shallow, keeping a cautious distance from the alien monster. Each movement feels precarious, the terror of discovery gnawing at her with every step.
“BWAAAA-HAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAAA! GET AWAY! YAA-HAHAHAHAHA!” the captured woman cackles hysterically.
Jennifer shudders, unable to shake the horrifying image of herself trapped in that room, being mercilessly tickled by alien plants. How are they even tickling her? she wonders, then decides she'd rather not know.
When the creature is completely out of sight, Jennifer sneaks the rest of the way to her destination, daring to quicken her pace. Upon reaching the door, she curses under her breath when it fails to open. Glancing back with fear-filled eyes, she stands on her tiptoes, removes the panel above the door, and starts tampering with the circuits.
Balancing the need to be quiet with the urgency of her task is excruciating, but she manages to release the locking mechanism without causing any loud noises. She isn’t sure if these creatures are attracted to sound, but she can’t risk it. With a soft hiss, the doors lose their airtight seal, and Jennifer pushes them open just enough to slip inside.
She attempts to shut the doors, but the damage she caused to the mechanism prevents them from closing properly. With a silent resignation, she sits down in front of a terminal. Her eyes constantly dart to the doorway, terrified that one of the alien plants might wander inside at any moment.
Before beginning to carry out repairs, Jennifer scans the habitat for survivors, aiming to figure out exactly who’s still alive, their whereabouts, and their safety. As far as she can tell, there are only four survivors left, including herself.
Doctor Wilkinson is still in his quarters, trapped, yet relatively safe.
Phoebe King, the habitat's Safety Officer, is in Section D. She was captured close to the science lab, probably whilst trying to reach the escape pods.
Lastly, Logistics Officer Melissa Ward is trapped in Section C, not far from the auxiliary control room.
Using the security cameras, Jennifer checks on King and Ward, a decision that instantly fills her with regret as she witnesses the harrowing ordeal they’re enduring.
Phoebe King is a beautiful woman of East Asian descent. Her height is average and her build slim. Her jet-black hair is sleek and straight, cut into a sharp, professional bob that ends just above her shoulders, framing her face with precision. Her almond-shaped eyes are deep brown, her porcelain complexion is flawless, and her facial features are finely sculpted, with high cheekbones and a straight nose.
Phoebe always struck Jennifer as a corporate princess, a calculating corporate stooge whose recommendations consistently prioritize profit over safety — except when her little porcelain backside is at risk, of course. Even so, Jennifer can’t help but feel horrified about her present predicament.
Phoebe is laying sideways on the floor, tangled in a partial hogtie. She’s not naked, but the plants seem to be gradually stripping her.
While her left arm has been pulled behind her head, exposing that armpit, she’s managing to keep her right one pressed strongly against her chest. With her right hand, she’s holding on to the rim of her top, trying to keep it from being raised any higher.
Jennifer can’t help but to bring a hand to her own bare stomach, concerned about her upper body exposure.
There are three alien seeds surrounding Phoebe, their countless ivy securing her firmly. She has zero chance of breaking free without help. And little by little, she’s losing the battle to keep her clothing.
Several ivy end in strange flower-things from which a mess of thin, white, fuzzy tentacles wiggle incessantly. There are five or six of the flower-things all over Phoebe, their thin tentacles scraping against her bare skin.
Two of them are focusing on her exposed left armpit, a sight which sends a shiver up Jennifer’s spine because it looks absolutely maddening. She’s never actually been tickle tortured, yet she instinctively knows such a torment would drive her batshit insane.
“HAHAHA! GET OUTTA THEEERE! Hahahaha-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAAA! I can’t STAND it! HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAA! PLEEEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!” Phoebe cries out, writhing against the ivy. She’s struggling fiercely to lower her arm, but the plants won’t let her, and they won’t leave her underarm alone either.
On the lower half of her body, there’s another ticklish torment straining Phoebe’s sanity. Her pants and panties have been lowered down to her knees, exposing her thighs. She’s holding her legs together, clearly trying to protect her genitalia. Her boots are gone, as is her right sock.
Phoebe’s feet are size 8, well groomed and shapely. She’s smashing them together in an effort to retain her remaining sock, as well as grant her exposed right sole a measure of protection from the two flower-things trying to tickle it. She’s kicking her legs, trembling her feet and curling her toes, as the white tentacles chase her exposed right sole, pale and silky smooth, trying to tease it relentlessly.
“YAAAAAA-HAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEEEELP! PLEEE-HE-HE-HE-HEE!” she screams, trembling her whole body with a look of absolute ticklish desperation upon her brightly flustered, tearful face, stained with running makeup.
Jennifer turns off the video feed hastily, unable to bear it any longer. She still needs to check on Melissa Ward. Or does she? Melissa is so near, her cries of laughter are within hearing range. Deciding to be thorough, Jennifer forces herself to take a peek.
The live feed appears on screen, yet Melissa's location isn’t immediately apparent. It takes Jennifer a moment to notice a pair of large feet sticking out of a ventilation duct, their ankles tightly enveloped with ivy, their big toes laced together, their soles being tickled by four flower-things. It would seem that in her desperation, Melissa got inside a ventilation duct, which then became her prison.
Jennifer knows Melissa well, as they often spend time together. Not many women chose to work in a place like this, so they tend to gravitate towards each other. Jennifer and Melissa get along very well as their personalities are rather similar; laid back with a sprinkle of bad-girl attitude. The major difference is, while Jennifer is a computer geek, Melissa is essentially a fitness enthusiast with a keen sense of organization.
In terms of physical appearance, Melissa is a very attractive Caucasian woman in her mid twenties, taller than average, with a strong, athletic build. Her long hair, brown with golden highlights, is tied in a ponytail during work-hours, but allowed to flow freely the rest of the time. Her skin is fair and her eyes blue.
Even though only Melissa’s feet are visible, Jennifer recognizes her easily on account of the tattoos on her insteps. Melissa’s feet are quite large, requiring size 11 boots. Despite their generous proportions, their shape is feminine, their toes adorable, and their soles soft.
“No! Not there! YEEEAAAA-HAA-HAAA! Get off my feet! Hahahaha-HA-HAAA! HELP! Haaaa-Hahahahahaha!” Melissa laughs, losing her mind from the many white tentacles swirling and scraping against her ample soles.
Upon closer inspection, this might not be the only torment she’s being subjected to, as there are several ivy reaching inside the air duct.
“GET OFF ME! Yaaaa-HAAAA! Ha-Ha-Ha-HA-HAAA! Haaa-Hahahahaha!” she squeals, kicking her feet.
Jennifer turns off the video abruptly, having seen more than enough. Feeling even more nervous than before, she shoots one more glance at the door, then starts repairing the habitat.
Jennifer’s first priority is to stabilize the habitat’s pressure compensators. She can’t fix them completely, but her repairs are enough to buy a few hours. With that issue temporarily sorted out, she addresses the matter of David’s air quality.
Despite her best efforts, the CO2 scrubbers in his section refuse to respond, but she finds a way to pump fresh air to David from an adjoining section. She also finds out that the source of the flooding which trapped him isn’t actually located in his access corridor. Therefore, by sealing off the breached part of his section and activating an emergency pump, she manages to start draining the water.
“Shaw to Wilkinson,” Jennifer asks. “Good news. I’ve fixed your oxygen and started draining the water outside your quarters. You’ll be free in a few hours.”
“That’s great! Thank you so much!”
“Mm-hmm. I’m going to try clearing a path between you, me, Melissa, Phoebe, and a functional access port, so the rescue crew can save us all in one go.”
“Understood. Are we broadcasting a distress signal?”
This question brings Jennifer pause. “Stand by,” she asks, accessing the communications interface. “No, we’re not. I’ll take care of that right now. The escape pods should have started broadcasting an SOS automatically upon launch, so I didn’t consider that a priority. I’ll set up a broadcast to let the rescue team know where to d--”
Jennifer’s speech pauses mid-sentence as the color drains from her face. There are several ivy feeling their way into the room, likely drawn to the sound of her chatter with David.
“Jennifer?”
“The plant is here,” she whispers, her heart racing. Her first instinct is to look around for an escape route, but there isn’t one. Given the high-security status of this room, there isn’t even an air duct she can squeeze into.
Trying to organize her panicking thoughts, Jennifer accesses the computer terminal and activates Bellana, a digital assistant designed to provide a voice interface. This way, she can issue commands even under duress — if she can manage to stop laughing long enough, that is. She then remembers the trouble she had with the lack of an ops crew. To make sure Bellana will be able to carry out remote instructions, she hastily disables the network security system. A sloppy fix to be sure, but it’s all she has time for.
As the plant cautiously enters the room, Jennifer hugs the wall, desperate to delay the inevitable. Images of her cackling colleagues flash through her mind. She doesn’t even have the benefit of a complete outfit. All her most ticklish spots are already exposed.
“GAAA!” she screams, leaping to the side as a tendril lashes out with surprising speed. “No! I don’t want to be tickled! Get away from me!” she cries, her sense of reason overwhelmed by intense fear.
The plant crawls further into the room, heading straight for her. “No! Please! Not me! Not me!” she pleads, her back pressed against the wall.
As the plant advances, Jennifer decides to make a desperate run for it. Her chances of escape are slim, but she has nothing to lose. Without hesitation, she darts to the side, narrowly avoiding capture, and scrambles manically around the plant.
“YEEEEE!” she shrieks, raising her knee just in time to avoid a tendril that nearly catches her leg.
Losing her balance, she crashes through the doorway and lands hard on the hallway floor. Running on pure instinct and adrenaline, she scampers away as quickly as she can, crawling on all fours whilst trying to get up.
For a fleeting moment, she lets herself believe her daring escape was a success. However, this notion is shattered when a second plant emerges from another room, blocking her path.
“YIIIIIII!” Jennifer squeals, her eyes wide with terror as she tries to halt her frantic scramble.
Next thing she knows, a tendril wraps itself around her ankle, causing her to fall down once more.
“NO! NOOOO!” she screams hysterically, struggling maniacally to free her ankle.
The two plants converge on her and start tangling her, starting with her torso and tights, as those are the least mobile parts of her body.
“HEEEEEEEEEELP!” she screams, deranged by fear, and struggling like a maniac.
In under three minutes, Jennifer is bound in a sitting position. However, she’s crossing her arms tightly against her chest to protect her armpits, and keeping her knees bent in order to press her soles against the floor. She may have been captured, but she’ll keep her feet and armpits sheltered for as long as she can — hopefully until she can be rescued.
“Mrrrrg... Shaw to Bellana,” she mutters, trying to keep her ticklishness under control as the white tentacles brush and swirl against her sides and lower back, seeking sustenance.
“Hello, Jennifer Shaw. Please authenticate for remote access,” a robotic female voice surges from the borrowed communicator.
Jennifer utters her access credentials.
“Error. Network security system disabled. Recommended actio--”
Jennifer widens her eyes in horror. “LEAVE IT OFF! Bellana, don’t turn on the security system or I’ll be locked out! There has been an emergency and the entire ops crew is gone!”
“Gaa-Haaa!” she then gasps, shivering as one of the flower-things starts teasing her bellybutton. “Oh crap! That really tickles! It feels like-- Like eyeliner brushes with tiny pinching tips!” she exclaims, shocked with the intensity of the sensation.
“Bellana, scan the operations center and the-- The auxiliary control room for life signs! There’s no one there! This is a true emergency! The habitat is nearly empty! I need the security system off in order to have-- To have remote access and make repairs!”
“Verifying. Stand by,” the assistant asks.
With a groan, Jennifer twists and shakes her midriff, trying to obtain a measure of relief from the ticklish tingles. This endeavor fails entirely, resulting only in additional ivy coiling around her waist. She then gasps a few times while an unwilling smile takes over her lips.
“Exception accepted. User Jennifer Shaw logged in,” Bellana informs.
This message fills Jennifer with relief, a sensation which disrupts her self control. Smiling hugely, she can’t stop a bout of giggling from bursting forth. “Hehehehehe!”
She tries to suppress the laughter bubbling within her, yet finds it impossible for as long as those darned tentacles are teasing her button.
“Bellana! I-- Hehehehe! I need you to give me station status reports-- Hahahahaha! Every 15 minutes!”
“Acknowledged. Would you like to receive the first report now?”
“No! In 15 minutes! Yeeep! Hehehehehehe!” Jennifer squeaks, hating the maddening sensations tingling inside her bellybutton, as the tentacles munch away at the large amount of dead skin located within.
In search of a distraction, she remembers the matter of the distress signal.
“Bellana! Broadcast-- Hahahahaha! SOS! Tell them to use the access port-- Oh no, I can’t! Gaaa-Hahahahahahahaha! That’s really ticklish! Access port C2! I want-- I need to be-- Heee-hee-hee! Rescue me first!”
“Understood,” Bellana replies, setting up a rather unique call for help, including Jennifer’s ticklish laughter and babbling.
“Oh crap! Not my feet!” Jennifer cries out, twitching her feet as the flower-things start exploring her insteps. “Gaaa! That feels fuzzy! Teeheeheeheehee!” she laughs, squinting her toes harder when the thin white tentacles try to get between her toes.
Her ordeal only worsens as the flower-things teasing her back begin to show an interest in her underarms, tingling them from behind. All her worst spots are now under siege.
“MRRRRRRG!” Jennifer groans with her face squinted, only to burst out laughing as the maddening sensations carry on endlessly. “Staaaap! Staaaa-Hahahahahaha!”
Moment by moment, a whole minute passes by, at which point the tentacles increase their efforts to raise Jennifer’s arms.
“NO! Not there! Hahahahaha! I won’t let you get in there! Hehehehehe! I won’t! I won’t! No-Hohohohoho-Hooo!” she laughs, crossing her arms even harder.
However, as the plants’ pull increases steadily, Jennifer’s soles lift off from the floor.
“NO!” she shouts panickedly, hastily lowering her legs. Her feet return to the ground, but as a trade-off, her midriff becomes more exposed.
“Gaaaa! Hahahahaha! Please! It tickles! Yiii-Hii-Hii-Hii!” Jennifer begs uselessly, as more flowers-things descend upon her tummy, some of their white tentacles eagerly pinching the sensitive skin while others brush sideways against it.
Little by little, Jennifer leans back, allowing the plants better access to her tummy in order to keep her feet and armpits safe.
“Bwaaaaaa-Hahahahahahaha!” she wails tortured laughter, her back nearly resting on the floor. “Yeeee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Heeee!” she then squeals, her face twisted in ticklish agony as the darned tentacles have their way with her tummy.
Suddenly, Bellana’s voice crackles from the communicator. “Fifteen minutes have elapsed. Time for the status report you requested.”
“Help me! I’m going insane! Haaaa-Hahahahaha!” Jennifer utters in desperation.
“If you are having emotional troubles, you should see the company emotional counselor,” the assistant proposes uselessly.
“Shit it tickles so bad! Gaaa-Hahahaha! Bellana! Teeheehee! Lure these monsters away from me! Yeeeep! Hehehehehe! Make a lot of noise on the-- Teeheehee! On other side of this section!”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand your request.”
“Fuck! Gaaaaa!” Jennifer cries out in frustration.
“Would you like to hear the report?”
What Jennifer desperately wants is an end to the ticklish torment driving her nuts, but if she neglects her duty, she may very well die before being rescued. “Yes! Hehehe! Yes! Tell me! Teee-Hehehehehehehe!”
Bellana’s report doesn’t include any urgent issues, which is actually rather disappointing for Jennifer because she was secretly hoping for something to take her mind off the tickling. Alas, she won’t have the benefit of such a distraction.
As the ivy steadily increases their pull on Jennifer’s arms and ankles, she comes to the terrible realization that she has to choose between keeping her arms lowered or keeping her soles planted on the ground. If she doesn’t make a sacrifice, then both spots will be exposed.
“Mrrrrrrrrg!” she groans as though in pain, wracked by the agony of choice.
Both her feet and armpits are extremely sensitive. However, she feels that with all this running around barefoot, her feet might be slightly less ticklish today. Therefore, with great reluctance, and after taking a deep breath, she stops holding her knees so hard, allowing her legs to begin straightening out under the plant’s steady pull.
Gradually, Jennifer’s feet lift off the floor, hinging on their heels. Her soles are very pretty and feminine, despite being in need of a good scrub. They’re dusty from all the barefooting, with an elegantly shaped dark print highlighting every surface that made contact with the ground. The deep crinkles on her soles, caused by the tight curling of her toes, make them appear even more vulnerable.
“Oh no... Here we go...” she moans, bracing herself as several flower-things move towards her feet, curious about her soles.
The fuzzy white tentacles begin to scribble, mapping out their new feeding ground in a chaotic manner.
“Oh shit!” Jennifer gasps in shock, twitching and shaking her feet in a hopeless effort to cope with this new source of ticklish torment, added on top of the ongoing belly button tickling.
She starts by producing giggly groans. However, it doesn’t take long for her resistance to crumble, especially when the tentacles’ tips start eating her dead skin with their tiny pincers.
“GAAAA-HAA-HAAAA! It tickles! It tickles! Yeeee-HEE-HEE!” she bursts out cackling uncontrollably, struggling helplessly to get away. Unable to control herself, she tries to lower her soles back to the floor, but the plants won’t let her undo her decision.
“Get off my feeeeet! Yeeee-Hehehehehehe!” she laughs away, shaking her feet sideways. The plants won’t have any of that, though. The white tentacles which had been trying to slide between her toes wrap around her feet instead, steadying them for the others to feast on her soles.
“HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!” Jennifer cackles, her strength waning from the ticklish impulses racing across her nervous system. “NO!” she shouts, directing her remaining willpower to her arms, refusing to let them be raised. However, in doing so, she stops trying to keep her toes curled, a slip-up which she instantly regrets.
“YEEEEAAAAA-HAAA-HAAAAA!” she screams with laughter, her face a mask of ticklish shock as the fuzzy tentacles finally get between her toes. She curls them tightly, but it’s too late.
As the tentacles carry on tickling, their fuzzy fibers brushing, their tiny mouths pinching, Jennifer’s self-control only worsens. Soon, her toes are wrapped and pulled apart, exposing their insanely delicate webbings, and further immobilizing her soles against the ticklish feeding.
“BWAAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA! HEEEELP!” Jennifer howls, completely hysterical, desperate to get away from this maddening torture. “BELLANA! HAHAHAHA-HAAA! HELP ME! PLEEE-HEE-HEE-ASE! DO SOMETHING!”
“I’m happy to help with anything I can, but your request must be more specific,” the AI replies, rather predictably.
“I CAN’T-- I CAN’T THINK! YEEEE-HEEE-HEEE-HEEE! GET OFF MY TOES!” Jennifer cries out, overwhelmed by the ticklish agony.
About ten minutes later, Bellana delivers a new station report. This time there’s an issue which requires Jennifer's attention. However, she’s having trouble focusing on anything beyond keeping her arms down, as the tickling of her feet and tummy is already more than she can bear.
“Run a-- HAA-Hahahahahaha! D-D-DIAGNOSTIC on-- Nononono! GAAA-HAHAHAHA! HPR-3!” Jennifer manages to ask, despite the laughter pouring out of her.
“HPR-3 diagnostic complete. Error: Regulator unit unstable.”
“Give me a-- BWAAA-HAHAHAHA! Reroute option for-- YIIIII-HIII-HIIII! For HPR-3!”
“Auxiliary conduit A-17 would be an adequate--”
“Disconnect HPR-3 and-- Ah-Hahahahahahaha! And reroute HPR-3 functions through-- TEEH-HEE-HEEE! Through A-17! Gaaaaa! Get off my toes!” Jennifer cries out, going nuts from the white tentacles feeding on her delicate toe webbings.
“HPR-3 rerouted through A-17. Service restored. I don’t understand your last request. Please repeat.”
“NEVERMIND! Gaaaa-HAA-HAAA-HAAA! This is PURE TORTURE!”
“Would you like to file a complaint with human resources?”
Jennifer doesn’t bother answering. Instead, she focuses her willpower on trying to suffer through the hellish tickling.
A few minutes later, the plants’ relentless pulling and tickling finally raises Jennifer’s arms high enough to expose her shaved underarms.
“NO! PLEASE DON’T!” she cries out as one of the flower-things moves towards her partially open left armpit.
As the white tentacles make contact with her incredibly ticklish hollow, Jennifer shudders with shock on her face, then frowns tightly, shaking her head sideways.
“MRRRRRRRRRG!” she groans loudly, tugging her arms furiously. “No... No... No...” she utters in denial, only to produce a great howl of tortured laughter. Her cackles sound incredibly reluctant, as though forcefully extracted out of her throat with pliers. “Mwaaaa-Haaa-HAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAAA!”
Her other armpit then also comes under attack, doubling her agony. “YEEE-HEE-HEEE! NO! PLEASE DON’T!” she squeals, her face bearing a look of ticklish desperation.
Alas, the plants are as inclined to heed Jennifer’s pleas as they’re able to understand them. They simply carry on with their mindless feeding, scribbling and pinching their tentacles all over her feet and belly, and now under her arms as well.
“I CAN’T TAKE IT! YAAA-HAHAHAHA-HAAAA! HA-HA-HA-HAAA! TOO MUCH! TOO MUCH! NOO-HOHOHO-HOOO!” she cackles hysterically, as her arms are raised higher and higher at an excruciatingly slow pace.
“Jennifer Shaw,” Bellana greets. “Fifteen minutes have elapsed. Do you wish to hear an updated station report?”
Jennifer doesn’t answer straight away. Over the last quarter hour, she has been fully stretched out. Her armpits are now wide open, their silky hollows being tantalized by a quartet of flower-things. As the tentacles swirl and brush, their hairs working as sensory organs, Jennifer can’t stop laughing her head off. This torment is utterly maddening to her, as she imagined it would be when she saw Phoebe undergoing a similar ordeal.
And as if this isn’t torturous enough, her bellybutton is still being teased by one of the flowers, and her feet have six of the damned things working on them, greedily consuming every scrap of dead skin. Jennifer feels as though her feet are experiencing the most ticklish pedicure imaginable. She can’t even curl her toes, as those tentacles are firmly holding them spread out, determined to feast on the insanely ticklish skin between them.
With a titanic effort, Jennifer shuts her mouth, trying to reign in the powerful urge to laugh. “MRRRRRRRRG! MRRRRRRRRG! TELL ME!” she groans, as though in agonizing pain.
As Bellana delivers her report, Jennifer is glad to know there aren’t any issues requiring her immediate attention, because if there were, she wouldn’t be able to do anything about them.
“HAHAHAHA-HAAA! YEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEEE!” she cackles away, as the incredibly ticklish sensations race across her nervous system, driving her insane.
About an hour and a half later, the hungry plants have expunged all dead skin from Jennifer’s belly button, feet and armpits, leaving them utterly spotless and more sensitive than ever. Even the dirt has been removed from her feet, revealing her pristine, pale, silky soles in all their glory.
Under normal circumstances, Jennifer would be delighted to have her feet in such an immaculate state. Particularly while a male spa attendant worked on them, his strong hands soothing her nerves with a professional oily massage; his thoughtful attention and devotion making her feel like a queen being worshiped by a faithful, adoring servant.
However, the circumstances are far from normal. Rather than a powerful queen being adored, she feels like a ticklish plaything; a helpless, pathetic slave, cast down into the darkest, deepest dungeon, to be mercilessly tickle tortured, for no reason beyond senseless cruelty.
“BWAAAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAA! PLEASE STAAAAP! HAHAHAHA! HEEELP! I CAN’T STAND THIS SHIT! YIIII-HIIII-HIIII!” Jennifer squeals and shrieks, her sanity being pushed to the limit.
For the most part, the pinching sensations have been replaced by swirling and brushing motions, as the white tentacles attempt to locate additional nourishment. Rather than a reprieve, this evolution has synergized with her heightened post-exfoliation sensitivity to create the most hellishly ticklish sensations imaginable.
Every instant, Jennifer feels like her head is going to explode, her nervous system utterly overloaded, pushed far beyond its sensory tolerances. Her physical strength has been depleted, but once in a while, she goes through a surge of furious struggling, kicking her legs, tugging her arms, shaking her head, paddling her feet, curling her toes... She knows it’s a lost cause, but she can’t avoid it because the tickling is beyond maddening. She feels like her sanity is slipping between her fingers, being slowly burned away by the torturous sensations frying her nervous system.
“YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!” Jennifer shrieks sharply, briefly opening her tearful eyes like wells of doom, before shutting them once more.
Her arms start tugging and shaking, struggling beyond hope to alleviate the unbearably ticklish brushing and swirling being inflicted upon her armpits. On the opposite end of her body, her legs are kicking and her toes are twitching and trembling, revolting against the fuzzy tentacles mercilessly brushing between them, their every touch inflicting impossibly ticklish sensations to her toe stems and webbings.
Alas, her strength doesn’t last long. Soon, her arms stop moving, then her legs stop kicking, and finally her toes stop twitching. Yet again, she has no choice but to surrender to the merciless, brutal tickle torture.
Desperate for a distraction, Jennifer starts beating her head against the metal floor. However, the plants tie her forehead to her arms, denying her even that minor relief.
“I CAAAAN’T! HAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA!” she wails, sounding completely hopeless, defeated and miserable.
About 20 minutes later, David’s voice crackles through the communicator. “The water has drained enough for me to leave! How are you doing?”
Jennifer replies with hysterical, crazed laughter, as well as harrowing cries for help. “HEEEEELP! BWAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA! HELP MEEEE! PLEEE-HEHEHEHE-ASE! YIIIIIIII-HIIII-HIIII! DAVID! GAAAA-HAAA-AAAA-HAAA! I’LL DO-- YEEEEE-HEEEEE! I’LL DO ANYTHING!”
“Oh gosh. Hang in there! I’m on my way!” David replies, mustering his courage as he wallows through the partially drained hallway.
A little over 15 minutes later, the door to Section C opens with a hiss, revealing a hulking suit holding a futuristic jackhammer. The suit, sluggish and extremely bulky, designed to withstand extreme pressures, starts marching towards Jennifer.
“I’m here!” David announces, aiming the jackhammer at the nearest bulbous pod.
“HEEEEEELP! HAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAAA!” Jennifer cackles hysterically.
Several ivy launch themselves at David, wrapping themselves around his limbs. This makes it harder for him to move, but even so, he manages to align the jackhammer with his target. As he presses the trigger, the powerful tool crushes the seed in seconds.
All the ivy emerging from that particular seed starts flailing erratically, granting Jennifer a reprieve from the tickling and partially releasing her. “YES! HEHEHEHE! GET THE OTHER ONE! HAHAHAHA!”
“Already on it!”
The second seed is swiftly hammered, causing the remaining ivy to let go of Jennifer, who scrambles away immediately and hides behind David.
“This is working a lot better than I thought,” David confesses, sounding pleased with himself.
“Thank you... Teehehehehe... Thank you... Thank you... Hehehehe...” Jennifer utters, still giggly from the tickling, yet deeply thankful for the rescue.
“You’re welcome. I can still hear laughter, though.”
“It's Melissa. She’s not far.”
“I’ll save her too, then,” David says, emboldened by his successful rescue. “You should wait outside this sector while I save her.”
“No, I’ll stay with you,” she says. “We don’t have time to waste. Let’s rescue Melissa, then Phoebe, then use the escape pods before this place gets crushed.”
“Alright,” he agrees, starting his lumbering march towards the distant laughter.
“Shaw to Bellana,” Jennifer calls out. “How long until we suffer a complete structural collapse?”
“Hello, Jennifer Shaw. Estimated 22 minutes and six seconds until complete structural collapse.”
“TWENTY MINUTES?! THAT’S IT?!” David asks, shocked by this revelation.
“Yeah. I wasn’t able to do any repairs for a very long time. The tickling was way too intense. I could only laugh my head off while Bellana reported how everything was falling apart. Sometimes I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t even accept the report. Can’t you walk faster?”
“I’m doing the best I can...”
“Sorry. Sorry. I know you are. I’m just nervous. Really, really nervous. I don’t want to die down here.”
“We won’t. We’ll save the others, then get outta here, then live happily ever after.”
“Teehee! Happily ever after, huh?” she giggles, genuinely amused. “Like a princess and her knight in bulky armor?”
“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m nervous too,” David explains, sounding embarrassed. Behind him, Jennifer is smirking. “There she is! Wait here,” he says as they enter the room.
Melissa’s large feet are still sticking out of the vent, her ankles wrapped by multiple layers of ivy, and her big toes laced together. Since Jennifer last saw her friend’s feet through the camera, the flower-things have seized all of her remaining toes and pulled them back tightly, each digit spread apart to expose its nutritious recesses.
Being trapped inside the vent has apparently given Melissa’s upperbody a measure of protection. But as a result, her feet are being targeted disproportionately. There are a whopping eight flower-things feeding on her feet, their numerous tentacles enveloping her soles and toes in an utterly maddening whirlwind of tickles.
It's hard to get a clear view of her feet with so many wiggling tentacles in the way, but beneath that raging storm, her soles and toes have been exfoliated to a truly insane degree. They are beyond pristine; beyond immaculate; beyond exquisite. Naturally, such perfection translates into a massive sensitivity rise, far greater than what Jennifer experienced. Melissa can truly feel every fuzzy stroke with perfect accuracy, from the tentacles traveling between her twitching toes to those swirling against her heels. A relentless dance that is driving her completely insane.
“Haa-Haa-Haa-Haa-Haa-Haaaa! Hee-HEEE! Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee!” Melissa’s sobs of laughter echo from within the ventilation duct, sounding exhausted and broken.
“Help her!” Jennifer urges David, who fires the jackhammer at the nearest seed. Scores of ivy lash out against him, but fail to stop him from smashing the seeds.
As Melissa’s tickle torture finally comes to an end, she’s pulled out of the vent. Only then is it revealed that three flower-things had gotten under her shirt. Their tentacles failed to get under her arms, but managed to feed on her tummy and sides.
“It’s over... It’s over...” Jennifer tells her friend while they untangle her as quickly as possible.
“Thank you... Hehehehe... My gosh... That was hell... Hahahaha...” Melissa utters, still giggling.
“We only have a few minutes to reach the escape pods before this place collapses. I know you’re tired, but we have to get moving.”
“Let’s go... Let’s get outta here...” Melissa replies, getting up unsteadily.
As the three survivors approach Section D, they can hear Phoebe’s cries of laughter in the distance.
“She was captured at the very beginning,” Melissa says, her tone unsteady, “even earlier than I was.”
Jennifer shudders at the implications of that remark, meaning that Phoebe has been suffering extreme tickle torture for a little over 4 hours straight. Quite a bit longer than the 3 hours and 15 minutes Melissa took, and much longer than the 2 hours and 30 minutes she herself endured.
“Holy shit. I can’t even imagine... Let’s hurry up and free her,” Jennifer utters.
“I’m moving as fast as I can,” David assures, marching the bulky suit.
They run into a couple seeds on their way to Phoebe, but David gets rid of them easily.
“Why the hell didn’t the captain send a few miners in diving suits to clear out the lab in the first place?!” Melissa asks, impressed with the ease with which David is obliterating the seeds.
“That was Phoebe’s fault,” David answers. “She recommended against taking that risk.”
“Well, that’s rather ironic, isn’t it?” Jennifer remarks.
Before anyone can phrase a reply, they all gasp in shock as they finally come across Phoebe. She’s completely naked, suspended in an upside down Y position with her legs wide open.
“Hahahahaha! YAAAA-HAAA-HAAAA-HAAA!” the East Asian woman cackles and squeals, exhausted and broken by the multitude of flower-things tickling her entire body. Her face has become a mask of pure ticklish agony, with a huge forced grin on her lips, brightly flustered cheeks, and a mix of sweat, tears and make-up streaming across her forehead towards her black hair.
There are two flower-things teasing her knees, another two feeding on her armpits, one on her belly button, another on her genitals, one more on her butt, and six on her feet. She’s in such a sorry state, she doesn’t even notice when the rescuers approach.
While Jennifer and Melissa try to divert the plants’ attention away from David, he charges in and starts hammering the seeds to pieces. In under a minute, all the plants have been disabled, their ivy left twitching chaotically.
“Phoebe?” Melissa asks, waving a hand in front of her face. However, Phoebe won’t stop giggling like a loony. She was tickled out of her wits.
“We don’t have time for this! Let’s just carry her to the pods!” Jennifer urges.
“Wait, help me out of this suit first. It’s slowing me down too much,” David asks. Jennifer and Melissa begin freeing him from the suit immediately.
“Shaw to Bellana,” Jennifer calls out while they work. “How long do we have left?”
“Hello, Jennifer Shaw. Estimated eight minutes and 24 seconds until complete structural collapse.”
“Holy shit, this is gonna be close!” Melissa exclaims. Jennifer doesn’t reply, remaining focused on the task.
Five minutes later, Melissa and Jennifer arrive at a hallway lined with escape pods. David isn’t far behind, carrying Phoebe.
“There’s only three pods left!” Melissa cries out in horror.
“It’s fine! Two of us can squeeze inside one of these,” Jennifer assures her. “You and Phoebe take one pod each. I’ll share the last one with David.”
Melissa, too stressed out to give Jennifer’s words more than the briefest of thoughts, sits inside one of the pods and hits the launch button.
“Mmm... Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go with her?” David asks Jennifer whilst setting down Phoebe inside a pod.
“Absolutely not,” Jennifer replies resolutely whilst sitting down inside the egg-shaped pod, where she scoots herself snuggly against one of the sides.
“Okay...” David utters, hitting the launch button on the hallway wall.
“Structural integrity compromised! Clear secti-- BZZZZZ!” a male computer voice suddenly announces, only to be cut off by a malfunction.
“GET IN!” Jennifer urges.
David hops inside the pod and Jennifer hits the launch button, hugging David closely. In an instant, the pod seals itself and shoots towards the surface. Moments later, the two passengers are shaken by a shockwave, generated by the collapse of the habitat.
“We made it!” she exclaims happily.
“We sure did,” David replies, smiling hugely.
For a moment none of them says anything. They merely stare into each other’s eyes, hugging each other so close their noses are almost touching.
Jennifer breaks the silence. “I’d like to get to know you better after all this. Would you like that?”
David blushes. “I’d love to!”
Jennifer pecks him in the cheek. “I feel very grateful for your rescue, you know?”
David pauses to think. Before he can reply, Jennifer repeats, “Very grateful,” and pecks him again.
Taking the hint, David dares to kiss her soft lips. Jennifer returns the kiss with twice the affection. And thus, they spend the rest of their ascension making out with each other.
Following their rescue by a corporation vessel, all survivors are taken to a company run clinic, where they spend a week receiving medical care, psychiatric counseling, and being interviewed regarding the incident.
David, Jennifer and Melissa recover swiftly. Phoebe requires a little more care, but she too makes a full recovery. Like most survivors, Jennifer wisely decides to play along with the corporation’s desire for secrecy. Therefore, she agrees to keep a lid on everything that happened, asking only for her original contract to be fulfilled. In addition to the secrecy bonus, it also includes a disaster clause which entitles her to substantial compensation. David puts up a little bit of a fuss, but Jennifer convinces him to take the deal as well.
Two weeks after their rescue, Jennifer and David are enjoying a luxurious and sensual vacation in the capital city. Jennifer envisioned herself being pampered by a sexy man, but she never thought that man would turn out to be David — her knight in bulky armor, and as it turns out, a pretty darn good massage therapist.
Likewise, David is as surprised by this development as he is pleased with it. Jennifer is a remarkable woman, as brilliant as she is beautiful. And yet, she’s also sweet, humble, easy to get along with, and has an adorably snarky sense of humor. She’s passionate in bed, and thanks to the intense exfoliation the plants inflicted upon her feet, her soles and toes are insanely well suited for footsie play.
David never had a foot fetish before, but Jennifer awoke that fancy within him. Now, he can’t have enough of her silky smooth, outrageously sexy soles walking all over him, working his male member, or simply resting on his lap for kisses and rubs.
In the Plant's Embrace
In the Plant's Embrace 2: The Secret Raid
In the Plant's Embrace 3: Laughing Under Pressure
Enjoy! 🙂
Tentacles/FFF ● Extreme Tickling ● Feet & Upper Body
In the Plant's Embrace 3:
Laughing Under Pressure
Written by
FeatherHeart22
Commissioned for
Anonymous
In the Plant's Embrace 3:
Laughing Under Pressure
Written by
FeatherHeart22
Commissioned for
Anonymous
Synopsis:
At the bottom of an alien ocean, corporate greed and incompetence turn an underwater base into a disaster zone. Systems Engineer Jennifer Shaw is the only one who can keep what’s left of the base intact until a rescue team arrives.
However, even as the sea threatens to crush the damaged station, a swarm of alien plants is loose in the hallways, entangling and tickling everyone in their path, including Jennifer herself.
Can she carry out her duty despite the unbearable tickle torture? Or will she die Laughing Under Pressure?
Note from the Author:
In this story, I attempted to dive deeper — pun intended — into the sci-fi survival horror genre than I did in the two previous stories. I drew substantial inspiration from the movies Alien (1979), The Sphere (1998), and Underwater (2020), as well as the game Alien Isolation (2014). Enjoy the read!
Character Illustrations and Inspirations:
Jennifer Shaw
Melissa Ward
◄●►
The small shuttle descends deeper into the alien ocean, its bulkheads groaning under the mounting pressure. Inside, six passengers are strapped to their seats. They’re all wearing corporate jumpsuits with their names and roles embroidered on their chests.
A sudden, unsettling groan echoes through the cabin, prompting a startled query from one of the passengers. “Is that normal?”
An attractive young woman, reminiscent of Kristen Stewart, turns to address him. She has a slender build and an expressive face with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and piercing green eyes. Her shoulder-length brown hair is tied back in a small ponytail.
“Don’t worry,” she reassures him. “Submersible shuttles always moan and grumble, but the bulkheads are built to handle the pressure. Your first dive?”
“Yes,” the passenger replies, his voice revealing a mix of excitement and nervousness.
“Welcome aboard, then. I’m Jennifer Shaw, Systems Engineer.”
“David Wilkinson, Biologist.”
“We’re approaching DSH-5,” the pilot’s voice suddenly crackles through the speakers. Several screens across the passenger compartment light up, revealing a barely visible underwater complex, lit up by external lights. Its layout is somewhat similar to the shape of a snowflake.
“There it is,” Jennifer says, looking at one of the screens. “Deep Sea Habitat 5. Our home sweet home for the coming months.” Her brow furrows suddenly. “Hold on. Where’s the umbilical?”
“Umbilical?” David echoes, intrigued.
“These habitats always have a lifeline to the surface, connected to a floating vessel that provides power, water, air and communications,” Jennifer explains. “Without an umbilical, the habitat is running on its own resources.”
“Should we be worried?” David asks, sensing a hint of concern in Jennifer’s voice.
“I wouldn’t call it a problem, just... The internal utilities are only meant for emergencies.”
“Why is that?”
“The pressure down here wreaks havoc on our tech. The more we delegate to the surface, the better.”
“Maybe they’re still setting it up?” David suggests optimistically.
“It’s possible,” Jennifer concedes, though skepticism lingers in her tone. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
◄●►
Upon docking, the passengers join other key personnel for a briefing. They all gather in the habitat’s operations center, sitting on foldable chairs around a holographic map.
“Welcome to Deep Sea Habitat 5, everyone. My name is Sean Hopkins, captain of this station. On behalf of the PrimePath Mining Corporation, I apologize for all the secrecy regarding this assignment. You will all receive hefty bonuses for your discretion and inconvenience.”
“What are we doing here, boss?” someone asks.
“And why don’t we have an umbilical?” Jennifer adds pointedly.
“This isn’t your typical mining expedition,” the captain begins. “Remember that infamous plant found in the jungle? The one over which a huge area was marked off-limits?”
Recognition flashes across everyone’s faces.
“Rumors had it, that plant came from a crashed alien ship,” the captain continues. “You shouldn’t listen to rumors, but in this case, they’re mostly right. The plant did originally come from an alien vessel which crashed on this planet thousands of years ago. Except this vessel wasn’t really a ship. It was something much smaller, like an escape pod.
“A month ago, a PrimePath drone detected a large underwater deposit of a strange alloy; an alloy matching the composition of the jungle vessel. Our working theory is that this deposit is the mothership from which the jungle vessel was launched, but we won’t know for sure until we reach it. Which brings me to our mission — to dig a one kilometer shaft, allowing us access to the alloy deposit.”
No one says anything for a moment, as they process these incredible revelations. “What will we be digging though, exactly?” someone finally asks.
“Coral. Well, something very similar. The ocean floor in this sector is covered by some sort of alien honeycomb, which looks a lot like Earth coral. The habitat was set down on top of it.”
“Erm... Is that safe?” another voice asks, their concern evident.
“The coral — or whatever it is — appears to be stable,” the captain assures them, before a sudden tremor interrupts his reassurances.
“Was that an earthquake?!” Doctor Wilkinson asks, visibly worried.
“Yes. There are thermal vents in this sector, and once in a while, tremors. They’re pretty small, though. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Speaking of which,” Jennifer breaks in, “why don’t we have an umbilical? Especially with the habitat standing on a seismically active mountain of alien... Not-coral?”
“Corporate discretion,” the captain replies cryptically. “We need to keep a low profile, and having a ship floating above gives away our position.”
“Why does that matter? Why the secrecy?” Jennifer presses.
“That’s above your paygrade, Shaw,” the captain replies firmly. “I know it sucks, but your discretion will be well compensated. Please focus on keeping this habitat in one piece. Alright?”
Jenniffer shrugs. “Fine. As long as I get that big, fat bonus, I don’t really care.”
A crewman working at a computer console stands up. “Captain, that last tremor caused a fault in the hydrostatic pressure regulators. I could use another pair of hands to sort this out. May I borrow Miss Shaw?”
“Shaw, get to work,” the captain orders.
“Yes, Captain,” Jennifer replies, rising to join the crewman. Under her breath, she mutters, “And so it begins... I’ve literally just arrived, and things are already breaking down. This is going to be the longest mission ever.”
◄●►
Two weeks later.
Despite the extreme depth, this patch of ocean floor holds a thriving ecosystem sustained by volcanic fumaroles, constantly spewing hot water, gasses and minerals. As the shaft takes shape — slowly, because blasting would be ill advised — the miners occasionally bring back samples of coral, flora and fauna. All of it is brought to a small team of scientists whose primary duty is to catalog any findings and prepare them for shipping to the surface.
Among the miner’s findings is a sort of bulbous pod, about the size of a fist, with an opening from which tentacles emerge. A dozen instances of this creature are now swimming and crawling inside a pressurized canister.
“It’s not an animal,” Dr Wilkinson says, looking over the scan results on a computer screen. “It may look like an octopus inside a seashell, but according to these readings, it’s actually a plant. It’s basically a large seed, with roots sticking out.”
“It must draw nutrition from the fumaroles,” a colleague remarks. “I can’t see any other way this thing could survive down here, in complete darkness.”
“And then there’s the matter of pressure tolerance. This is truly fascinating. Look at this scan. There’s at least 30 meters of roots, or seaweed, or whatever they are, wrapped up tightly inside the pod. That must be how it counters the pressure, preventing itself from getting crushed.”
“Fascinating. And look at those readings. These things may be able to adjust to the surface pressure.”
“Yes, I agree. Perhaps we should try to normalize their pressure. It would make them easier to study,” Dr Wilkinson proposes.
“Sounds good. And if they don’t survive, we can always get more. From what the miners reported, these things are relatively common.”
And so, the scientists set the canister to slowly decrease pressure and leave it alone overnight.
◄●►
The next morning, Wilkinson and his colleague are shocked to find the canister stuffed to the brim. A quick scan reveals that without the crushing pressure, the plant's tightly coiled appendages have come out of the pod and expanded by 200%.
While they debate their next course of action, the canister’s lid bursts open and a rush of ivy comes pouring out, like a dark-green geyser.
“GET OUT!” Dr Wilkinson shouts, he himself rushing towards the door.
The researchers successfully escape from the lab and seal it, narrowly avoiding getting tangled as the door slams shut.
◄●►
Later that day, Jennifer enters the ladies shower room, exhausted from an extra long work shift, due to a malfunction which absolutely had to be fixed before it started affecting other systems.
She sits on a bench, takes off her work boots, her socks, and simply sits for a moment, feeling the tiled floor beneath her bare feet. With her eyes closed, she imagines the vacation she’ll spend her bonus on. Two weeks in the capital city, being pampered in a hotel spa, preferably by muscled, sexy guys. Extra points if they’re not wearing anything above the waist.
Jennifer absolutely adores massages, especially on her very pretty, size 6.5 (US) feet.
“Mmmm...” she moans, imagining her slender, sensitive feet being squished like dough by a man’s large, strong hands. After being expertly pedicured, of course, because even though she grooms her own feet regularly, they’re overdue for a proper scrub.
Suddenly, the captain’s voice cracks through the loudspeakers. “This is the captain. I’ve discussed the science lab incident with the higher-ups. They’ll dispatch a cleanup crew, equipped to handle the infestation.”
During this announcement, Jennifer frees her hair from the tight ponytail, allowing it to fall freely in a very sensual messy bob.
“Until further notice, the science lab must remain sealed. I cannot emphasize this enough; under no circumstances is anyone allowed to enter the science lab. That will be all. Keep up the good work.”
She grunts in acknowledgement, then starts undressing to take a shower.
◄●►
After showering, Jennifer changes into loungewear. From her locker, she grabs fresh panties, a pair of gray sweatpants, and a matching sports bra, slipping them on. Before she can complete the outfit with a t-shirt and flip-flops, the habitat is shaken by a powerful tremor — the most violent one so far.
“That’s a big one!” Jennifer shouts, dropping to the floor and rolling under a bench.
She screams as the entire room suddenly drops by about a meter and tilts at a precarious angle. Panels tear away from the bulkheads, showering the room with electrical sparks.
“Structural integrity compromised! Clear section immediately!” a male computer voice blares through the speakers.
Still trembling, Jennifer scrambles from under the bench and bolts out of the room. She halts momentarily, disoriented and unsure which way leads to safety. A loud metallic groan from the hallway to her left provides an instant answer.
Jennifer darts in the opposite direction, adrenaline fueling her frantic flight. She reaches the next compartment just as the far end of the hallway begins to succumb to the pressure.
“FUCK!” she screams, terror gripping her as she repeatedly punches the button to close the door.
The heavy door slams shut just as a wall of water crashes against it, the impact sending Jennifer hurtling into a bulkhead and knocking her unconscious.
◄●►
Jennifer wakes up on the cold metal floor, the acrid smell of burnt circuits filling her nostrils. Miraculously, she survived the shockwave with only minor cuts and bruises.
“I need to... I need to...” she mutters, her voice trembling as she tries to organize her racing thoughts. “I need to reach ops. Find out what’s happening.”
The dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows along the corridor, making the twisted metal and dangling wires look like grasping hands. With a clear goal in mind, she starts limping along the damaged hallway. Each step sends a jolt of pain through her body, but it slowly subsides.
It doesn’t take her long to find a wall-mounted communicator. “Shaw to ops,” she calls, yet obtains no response.
“Ops crew, respond. Shaw here. Ops, please respond. Shaw to the Captain,” she keeps trying, to no avail.
“This is really bad. I need to get there. Or at least find a terminal,” she thinks aloud.
“Shaw to all crewmembers,” she asks in a last ditch effort to make contact.
To her complete surprise, a cacophony of female hysterical laughter and calls for mercy blasts from the communicator, startling her. “YAA-HAHAHA! HELP! YIIII-HII-HII-HIII! NO! PLEASE!”
“What the hell?” she asks in bewilderment.
“No! Please! Not there! NAAAA-HAA-HAA-HAAA! I can’t! I can’t handle it! STAAAAAP!”
“Who is this?” Jennifer asks, but her only reply is more laughter, more pleas for mercy, and more calls for help. “What’s going on?!”
A male voice known to her rises above the others. “Jennifer?!”
“Dr Wilkinson! What’s going on? Why are those women laughing?”
“Wilkinson to Shaw,” the man calls out, but that request does nothing because Jennifer’s communicator, left behind in the locker room, has been destroyed.
“Shaw to Wilkinson,” Jennifer tries, which successfully opens a private line with David, cutting out the background cacophony.
“Where have you been? Are you safe?” David asks.
“I was knocked out. I’m in... Section B, hallway 4. Do you know why ops isn’t answering?”
“Ops is gone. A lot of compartments ruptured. I don’t exactly know which ones, but many.”
“Shit. Where are you?”
“In my quarters. I’m stuck here. Hallway is flooded. Listen, you need to get to an escape pod as soon as possible! Most of the crew already left. Those who survived, anyway. And those who aren’t stuck. But whatever you do, stay away from Section D!”
“Section D? Why?” Jennifer asks, then widens her eyes with terrible understanding. “The science lab.”
“That’s right. The lab was breached and those plants got loose! As far as I know, they're still stuck in Section D, so just stay away from there.”
“Is that why those women were laughing?”
“Yes, that’s exactly why.”
“But why would they be laughing? What kind of plant does that? Are they hallucinating?”
“No, that’s not it. We didn’t realize it, but this plant is obviously related to the one from the jungle. And that plant doesn’t just wrap up people — it feeds on them, and... Well... The feeding process has been described as... Unbearably ticklish.”
Jennifer swallows dryly, a shiver running up her spine. She’s extremely ticklish and can’t stand being tickled. However, she decides to keep that info private, as she always does.
“Thanks for the warning. I won’t go anywhere near those things. Now... I need to get to a terminal. What about you? Are you in immediate danger? Are your quarters stable?”
“Well... I wasn’t going to say anything... But it is getting a little hard to breathe...” David admits.
“I’ll see what I can do about that when I find a terminal. Shaw out.”
As the connection is severed, Jennifer bolts down the creepy hallway, trying not to think about her colleagues’ hysterical laughter and cries for mercy, nor the terrible fact that their tickle torture is ongoing and will carry on for who knows how long.
The first terminal she finds is not operational, but the second one is. She logs in and brings up the habitat general status report.
“Holy shit,” she utters, horrified with the extensive damage.
The CO2 scrubbers servicing David’s section are down, but that’s not the worst of it. There’s critical damage across the whole station. If nothing is done about that, all remaining survivors will be crushed or drowned long before David’s oxygen runs out. To make matters worse, the only remaining escape pods are in Section D.
“Dammit. The escape pods aren’t an option, then. No way I’m risking getting caught and tickled. If I can’t get out, then I have to keep this place intact until help arrives. Let’s see what I can do about the damage,” Jennifer says to herself.
However, when she attempts to start making remote repairs, the interface refuses her commands, claiming that her access hasn’t been acknowledged by the ops crew.
“There’s no ops anymore, damn you! Gaaa!” she vents in frustration. “How am I supposed to... Oh. Wait,” she then utters, an idea crossing her mind. “The auxiliary control room! I can do it from there!”
A quick peek at the status report reveals that the auxiliary control room, located in Section C, is still intact and reachable. Jennifer takes off immediately, running barefoot towards her destination.
En route, she stumbles upon the body of a dead crewman, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The grim sight fills her with dread, a cold chill creeping up her spine. As her eyes run over his boots, she’s tempted to take them for herself. Yet, she decides against it, repelled by the thought of touching the cold, dead flesh, and aware that time is of the essence.
However, the communicator on his belt also catches her eye. Steeling herself, she yanks it free, as it will surely be useful.
◄●►
As the door to Section C opens with a hiss, Jennifer freezes in terror. The flickering lights have revealed a lone ivy, slithering away from her. She takes one step back, tempted to retreat.
“There’s no other way,” she reminds herself.
After regaining her composure, she starts creeping along the dim hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Suddenly, a blood curdling scream of ticklish agony echoes from further ahead. “GAAAAA! GET AWAY FROM ME! Haaaa-Hahahahaha-HAAAA!”
Jennifer swallows dryly and forces herself to carry on, one step at a time. A bead of nervous sweat trickles down her forehead. Her heart races, pounding in her chest. Her nerves are stretched to the breaking point.
Not long after, one of the seed-like creatures emerges from an adjoining room, dragging itself forward like a sort of octopus. Jennifer quickly ducks into another room, barely daring to peek out. The creature slithers away from her, heading towards the distant laughter.
Jennifer forces herself to inch forward, her breath shallow, keeping a cautious distance from the alien monster. Each movement feels precarious, the terror of discovery gnawing at her with every step.
“BWAAAA-HAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAAA! GET AWAY! YAA-HAHAHAHAHA!” the captured woman cackles hysterically.
Jennifer shudders, unable to shake the horrifying image of herself trapped in that room, being mercilessly tickled by alien plants. How are they even tickling her? she wonders, then decides she'd rather not know.
When the creature is completely out of sight, Jennifer sneaks the rest of the way to her destination, daring to quicken her pace. Upon reaching the door, she curses under her breath when it fails to open. Glancing back with fear-filled eyes, she stands on her tiptoes, removes the panel above the door, and starts tampering with the circuits.
Balancing the need to be quiet with the urgency of her task is excruciating, but she manages to release the locking mechanism without causing any loud noises. She isn’t sure if these creatures are attracted to sound, but she can’t risk it. With a soft hiss, the doors lose their airtight seal, and Jennifer pushes them open just enough to slip inside.
She attempts to shut the doors, but the damage she caused to the mechanism prevents them from closing properly. With a silent resignation, she sits down in front of a terminal. Her eyes constantly dart to the doorway, terrified that one of the alien plants might wander inside at any moment.
◄●►
Before beginning to carry out repairs, Jennifer scans the habitat for survivors, aiming to figure out exactly who’s still alive, their whereabouts, and their safety. As far as she can tell, there are only four survivors left, including herself.
Doctor Wilkinson is still in his quarters, trapped, yet relatively safe.
Phoebe King, the habitat's Safety Officer, is in Section D. She was captured close to the science lab, probably whilst trying to reach the escape pods.
Lastly, Logistics Officer Melissa Ward is trapped in Section C, not far from the auxiliary control room.
Using the security cameras, Jennifer checks on King and Ward, a decision that instantly fills her with regret as she witnesses the harrowing ordeal they’re enduring.
◄●►
Phoebe King is a beautiful woman of East Asian descent. Her height is average and her build slim. Her jet-black hair is sleek and straight, cut into a sharp, professional bob that ends just above her shoulders, framing her face with precision. Her almond-shaped eyes are deep brown, her porcelain complexion is flawless, and her facial features are finely sculpted, with high cheekbones and a straight nose.
Phoebe always struck Jennifer as a corporate princess, a calculating corporate stooge whose recommendations consistently prioritize profit over safety — except when her little porcelain backside is at risk, of course. Even so, Jennifer can’t help but feel horrified about her present predicament.
Phoebe is laying sideways on the floor, tangled in a partial hogtie. She’s not naked, but the plants seem to be gradually stripping her.
While her left arm has been pulled behind her head, exposing that armpit, she’s managing to keep her right one pressed strongly against her chest. With her right hand, she’s holding on to the rim of her top, trying to keep it from being raised any higher.
Jennifer can’t help but to bring a hand to her own bare stomach, concerned about her upper body exposure.
There are three alien seeds surrounding Phoebe, their countless ivy securing her firmly. She has zero chance of breaking free without help. And little by little, she’s losing the battle to keep her clothing.
Several ivy end in strange flower-things from which a mess of thin, white, fuzzy tentacles wiggle incessantly. There are five or six of the flower-things all over Phoebe, their thin tentacles scraping against her bare skin.
Two of them are focusing on her exposed left armpit, a sight which sends a shiver up Jennifer’s spine because it looks absolutely maddening. She’s never actually been tickle tortured, yet she instinctively knows such a torment would drive her batshit insane.
“HAHAHA! GET OUTTA THEEERE! Hahahaha-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAAA! I can’t STAND it! HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAA! PLEEEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!” Phoebe cries out, writhing against the ivy. She’s struggling fiercely to lower her arm, but the plants won’t let her, and they won’t leave her underarm alone either.
On the lower half of her body, there’s another ticklish torment straining Phoebe’s sanity. Her pants and panties have been lowered down to her knees, exposing her thighs. She’s holding her legs together, clearly trying to protect her genitalia. Her boots are gone, as is her right sock.
Phoebe’s feet are size 8, well groomed and shapely. She’s smashing them together in an effort to retain her remaining sock, as well as grant her exposed right sole a measure of protection from the two flower-things trying to tickle it. She’s kicking her legs, trembling her feet and curling her toes, as the white tentacles chase her exposed right sole, pale and silky smooth, trying to tease it relentlessly.
“YAAAAAA-HAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEEEELP! PLEEE-HE-HE-HE-HEE!” she screams, trembling her whole body with a look of absolute ticklish desperation upon her brightly flustered, tearful face, stained with running makeup.
◄●►
Jennifer turns off the video feed hastily, unable to bear it any longer. She still needs to check on Melissa Ward. Or does she? Melissa is so near, her cries of laughter are within hearing range. Deciding to be thorough, Jennifer forces herself to take a peek.
The live feed appears on screen, yet Melissa's location isn’t immediately apparent. It takes Jennifer a moment to notice a pair of large feet sticking out of a ventilation duct, their ankles tightly enveloped with ivy, their big toes laced together, their soles being tickled by four flower-things. It would seem that in her desperation, Melissa got inside a ventilation duct, which then became her prison.
Jennifer knows Melissa well, as they often spend time together. Not many women chose to work in a place like this, so they tend to gravitate towards each other. Jennifer and Melissa get along very well as their personalities are rather similar; laid back with a sprinkle of bad-girl attitude. The major difference is, while Jennifer is a computer geek, Melissa is essentially a fitness enthusiast with a keen sense of organization.
In terms of physical appearance, Melissa is a very attractive Caucasian woman in her mid twenties, taller than average, with a strong, athletic build. Her long hair, brown with golden highlights, is tied in a ponytail during work-hours, but allowed to flow freely the rest of the time. Her skin is fair and her eyes blue.
Even though only Melissa’s feet are visible, Jennifer recognizes her easily on account of the tattoos on her insteps. Melissa’s feet are quite large, requiring size 11 boots. Despite their generous proportions, their shape is feminine, their toes adorable, and their soles soft.
“No! Not there! YEEEAAAA-HAA-HAAA! Get off my feet! Hahahaha-HA-HAAA! HELP! Haaaa-Hahahahahaha!” Melissa laughs, losing her mind from the many white tentacles swirling and scraping against her ample soles.
Upon closer inspection, this might not be the only torment she’s being subjected to, as there are several ivy reaching inside the air duct.
“GET OFF ME! Yaaaa-HAAAA! Ha-Ha-Ha-HA-HAAA! Haaa-Hahahahaha!” she squeals, kicking her feet.
Jennifer turns off the video abruptly, having seen more than enough. Feeling even more nervous than before, she shoots one more glance at the door, then starts repairing the habitat.
◄●►
Jennifer’s first priority is to stabilize the habitat’s pressure compensators. She can’t fix them completely, but her repairs are enough to buy a few hours. With that issue temporarily sorted out, she addresses the matter of David’s air quality.
Despite her best efforts, the CO2 scrubbers in his section refuse to respond, but she finds a way to pump fresh air to David from an adjoining section. She also finds out that the source of the flooding which trapped him isn’t actually located in his access corridor. Therefore, by sealing off the breached part of his section and activating an emergency pump, she manages to start draining the water.
“Shaw to Wilkinson,” Jennifer asks. “Good news. I’ve fixed your oxygen and started draining the water outside your quarters. You’ll be free in a few hours.”
“That’s great! Thank you so much!”
“Mm-hmm. I’m going to try clearing a path between you, me, Melissa, Phoebe, and a functional access port, so the rescue crew can save us all in one go.”
“Understood. Are we broadcasting a distress signal?”
This question brings Jennifer pause. “Stand by,” she asks, accessing the communications interface. “No, we’re not. I’ll take care of that right now. The escape pods should have started broadcasting an SOS automatically upon launch, so I didn’t consider that a priority. I’ll set up a broadcast to let the rescue team know where to d--”
Jennifer’s speech pauses mid-sentence as the color drains from her face. There are several ivy feeling their way into the room, likely drawn to the sound of her chatter with David.
“Jennifer?”
“The plant is here,” she whispers, her heart racing. Her first instinct is to look around for an escape route, but there isn’t one. Given the high-security status of this room, there isn’t even an air duct she can squeeze into.
Trying to organize her panicking thoughts, Jennifer accesses the computer terminal and activates Bellana, a digital assistant designed to provide a voice interface. This way, she can issue commands even under duress — if she can manage to stop laughing long enough, that is. She then remembers the trouble she had with the lack of an ops crew. To make sure Bellana will be able to carry out remote instructions, she hastily disables the network security system. A sloppy fix to be sure, but it’s all she has time for.
As the plant cautiously enters the room, Jennifer hugs the wall, desperate to delay the inevitable. Images of her cackling colleagues flash through her mind. She doesn’t even have the benefit of a complete outfit. All her most ticklish spots are already exposed.
“GAAA!” she screams, leaping to the side as a tendril lashes out with surprising speed. “No! I don’t want to be tickled! Get away from me!” she cries, her sense of reason overwhelmed by intense fear.
The plant crawls further into the room, heading straight for her. “No! Please! Not me! Not me!” she pleads, her back pressed against the wall.
As the plant advances, Jennifer decides to make a desperate run for it. Her chances of escape are slim, but she has nothing to lose. Without hesitation, she darts to the side, narrowly avoiding capture, and scrambles manically around the plant.
“YEEEEE!” she shrieks, raising her knee just in time to avoid a tendril that nearly catches her leg.
Losing her balance, she crashes through the doorway and lands hard on the hallway floor. Running on pure instinct and adrenaline, she scampers away as quickly as she can, crawling on all fours whilst trying to get up.
For a fleeting moment, she lets herself believe her daring escape was a success. However, this notion is shattered when a second plant emerges from another room, blocking her path.
“YIIIIIII!” Jennifer squeals, her eyes wide with terror as she tries to halt her frantic scramble.
Next thing she knows, a tendril wraps itself around her ankle, causing her to fall down once more.
“NO! NOOOO!” she screams hysterically, struggling maniacally to free her ankle.
The two plants converge on her and start tangling her, starting with her torso and tights, as those are the least mobile parts of her body.
“HEEEEEEEEEELP!” she screams, deranged by fear, and struggling like a maniac.
◄●►
In under three minutes, Jennifer is bound in a sitting position. However, she’s crossing her arms tightly against her chest to protect her armpits, and keeping her knees bent in order to press her soles against the floor. She may have been captured, but she’ll keep her feet and armpits sheltered for as long as she can — hopefully until she can be rescued.
“Mrrrrg... Shaw to Bellana,” she mutters, trying to keep her ticklishness under control as the white tentacles brush and swirl against her sides and lower back, seeking sustenance.
“Hello, Jennifer Shaw. Please authenticate for remote access,” a robotic female voice surges from the borrowed communicator.
Jennifer utters her access credentials.
“Error. Network security system disabled. Recommended actio--”
Jennifer widens her eyes in horror. “LEAVE IT OFF! Bellana, don’t turn on the security system or I’ll be locked out! There has been an emergency and the entire ops crew is gone!”
“Gaa-Haaa!” she then gasps, shivering as one of the flower-things starts teasing her bellybutton. “Oh crap! That really tickles! It feels like-- Like eyeliner brushes with tiny pinching tips!” she exclaims, shocked with the intensity of the sensation.
“Bellana, scan the operations center and the-- The auxiliary control room for life signs! There’s no one there! This is a true emergency! The habitat is nearly empty! I need the security system off in order to have-- To have remote access and make repairs!”
“Verifying. Stand by,” the assistant asks.
With a groan, Jennifer twists and shakes her midriff, trying to obtain a measure of relief from the ticklish tingles. This endeavor fails entirely, resulting only in additional ivy coiling around her waist. She then gasps a few times while an unwilling smile takes over her lips.
“Exception accepted. User Jennifer Shaw logged in,” Bellana informs.
This message fills Jennifer with relief, a sensation which disrupts her self control. Smiling hugely, she can’t stop a bout of giggling from bursting forth. “Hehehehehe!”
She tries to suppress the laughter bubbling within her, yet finds it impossible for as long as those darned tentacles are teasing her button.
“Bellana! I-- Hehehehe! I need you to give me station status reports-- Hahahahaha! Every 15 minutes!”
“Acknowledged. Would you like to receive the first report now?”
“No! In 15 minutes! Yeeep! Hehehehehehe!” Jennifer squeaks, hating the maddening sensations tingling inside her bellybutton, as the tentacles munch away at the large amount of dead skin located within.
In search of a distraction, she remembers the matter of the distress signal.
“Bellana! Broadcast-- Hahahahaha! SOS! Tell them to use the access port-- Oh no, I can’t! Gaaa-Hahahahahahahaha! That’s really ticklish! Access port C2! I want-- I need to be-- Heee-hee-hee! Rescue me first!”
“Understood,” Bellana replies, setting up a rather unique call for help, including Jennifer’s ticklish laughter and babbling.
“Oh crap! Not my feet!” Jennifer cries out, twitching her feet as the flower-things start exploring her insteps. “Gaaa! That feels fuzzy! Teeheeheeheehee!” she laughs, squinting her toes harder when the thin white tentacles try to get between her toes.
Her ordeal only worsens as the flower-things teasing her back begin to show an interest in her underarms, tingling them from behind. All her worst spots are now under siege.
“MRRRRRRG!” Jennifer groans with her face squinted, only to burst out laughing as the maddening sensations carry on endlessly. “Staaaap! Staaaa-Hahahahahaha!”
Moment by moment, a whole minute passes by, at which point the tentacles increase their efforts to raise Jennifer’s arms.
“NO! Not there! Hahahahaha! I won’t let you get in there! Hehehehehe! I won’t! I won’t! No-Hohohohoho-Hooo!” she laughs, crossing her arms even harder.
However, as the plants’ pull increases steadily, Jennifer’s soles lift off from the floor.
“NO!” she shouts panickedly, hastily lowering her legs. Her feet return to the ground, but as a trade-off, her midriff becomes more exposed.
“Gaaaa! Hahahahaha! Please! It tickles! Yiii-Hii-Hii-Hii!” Jennifer begs uselessly, as more flowers-things descend upon her tummy, some of their white tentacles eagerly pinching the sensitive skin while others brush sideways against it.
◄●►
Little by little, Jennifer leans back, allowing the plants better access to her tummy in order to keep her feet and armpits safe.
“Bwaaaaaa-Hahahahahahaha!” she wails tortured laughter, her back nearly resting on the floor. “Yeeee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Heeee!” she then squeals, her face twisted in ticklish agony as the darned tentacles have their way with her tummy.
Suddenly, Bellana’s voice crackles from the communicator. “Fifteen minutes have elapsed. Time for the status report you requested.”
“Help me! I’m going insane! Haaaa-Hahahahaha!” Jennifer utters in desperation.
“If you are having emotional troubles, you should see the company emotional counselor,” the assistant proposes uselessly.
“Shit it tickles so bad! Gaaa-Hahahaha! Bellana! Teeheehee! Lure these monsters away from me! Yeeeep! Hehehehehe! Make a lot of noise on the-- Teeheehee! On other side of this section!”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand your request.”
“Fuck! Gaaaaa!” Jennifer cries out in frustration.
“Would you like to hear the report?”
What Jennifer desperately wants is an end to the ticklish torment driving her nuts, but if she neglects her duty, she may very well die before being rescued. “Yes! Hehehe! Yes! Tell me! Teee-Hehehehehehehe!”
◄●►
Bellana’s report doesn’t include any urgent issues, which is actually rather disappointing for Jennifer because she was secretly hoping for something to take her mind off the tickling. Alas, she won’t have the benefit of such a distraction.
As the ivy steadily increases their pull on Jennifer’s arms and ankles, she comes to the terrible realization that she has to choose between keeping her arms lowered or keeping her soles planted on the ground. If she doesn’t make a sacrifice, then both spots will be exposed.
“Mrrrrrrrrg!” she groans as though in pain, wracked by the agony of choice.
Both her feet and armpits are extremely sensitive. However, she feels that with all this running around barefoot, her feet might be slightly less ticklish today. Therefore, with great reluctance, and after taking a deep breath, she stops holding her knees so hard, allowing her legs to begin straightening out under the plant’s steady pull.
Gradually, Jennifer’s feet lift off the floor, hinging on their heels. Her soles are very pretty and feminine, despite being in need of a good scrub. They’re dusty from all the barefooting, with an elegantly shaped dark print highlighting every surface that made contact with the ground. The deep crinkles on her soles, caused by the tight curling of her toes, make them appear even more vulnerable.
“Oh no... Here we go...” she moans, bracing herself as several flower-things move towards her feet, curious about her soles.
The fuzzy white tentacles begin to scribble, mapping out their new feeding ground in a chaotic manner.
“Oh shit!” Jennifer gasps in shock, twitching and shaking her feet in a hopeless effort to cope with this new source of ticklish torment, added on top of the ongoing belly button tickling.
She starts by producing giggly groans. However, it doesn’t take long for her resistance to crumble, especially when the tentacles’ tips start eating her dead skin with their tiny pincers.
“GAAAA-HAA-HAAAA! It tickles! It tickles! Yeeee-HEE-HEE!” she bursts out cackling uncontrollably, struggling helplessly to get away. Unable to control herself, she tries to lower her soles back to the floor, but the plants won’t let her undo her decision.
“Get off my feeeeet! Yeeee-Hehehehehehe!” she laughs away, shaking her feet sideways. The plants won’t have any of that, though. The white tentacles which had been trying to slide between her toes wrap around her feet instead, steadying them for the others to feast on her soles.
“HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!” Jennifer cackles, her strength waning from the ticklish impulses racing across her nervous system. “NO!” she shouts, directing her remaining willpower to her arms, refusing to let them be raised. However, in doing so, she stops trying to keep her toes curled, a slip-up which she instantly regrets.
“YEEEEAAAAA-HAAA-HAAAAA!” she screams with laughter, her face a mask of ticklish shock as the fuzzy tentacles finally get between her toes. She curls them tightly, but it’s too late.
As the tentacles carry on tickling, their fuzzy fibers brushing, their tiny mouths pinching, Jennifer’s self-control only worsens. Soon, her toes are wrapped and pulled apart, exposing their insanely delicate webbings, and further immobilizing her soles against the ticklish feeding.
“BWAAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA! HEEEELP!” Jennifer howls, completely hysterical, desperate to get away from this maddening torture. “BELLANA! HAHAHAHA-HAAA! HELP ME! PLEEE-HEE-HEE-ASE! DO SOMETHING!”
“I’m happy to help with anything I can, but your request must be more specific,” the AI replies, rather predictably.
“I CAN’T-- I CAN’T THINK! YEEEE-HEEE-HEEE-HEEE! GET OFF MY TOES!” Jennifer cries out, overwhelmed by the ticklish agony.
◄●►
About ten minutes later, Bellana delivers a new station report. This time there’s an issue which requires Jennifer's attention. However, she’s having trouble focusing on anything beyond keeping her arms down, as the tickling of her feet and tummy is already more than she can bear.
“Run a-- HAA-Hahahahahaha! D-D-DIAGNOSTIC on-- Nononono! GAAA-HAHAHAHA! HPR-3!” Jennifer manages to ask, despite the laughter pouring out of her.
“HPR-3 diagnostic complete. Error: Regulator unit unstable.”
“Give me a-- BWAAA-HAHAHAHA! Reroute option for-- YIIIII-HIII-HIIII! For HPR-3!”
“Auxiliary conduit A-17 would be an adequate--”
“Disconnect HPR-3 and-- Ah-Hahahahahahaha! And reroute HPR-3 functions through-- TEEH-HEE-HEEE! Through A-17! Gaaaaa! Get off my toes!” Jennifer cries out, going nuts from the white tentacles feeding on her delicate toe webbings.
“HPR-3 rerouted through A-17. Service restored. I don’t understand your last request. Please repeat.”
“NEVERMIND! Gaaaa-HAA-HAAA-HAAA! This is PURE TORTURE!”
“Would you like to file a complaint with human resources?”
Jennifer doesn’t bother answering. Instead, she focuses her willpower on trying to suffer through the hellish tickling.
◄●►
A few minutes later, the plants’ relentless pulling and tickling finally raises Jennifer’s arms high enough to expose her shaved underarms.
“NO! PLEASE DON’T!” she cries out as one of the flower-things moves towards her partially open left armpit.
As the white tentacles make contact with her incredibly ticklish hollow, Jennifer shudders with shock on her face, then frowns tightly, shaking her head sideways.
“MRRRRRRRRRG!” she groans loudly, tugging her arms furiously. “No... No... No...” she utters in denial, only to produce a great howl of tortured laughter. Her cackles sound incredibly reluctant, as though forcefully extracted out of her throat with pliers. “Mwaaaa-Haaa-HAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAAA!”
Her other armpit then also comes under attack, doubling her agony. “YEEE-HEE-HEEE! NO! PLEASE DON’T!” she squeals, her face bearing a look of ticklish desperation.
Alas, the plants are as inclined to heed Jennifer’s pleas as they’re able to understand them. They simply carry on with their mindless feeding, scribbling and pinching their tentacles all over her feet and belly, and now under her arms as well.
“I CAN’T TAKE IT! YAAA-HAHAHAHA-HAAAA! HA-HA-HA-HAAA! TOO MUCH! TOO MUCH! NOO-HOHOHO-HOOO!” she cackles hysterically, as her arms are raised higher and higher at an excruciatingly slow pace.
◄●►
“Jennifer Shaw,” Bellana greets. “Fifteen minutes have elapsed. Do you wish to hear an updated station report?”
Jennifer doesn’t answer straight away. Over the last quarter hour, she has been fully stretched out. Her armpits are now wide open, their silky hollows being tantalized by a quartet of flower-things. As the tentacles swirl and brush, their hairs working as sensory organs, Jennifer can’t stop laughing her head off. This torment is utterly maddening to her, as she imagined it would be when she saw Phoebe undergoing a similar ordeal.
And as if this isn’t torturous enough, her bellybutton is still being teased by one of the flowers, and her feet have six of the damned things working on them, greedily consuming every scrap of dead skin. Jennifer feels as though her feet are experiencing the most ticklish pedicure imaginable. She can’t even curl her toes, as those tentacles are firmly holding them spread out, determined to feast on the insanely ticklish skin between them.
With a titanic effort, Jennifer shuts her mouth, trying to reign in the powerful urge to laugh. “MRRRRRRRRG! MRRRRRRRRG! TELL ME!” she groans, as though in agonizing pain.
As Bellana delivers her report, Jennifer is glad to know there aren’t any issues requiring her immediate attention, because if there were, she wouldn’t be able to do anything about them.
“HAHAHAHA-HAAA! YEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEEE!” she cackles away, as the incredibly ticklish sensations race across her nervous system, driving her insane.
◄●►
About an hour and a half later, the hungry plants have expunged all dead skin from Jennifer’s belly button, feet and armpits, leaving them utterly spotless and more sensitive than ever. Even the dirt has been removed from her feet, revealing her pristine, pale, silky soles in all their glory.
Under normal circumstances, Jennifer would be delighted to have her feet in such an immaculate state. Particularly while a male spa attendant worked on them, his strong hands soothing her nerves with a professional oily massage; his thoughtful attention and devotion making her feel like a queen being worshiped by a faithful, adoring servant.
However, the circumstances are far from normal. Rather than a powerful queen being adored, she feels like a ticklish plaything; a helpless, pathetic slave, cast down into the darkest, deepest dungeon, to be mercilessly tickle tortured, for no reason beyond senseless cruelty.
“BWAAAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAA! PLEASE STAAAAP! HAHAHAHA! HEEELP! I CAN’T STAND THIS SHIT! YIIII-HIIII-HIIII!” Jennifer squeals and shrieks, her sanity being pushed to the limit.
For the most part, the pinching sensations have been replaced by swirling and brushing motions, as the white tentacles attempt to locate additional nourishment. Rather than a reprieve, this evolution has synergized with her heightened post-exfoliation sensitivity to create the most hellishly ticklish sensations imaginable.
Every instant, Jennifer feels like her head is going to explode, her nervous system utterly overloaded, pushed far beyond its sensory tolerances. Her physical strength has been depleted, but once in a while, she goes through a surge of furious struggling, kicking her legs, tugging her arms, shaking her head, paddling her feet, curling her toes... She knows it’s a lost cause, but she can’t avoid it because the tickling is beyond maddening. She feels like her sanity is slipping between her fingers, being slowly burned away by the torturous sensations frying her nervous system.
“YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!” Jennifer shrieks sharply, briefly opening her tearful eyes like wells of doom, before shutting them once more.
Her arms start tugging and shaking, struggling beyond hope to alleviate the unbearably ticklish brushing and swirling being inflicted upon her armpits. On the opposite end of her body, her legs are kicking and her toes are twitching and trembling, revolting against the fuzzy tentacles mercilessly brushing between them, their every touch inflicting impossibly ticklish sensations to her toe stems and webbings.
Alas, her strength doesn’t last long. Soon, her arms stop moving, then her legs stop kicking, and finally her toes stop twitching. Yet again, she has no choice but to surrender to the merciless, brutal tickle torture.
Desperate for a distraction, Jennifer starts beating her head against the metal floor. However, the plants tie her forehead to her arms, denying her even that minor relief.
“I CAAAAN’T! HAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA!” she wails, sounding completely hopeless, defeated and miserable.
◄●►
About 20 minutes later, David’s voice crackles through the communicator. “The water has drained enough for me to leave! How are you doing?”
Jennifer replies with hysterical, crazed laughter, as well as harrowing cries for help. “HEEEEELP! BWAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA! HELP MEEEE! PLEEE-HEHEHEHE-ASE! YIIIIIIII-HIIII-HIIII! DAVID! GAAAA-HAAA-AAAA-HAAA! I’LL DO-- YEEEEE-HEEEEE! I’LL DO ANYTHING!”
“Oh gosh. Hang in there! I’m on my way!” David replies, mustering his courage as he wallows through the partially drained hallway.
◄●►
A little over 15 minutes later, the door to Section C opens with a hiss, revealing a hulking suit holding a futuristic jackhammer. The suit, sluggish and extremely bulky, designed to withstand extreme pressures, starts marching towards Jennifer.
“I’m here!” David announces, aiming the jackhammer at the nearest bulbous pod.
“HEEEEEELP! HAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAA-HAAAAAA!” Jennifer cackles hysterically.
Several ivy launch themselves at David, wrapping themselves around his limbs. This makes it harder for him to move, but even so, he manages to align the jackhammer with his target. As he presses the trigger, the powerful tool crushes the seed in seconds.
All the ivy emerging from that particular seed starts flailing erratically, granting Jennifer a reprieve from the tickling and partially releasing her. “YES! HEHEHEHE! GET THE OTHER ONE! HAHAHAHA!”
“Already on it!”
The second seed is swiftly hammered, causing the remaining ivy to let go of Jennifer, who scrambles away immediately and hides behind David.
“This is working a lot better than I thought,” David confesses, sounding pleased with himself.
“Thank you... Teehehehehe... Thank you... Thank you... Hehehehe...” Jennifer utters, still giggly from the tickling, yet deeply thankful for the rescue.
“You’re welcome. I can still hear laughter, though.”
“It's Melissa. She’s not far.”
“I’ll save her too, then,” David says, emboldened by his successful rescue. “You should wait outside this sector while I save her.”
“No, I’ll stay with you,” she says. “We don’t have time to waste. Let’s rescue Melissa, then Phoebe, then use the escape pods before this place gets crushed.”
“Alright,” he agrees, starting his lumbering march towards the distant laughter.
“Shaw to Bellana,” Jennifer calls out. “How long until we suffer a complete structural collapse?”
“Hello, Jennifer Shaw. Estimated 22 minutes and six seconds until complete structural collapse.”
“TWENTY MINUTES?! THAT’S IT?!” David asks, shocked by this revelation.
“Yeah. I wasn’t able to do any repairs for a very long time. The tickling was way too intense. I could only laugh my head off while Bellana reported how everything was falling apart. Sometimes I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t even accept the report. Can’t you walk faster?”
“I’m doing the best I can...”
“Sorry. Sorry. I know you are. I’m just nervous. Really, really nervous. I don’t want to die down here.”
“We won’t. We’ll save the others, then get outta here, then live happily ever after.”
“Teehee! Happily ever after, huh?” she giggles, genuinely amused. “Like a princess and her knight in bulky armor?”
“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m nervous too,” David explains, sounding embarrassed. Behind him, Jennifer is smirking. “There she is! Wait here,” he says as they enter the room.
◄●►
Melissa’s large feet are still sticking out of the vent, her ankles wrapped by multiple layers of ivy, and her big toes laced together. Since Jennifer last saw her friend’s feet through the camera, the flower-things have seized all of her remaining toes and pulled them back tightly, each digit spread apart to expose its nutritious recesses.
Being trapped inside the vent has apparently given Melissa’s upperbody a measure of protection. But as a result, her feet are being targeted disproportionately. There are a whopping eight flower-things feeding on her feet, their numerous tentacles enveloping her soles and toes in an utterly maddening whirlwind of tickles.
It's hard to get a clear view of her feet with so many wiggling tentacles in the way, but beneath that raging storm, her soles and toes have been exfoliated to a truly insane degree. They are beyond pristine; beyond immaculate; beyond exquisite. Naturally, such perfection translates into a massive sensitivity rise, far greater than what Jennifer experienced. Melissa can truly feel every fuzzy stroke with perfect accuracy, from the tentacles traveling between her twitching toes to those swirling against her heels. A relentless dance that is driving her completely insane.
“Haa-Haa-Haa-Haa-Haa-Haaaa! Hee-HEEE! Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee!” Melissa’s sobs of laughter echo from within the ventilation duct, sounding exhausted and broken.
“Help her!” Jennifer urges David, who fires the jackhammer at the nearest seed. Scores of ivy lash out against him, but fail to stop him from smashing the seeds.
As Melissa’s tickle torture finally comes to an end, she’s pulled out of the vent. Only then is it revealed that three flower-things had gotten under her shirt. Their tentacles failed to get under her arms, but managed to feed on her tummy and sides.
“It’s over... It’s over...” Jennifer tells her friend while they untangle her as quickly as possible.
“Thank you... Hehehehe... My gosh... That was hell... Hahahaha...” Melissa utters, still giggling.
“We only have a few minutes to reach the escape pods before this place collapses. I know you’re tired, but we have to get moving.”
“Let’s go... Let’s get outta here...” Melissa replies, getting up unsteadily.
◄●►
As the three survivors approach Section D, they can hear Phoebe’s cries of laughter in the distance.
“She was captured at the very beginning,” Melissa says, her tone unsteady, “even earlier than I was.”
Jennifer shudders at the implications of that remark, meaning that Phoebe has been suffering extreme tickle torture for a little over 4 hours straight. Quite a bit longer than the 3 hours and 15 minutes Melissa took, and much longer than the 2 hours and 30 minutes she herself endured.
“Holy shit. I can’t even imagine... Let’s hurry up and free her,” Jennifer utters.
“I’m moving as fast as I can,” David assures, marching the bulky suit.
They run into a couple seeds on their way to Phoebe, but David gets rid of them easily.
“Why the hell didn’t the captain send a few miners in diving suits to clear out the lab in the first place?!” Melissa asks, impressed with the ease with which David is obliterating the seeds.
“That was Phoebe’s fault,” David answers. “She recommended against taking that risk.”
“Well, that’s rather ironic, isn’t it?” Jennifer remarks.
Before anyone can phrase a reply, they all gasp in shock as they finally come across Phoebe. She’s completely naked, suspended in an upside down Y position with her legs wide open.
“Hahahahaha! YAAAA-HAAA-HAAAA-HAAA!” the East Asian woman cackles and squeals, exhausted and broken by the multitude of flower-things tickling her entire body. Her face has become a mask of pure ticklish agony, with a huge forced grin on her lips, brightly flustered cheeks, and a mix of sweat, tears and make-up streaming across her forehead towards her black hair.
There are two flower-things teasing her knees, another two feeding on her armpits, one on her belly button, another on her genitals, one more on her butt, and six on her feet. She’s in such a sorry state, she doesn’t even notice when the rescuers approach.
While Jennifer and Melissa try to divert the plants’ attention away from David, he charges in and starts hammering the seeds to pieces. In under a minute, all the plants have been disabled, their ivy left twitching chaotically.
“Phoebe?” Melissa asks, waving a hand in front of her face. However, Phoebe won’t stop giggling like a loony. She was tickled out of her wits.
“We don’t have time for this! Let’s just carry her to the pods!” Jennifer urges.
“Wait, help me out of this suit first. It’s slowing me down too much,” David asks. Jennifer and Melissa begin freeing him from the suit immediately.
“Shaw to Bellana,” Jennifer calls out while they work. “How long do we have left?”
“Hello, Jennifer Shaw. Estimated eight minutes and 24 seconds until complete structural collapse.”
“Holy shit, this is gonna be close!” Melissa exclaims. Jennifer doesn’t reply, remaining focused on the task.
Five minutes later, Melissa and Jennifer arrive at a hallway lined with escape pods. David isn’t far behind, carrying Phoebe.
“There’s only three pods left!” Melissa cries out in horror.
“It’s fine! Two of us can squeeze inside one of these,” Jennifer assures her. “You and Phoebe take one pod each. I’ll share the last one with David.”
Melissa, too stressed out to give Jennifer’s words more than the briefest of thoughts, sits inside one of the pods and hits the launch button.
“Mmm... Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go with her?” David asks Jennifer whilst setting down Phoebe inside a pod.
“Absolutely not,” Jennifer replies resolutely whilst sitting down inside the egg-shaped pod, where she scoots herself snuggly against one of the sides.
“Okay...” David utters, hitting the launch button on the hallway wall.
“Structural integrity compromised! Clear secti-- BZZZZZ!” a male computer voice suddenly announces, only to be cut off by a malfunction.
“GET IN!” Jennifer urges.
David hops inside the pod and Jennifer hits the launch button, hugging David closely. In an instant, the pod seals itself and shoots towards the surface. Moments later, the two passengers are shaken by a shockwave, generated by the collapse of the habitat.
“We made it!” she exclaims happily.
“We sure did,” David replies, smiling hugely.
For a moment none of them says anything. They merely stare into each other’s eyes, hugging each other so close their noses are almost touching.
Jennifer breaks the silence. “I’d like to get to know you better after all this. Would you like that?”
David blushes. “I’d love to!”
Jennifer pecks him in the cheek. “I feel very grateful for your rescue, you know?”
David pauses to think. Before he can reply, Jennifer repeats, “Very grateful,” and pecks him again.
Taking the hint, David dares to kiss her soft lips. Jennifer returns the kiss with twice the affection. And thus, they spend the rest of their ascension making out with each other.
◄●►
Following their rescue by a corporation vessel, all survivors are taken to a company run clinic, where they spend a week receiving medical care, psychiatric counseling, and being interviewed regarding the incident.
David, Jennifer and Melissa recover swiftly. Phoebe requires a little more care, but she too makes a full recovery. Like most survivors, Jennifer wisely decides to play along with the corporation’s desire for secrecy. Therefore, she agrees to keep a lid on everything that happened, asking only for her original contract to be fulfilled. In addition to the secrecy bonus, it also includes a disaster clause which entitles her to substantial compensation. David puts up a little bit of a fuss, but Jennifer convinces him to take the deal as well.
◄●►
Two weeks after their rescue, Jennifer and David are enjoying a luxurious and sensual vacation in the capital city. Jennifer envisioned herself being pampered by a sexy man, but she never thought that man would turn out to be David — her knight in bulky armor, and as it turns out, a pretty darn good massage therapist.
Likewise, David is as surprised by this development as he is pleased with it. Jennifer is a remarkable woman, as brilliant as she is beautiful. And yet, she’s also sweet, humble, easy to get along with, and has an adorably snarky sense of humor. She’s passionate in bed, and thanks to the intense exfoliation the plants inflicted upon her feet, her soles and toes are insanely well suited for footsie play.
David never had a foot fetish before, but Jennifer awoke that fancy within him. Now, he can’t have enough of her silky smooth, outrageously sexy soles walking all over him, working his male member, or simply resting on his lap for kisses and rubs.
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