Saga of Sonja
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Sequel to https://www.ticklingforum.com/threa...man-setting-m-f-some-f-f.440653/#post-5755449
I'm no expert on Roman history or military stuff so forgive me if I've used the wrong term anywhere!
I think this second part has become both a female power fantasy at my end and a male lee fantasy as I know what you guys like? Idk, let me know! ;p
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It’s a long ride back to my capital of Napata. With Petronius secured, I spend the ride in my personal carriage lying alongside Nysa, who as punishment for her insubordination, I've had hogtied. I spend much of the journey tickling the soles of her utterly vulnerable bare feet, making her laugh and plead for mercy, until her protests become too annoying, prompting me to gag her and turn to lazily running a long feather up her soles. She’s not as ticklish as me, I’m loath to admit, but she still can’t resist or hold back laughter.
Upon our return to Napata, with its majestic sandstone colonnades and plethora of pyramids rivalling those of old Egypt, I head to the dungeons of the royal cells. I dictate my arrangements to my servants, having worked out the best way to get revenge upon, and humiliate, the might General Petronius. Having ordered my guards to escort him to my dungeon from his cell, he nearly escapes, his great unrivalled strength nearly overpowering three of my guards, but he is eventually overcome, with the help of a drugged face cloth.
Now I have him unconscious, stretched out on a long, wide rack laid vertical. It barely holds his frame, but fortified iron cuffs constrain his ankles and wrists, stretching him out and making his glistening abs taut. I look at his muscled, athletic frame, naked aside from a loincloth and velvet blindfold, and take him in with both hatred and curiosity. Biceps that could snap a bull’s neck, abs to rival Hercules, and legs that could sprint a marathon and still leave him with enough stamina to lead a girl somewhere private and bring her to… I shake my head, getting such thoughts from my mind, and focus on a few other spots. His abs have caught my attention, but his large bare feet, and shaven armpits will also receive the blessings of my revenge, should those areas be responsive.
Also facing the general, chained to the wall behind, are several of Petronius’ elite centurions, who I’ve had stripped aside from their plumed helmets. They’re gagged also, and whilst they won’t be the focus of my attention, I have plans for them too.
The general stirs, starting to slip back into consciousness. I decide to help him along, and so side beside him on the rack, facing him, my hips next to his, whilst I extend my legs and begin to poke his cheeks with my bare toes. It’s a comfortable enough position for me, as the rack has been lined with silks and velvet. He may be my prisoner, but as queen I must treat foreign ‘guests’ with some reverence, at least.
He stirs a bit more, and I poke his mouth with the toes of my right foot, and begin lightly trailing his abs with my right hand, very softly, just using my nail tips. He involuntarily draws in breath, and I raise goosebumps. Promising.
“Awake?” I ask, shuffling up slightly so as to reach more of his face with my feet. I’m aware of how tiny I am compared to him.
“Amanirenas, you will live to regret this,” he growls, having quickly assessed the situation. His voice is a tone higher than previous, perhaps due to my nails still drawing delicate spirals on his chest.
“You’re deep in the Kushite heartland,” I say. “Your armies would have to conquer a kingdom to rescue you, and you know that’s impossible. There’s no escape.”
“I don’t need my men to free me. I will do that myself.” His muscles strain as he pulls upon the iron cuffs, his face reddening slightly.
“Don’t exert yourself too quickly,” I say dryly. “Perhaps were you twenty years younger, but perhaps no longer in your prime?”
“To Hades with you, harlot.”
“That’s not very nice I say,” quickening the pace of my nails, applying a slighter greater amount of pressure. Petronius gives an involuntary snort, and tries to shift his torso away from me. “Oh, surely the mighty general isn’t ticklish,” I ask innocently. “That would be a shame, after what you did to me.”
“Of course not,” he growls through gritted teeth.
“Oh good. Because Nysa has reconsidered her loyalties, and with her seeming skill at tickling my feet, I wanted to see how she is with yours. Take a seat, Nysa.”
My blonde servant, having been thoroughly humbled by me, now eagerly moves a wicker chair up to the end of the rack, and seats herself in front of the general’s large soles. She holds out her hands momentarily alongside his feet, which far dwarf her hands. With me still rubbing my feet on the general’s face, and flicking my nails around his belly, Nysa traces the index finger of each of her hands down each of Petronius’ soles. His toes flex, and a bark of laughter escapes his mouth.
“Not ticklish?” I tease, pushing my toes into his lips and prodding his gums. “I have doubts.”
“He’s lying,” Nysa exclaims excitedly. Her sadistic side must be having an interesting week, with first me, her mistress and queen, and now a mighty general, around twice her age.
“I think so, experiment further,” I command her. She begins flicking her nails erratically up his feet now. The flurry of Nysa’s sharp, especially groomed nails seemingly wreaks havoc on him, as he falls onto loud, hearty, reluctant laughter. His legs strain, desperate to pull his ticklish, helpless feet away from the mischievous hands exploring the abundance of sensitive skin, but even he is not strong enough to break his binds, and is instead forced to simply endure, laughing and snorting, although not (yet) begging.
“It’s kind of funny,” I say, moving from stroking his abs to poking his sides, making him jolt from side to side. “You must spend so much time training and marching, in those rough leather boots. You’d expect your feet to be hardened. But they seem even more sensitive than mine, and I have oils rubbed into mine twice a day.”
“I will have you executed” he barks out through his laughter, “paraded naked through Rome, then executed.”
“You’ll have to stop laughing first,” I say, rubbing each of his reddening cheeks with the balls of my feet, and pinching at his hips with my hands, making him buck aggressively.
“I think his toes are ticklish!” Nysa then exclaims with delight. Using all her strength, Nysa has managed to pry back the toes of his left foot with one hand, fighting a battle of strength to keep them back whilst her other hand probes them with her fingernails, one for each toe.
“Curse you both,” he roars, laughter flowing like wine at a Roman orgy.
“I should probably tell you,” I say to him, “that it isn’t just us three here. Many of your men are currently chained to the wall, gagged, but still able to watch their mighty general brought to helpless ticklish laughter by a couple of women. How embarrassing.”
His face reddens further than it already is. “Curse you both," he repeats. “You are both dead women.”
If only he could see the evil smile on my face. “Such a strong, tough Roman,” I tease, my hands now back at his stomach. “So strong, so ticklish.” I begin kneading his stomach, my knuckles digging into his chiseled abs. He practically screams with laughter, falls into silent, agony filled mirth, and then resumes booming into his loud, agonized laughs. “Not there,” he starts to finally plead, “not there.”
“Oh, ticklish tummy? Hit an even worse spot have I?” I say unempathetically. I explore the expanse of skin before me, attacking beneath his ribs, around his belly button, above his pelvis, drawing laughter after laughter. “Were you always this ticklish here, or did it get worse the more you worked out?”
He can’t answer, and can only laugh. Nysa has switched to his other foot now, just about holding those toes back, and is poking between his large and second two with the end of a quill I’d previously given her.
“Stop, just stop,” he manages to say.
“Ask nicely, and address me formally,” I say.
“To Hades with you.”
I shrug, and wiggle one of my index fingers into his belly button. His reactions are explosive, and a tear begins to form in the corner of his left eye.
“Stop. Stop Queen Ama-” he fails to say my whole name, perhaps forgetting in his moment of sensual overload, and falls back into silent laughter.
“Go on?” I coax.
“Stop, Queen Amanirenas.”
“Aww, pleading in front of your soldiers,” I say, giving my fingers a well-earned break from tickling him, although still allowing Nysa to torment his soles, where she now scratches around the balls and arches of his feet, drawing reduced but firm laughter from him. “You must have trained them so diligently, so ruthlessly. They must have seen you as an invincible hero. Surely now they just see you as a ticklish wreck.”
With my fingers away from his stomach, he manages to regain a small degree of composure. “Not just paraded in Rome,” he wheezes, “shackled in the public stockades and tickle tortured for all the empire to say.”
“Hmm, now that’s an idea I could apply for you right here after this,” I muse. ”But again, you’re not being very nice. And I do want you to be nice to me, or at least do something nice for me.”
I shift upright, and shuffle up the rack to remove his blindfold. He blinks against the light, taking in my regal form, and very, very briefly scanning his chained centurions by the wall. “Nysa,” I call to my slave, “if you could help with my dress.”
Nysa abandons his feet, hops up, and moves behind me, undoing the lace from the back of my dress. I wiggle out of it, and his eyes take in my breasts that he’d previously so cruelly tickled. My nipples are a little stiff, the excitement of this torture I’m inflicting being more than a little stimulating for me. I then pull the dress down past my hips, leaving myself more or less naked, aside from my plethora of gilded jewellery, the total of which is worth more than the wealth of most cities.
“Make me climax,” I tell him. “I’m going to tickle your belly until you do.”
“You accursed whore,” he growls. I stick my tongue out at him, and rearrange myself so I slide my left leg over his face, levering myself over his head so that my womanhood is only inches from his mouth.
“Start licking,” I say placidly. Nothing happens, so I decide to try out his underarms before going for the kill spots on his stomach. With his arms stretched tight, his armpit hollows are taut, and I find the skin soft as my fingertips begin to brush them. His laughter resumes, his armpits evidently as ticklish as much as the rest of him.
“Start licking,” I repeat. I nod to Nysa, and she takes my previous spot of lying alongside him, although slightly sprawling herself across his thighs, giving herself the best view of his stomach, and incidentally, loincloth.
He still refuses, and the anticipation actually starts making me a little wetter than I’ve already become over the last half an hour. Another nod to Nysa, and she starts wiggling her fingers until his belly. Petronius’ laughter rises, reaching a desperate chord from both his armpits and stomach being assaulted.
“This continues until I orgasm,” I say. “I’ve got all day.”
He laughs, he curses, and for five minutes or so the battle of wills continues, Nysa and myself unrelenting, but Petronius, despite his extreme ticklishness, is too stubborn or proud to bend. However, as Nysa moves to his bellybutton, I eventually feel a damp softness making contact with my womanhood, making me shudder.
“That’s it, slave,” I say to him softly, lessening my attack on his armpits as his tongue begins to electrify my most sensitive areas. His mouthwork is erratic, broken up by the near constant fits of laughter caused by Nysa’s unending assault. I motion for her to lower her speed a little, giving him enough focus to concentrate on me, whilst still facing a ticklish torment. Nysa subsequently moves to his sides, whilst I fully lower myself onto his face, giving his mouth full range of my trembling loins. His muffled laughter is absorbed into me, his tongue breaching my lower lips and making me audibly moan and blink repeatedly. Whenever he lessens his pace of technique, I motion for Nysa to resume her assault on his stomach and belly button, whilst I grind myself against him, edging myself closer to climax. Occasionally his tongue will find my clitoris, making me jolt sharply over his lips, where he loses focus and pushing back with his tongue deeper inside of me. At times, when his tongue caresses areas of my outer lips, he strikes a particularly ticklish spot for me, and I giggle or laugh aloud with him, getting more and more aroused.
Nysa, clearly feeling left out of my erotic adventure, and flushed with a little excitement of her own, tugs back the bulging loincloth before her, and Petronius’ cock swings out. Like the rest of him, it is enormous, more befitting a horse than a man. Is it ticklish too, I wonder to myself, as Nysa bats it a little, before grabbing the shaft and gently pumping. The general grunts in response beneath me, squirming as I resume tickling his armpits and then ribs, to ensure the tickling torture continues whilst Nysa is occupied with stimulating his massive member. He tries to pull from her, lest he give the satisfaction to both myself and a slave girl, but Nysa is skilled, and with further pumps and a few licks of his tip, has him more erect than the mast of a sailing ship.
“I still haven’t climaxed,” I tell him as he slows his pace for his own pleasure. “Come on.” I lean forwards a bit, attacking his stomach with ferocity. Muffled laughter intensifies beneath me. His tongue begins to fixate on one of the more ticklish places around my womanhood, making me laugh out loud alongside him. I don’t mind, the ticklish sensations making a deeper pressure build up within my loins, and for a few minutes we laugh alongside each other, his laughter frantic, deep, muffled, reluctant, mine airy and lustful. Nysa meanwhile holds his cock firmly in one hand, licks and kisses the tip, drawing pre-cum, whilst her other hand pinches around his knees, making his legs jolt.
Soon euphoria grips me entirely, the ticklish sensations between my legs as sheer unadulterated pressure erupts between my thighs, and the orgasm makes me grind forcefully over his face. After taking a moment to breathe and regain a degree of composure, I slide from his face, which glistens with a mix of signs of my arousal and his own sweat.
After readjusting my jewellery and hair that had become slightly displaced, I grab a rope gag, and try to force it into the general’s mouth. He tried to keep his jaw shut, but a quick tickle to his ribs forces his mouth open.
“Keep tickling his belly,” I tell Nysa. “But don’t let him orgasm.”
Petronius groans in protest, thrusting his hips to make his throbbing cock slide further into Nysa’s grip. She only slows her pace in response, keeping him painfully aroused, whilst also now using her long blonde hair to tickle his stomach, which seems to be at least a moderately effective tool.
Whilst Nysa is left as the sole torturer of the general, I want to stretch my legs, and so walk up to the wall facing us where the centurions are restrained. Each watches me, silenced by their gags. I enjoy taking in each naked form, and seeing how nearly half of them are either semi or fully aroused. Is it from seeing me naked and brought to loud orgasm, or from seeing the general humbled and brought to arousal himself? Perhaps both.
I then move from each centurion, performing a test on each. A quick tickling to the ribs and sides, or armpits. The slightly majority respond, either with a jolt of clear muffled laughter ,or tell-tale signs of trying to hold back evidence of their sensitivity. I make a note of who is ticklish and who isn’t, and then signal to my guards to remove the latter. I have no use for them, and so will send them to the slavers. Following this, I call out for a number of my subjects to be brought in, all widows whose husbands have been killed at the hands of the evil roman forces. The widows, a mix of ages and statuses, all want revenge, and so I offer them the captured centurions as playthings for now, and slaves in the future. With each remaining centurion being ticklish, there will be means for my subjects to control them.
Groans of stifled laughter echo around the dungeon, as my widowed subjects take some of their anger out on the helpless, naked, ticklish soldiers before them. Fingers on armpits, stomachs, ribs, hips, genitals, all before me all areas are teased and explored, each woman moving and working out who she will keep as a slave. One widow, in her forties, bends down to tickle the sides of a young, two year old centurion's feet, which, based from his jumping and thrashing, seem especially ticklish. I motion for my guards to take this centurion into the kneeling stocks, and allow the woman to now torment the upturned soles of his feet, which turn out to be excruciatingly ticklish.
Having had a rest and recovery from my intense climax, I leave my widowed subjects to continue avenging themselves on the centurions.
I return to the general. His cock is so hard, so erect, it looks ready to explode. Nysa is truly the master at keeping him on edge. Approaching, I give his feet a quick tickle, catching him off guard.
“Is your member ticklish?” I ask him, resuming my spot of lying inverted alongside him, my feet back near his face. Nysa mirrors me, and with us both flanking him, we both stare at his enormous manhood, with the soles of our feet more or less obstructing his view of what is to come.
“Can we find out?” Nysa asks, and I nod. I pinch the top of his cock to stop it flopping away, and Nysa stretches out to grab the quill she’d used previously to caress his feet. She then uses the feather sides to stroke up and down his member. Grunts slip from his gag, and he squirms against my loose grip, my fingertips starting to get coating in an increasing amount of precum.
“I think that’s a yes,” I muse. Using my toes, I manage to loosen his gag a little as Nysa continues to tease his manhood.
“You have to stop,” Petronius moans, now begging, “I can’t take this. I need to climax.”
“Say please,” I say. My free hand begins to lightly flutter my fingernails up his shaft, and the general begins giggling uncontrollably, making both me and Nysa both grin.
“Please,” he says, moaning and laughing and shaking his head wildly, “this is torture.”
“Good,” I say, with no intention of allowing an orgasm. We tickle his shaft together, nails on each side, Petronius increasingly trying to thrust up between our hands to reach climax. But neither of us allow it, and if he seems close we quickly move to tickling his belly or thighs, reducing him to heavier, mind-jolting laughter. Some minutes later, Nysa abandons his shaft, and with one hand cradling his balls, begging to tickle his testicles with the other, making him howl with renewed vigor. I then ramp it up, abandoning his pulsing cock, and going back to full on belly torture, digging at the abs and tantalising his bellybutton. He roars, he moans, he begs, he laughs, and then falls into silent laughter.
“I think you killed him,” Nysa says, concerned as he falls silent.
“Hmm, no. Not quite,” I say. “A slight break though, perhaps.”
Petronius nods, slightly grateful. I smirk. A slight break by my standards isn’t what he’s thinking.
I get back off of the rack, and call my servants to bring in the next visitors to the dungeon. Numerous more roman army recruits, auxiliary conscripts forced to serve Petronius’ legion. Amongst my many captives, these were the ones most angry at the general, who had marched them repeatedly to exhaustion, having those who would fall behind beaten. As Nysa continued to tease his cock, keeping him semi-stimulated, I allow each of these low ranking, young soldiers to take turns, several minutes at a time, tickling the general’s feet, teasing him about the power reversal, and making him drown in renewed laughter. Nysa then humiliates him even further, and whilst his feet are tickled by his subordinates, Nysa straddles his chest, facing him, and begins tickling his neck and collarbones, resting on her knees whilst her feet manage to take his cock, and her soles begin rubbing, keeping his arousal going.
The roman conscripts are then dismissed, leaving Petronius breathless, and panting against the continued tickling from Nysa’s nails, and the stimulation caused by her feet and toes.
“Will this hell never end,” he moans, beyond begging, and left in a state of stunned, ticklish, arousal.
“I’m not sure it’s fully begun yet,” I smile. I watch his engorged shaft, and wonder what next. Part of me wants to ride him, to feel that enormous shaft deep inside my body, reaching places I’ve never been touched before, but I’m still shuddering slightly from my earlier orgasm, and decide to let Nysa do the honors.
“Really?” she says excitedly. “For real?”
I nod. “Yes, but he cannot climax just yet. So go slow. I’ll distract him.” I take up the chair by his feet, crack my knuckles, and begin scampering my nails up his soles. Nysa readjusts herself sliding down, and levering herself gently onto his cock, giving one long, loud, moan as he enters her, his huge shaft slowly disappearing into her body. I’m not sure how much he notices, his laughter resplendent as I torment his feet. Nysa rides him softly, eyes closed, hands reaching out blindly to tickle his chest or ribs every so often. I hope none of her organs are being damaged from having such a pendulum pulsing within her.
Whenever Petronius’ facial expressions seem to suggest he is close to release, I intensify my tickling of his toes. On a few occasions, when Nysa is fully invested in mining his stomach and abs and the general is fully engrossed in his laughter, I can’t resist the urge to teach over and tickle the upturned soles of Nysa’s own feet, making her squeak out in bouts of laughter and squirm harder against the erect cock inside her. Eventually, Nysa lets out a screaming orgasm, her nails digging in and leaving red marks against Petronius’ abs. He is so close to climax himself, and so I harry her off of him, leaving his glistening cock to swing freely.
“You’ve made two woman climax, well done, slave,” I tell him.
“I’m no slave,” he mutters, enough pride left even at this point.
“No? Surrender yourself as my slave, and I’ll let you climax,” I tell him.
He breathes deeply, eyes locked onto mine as my eyebrows raise. “No,” he repeats.
“Very well,” I shrug. I sit back alongside him, and begin to tickle his shaft once again.
“No more of this,” he begs, but I’m not going to relent. Nysa momentarily recovers herself from her state of post-orgasmic euphoric bliss, and joins me, alternating between tickling his balls, shaft, and digging between his thighs. He howls, practically screaming. We have him exactly where we want him, on the cliff edge, but not quite pushed, in pure, ticklish, erotic agony.
“Alright, alright,” he begs, trying desperately to climax. “You win.”
“Say it,” I grin. “Say you are my slave, from today and forever.”
“Through his moaned laughter he says the words. As Nysa continues to tickle his testicles, I grip his cock, and pump him. Laughter falls onto a grunting orgasm, and he finally erupts, shooting his seed up across his chest and even onto his neck.
He revels in the orgasm momentarily, before begging once again. “Stop the tickling. Stop jerking.” I grin evilly. Neither me nor Nysa have stopped. Despite starting to deflate, we continued to tickle his cock, which seems even more ticklish following his immense orgasm. His laughter falls close to screams.
“No mercy just yet,” I tell him. “I need to make sure you’ve truly learnt your place.”
The once mighty Roman general can only howl as the torment continues. He had set out to win the glory of Rome and of Jupiter, but now begins to fully realize the reality of his fate, as his new mistress continued to titialate his ticklish member. There is no more glory for him. No future with Rome. The fates have spoken, and delivered him forever more as the plaything of the Queen of Kush.
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My longest one yet! Not planning to do a P3.
If anyone has any interesting story ideas of premises let me know! I'm thinking of something Viking era next to make the most of Scandi heritage.
I'm no expert on Roman history or military stuff so forgive me if I've used the wrong term anywhere!
I think this second part has become both a female power fantasy at my end and a male lee fantasy as I know what you guys like? Idk, let me know! ;p
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It’s a long ride back to my capital of Napata. With Petronius secured, I spend the ride in my personal carriage lying alongside Nysa, who as punishment for her insubordination, I've had hogtied. I spend much of the journey tickling the soles of her utterly vulnerable bare feet, making her laugh and plead for mercy, until her protests become too annoying, prompting me to gag her and turn to lazily running a long feather up her soles. She’s not as ticklish as me, I’m loath to admit, but she still can’t resist or hold back laughter.
Upon our return to Napata, with its majestic sandstone colonnades and plethora of pyramids rivalling those of old Egypt, I head to the dungeons of the royal cells. I dictate my arrangements to my servants, having worked out the best way to get revenge upon, and humiliate, the might General Petronius. Having ordered my guards to escort him to my dungeon from his cell, he nearly escapes, his great unrivalled strength nearly overpowering three of my guards, but he is eventually overcome, with the help of a drugged face cloth.
Now I have him unconscious, stretched out on a long, wide rack laid vertical. It barely holds his frame, but fortified iron cuffs constrain his ankles and wrists, stretching him out and making his glistening abs taut. I look at his muscled, athletic frame, naked aside from a loincloth and velvet blindfold, and take him in with both hatred and curiosity. Biceps that could snap a bull’s neck, abs to rival Hercules, and legs that could sprint a marathon and still leave him with enough stamina to lead a girl somewhere private and bring her to… I shake my head, getting such thoughts from my mind, and focus on a few other spots. His abs have caught my attention, but his large bare feet, and shaven armpits will also receive the blessings of my revenge, should those areas be responsive.
Also facing the general, chained to the wall behind, are several of Petronius’ elite centurions, who I’ve had stripped aside from their plumed helmets. They’re gagged also, and whilst they won’t be the focus of my attention, I have plans for them too.
The general stirs, starting to slip back into consciousness. I decide to help him along, and so side beside him on the rack, facing him, my hips next to his, whilst I extend my legs and begin to poke his cheeks with my bare toes. It’s a comfortable enough position for me, as the rack has been lined with silks and velvet. He may be my prisoner, but as queen I must treat foreign ‘guests’ with some reverence, at least.
He stirs a bit more, and I poke his mouth with the toes of my right foot, and begin lightly trailing his abs with my right hand, very softly, just using my nail tips. He involuntarily draws in breath, and I raise goosebumps. Promising.
“Awake?” I ask, shuffling up slightly so as to reach more of his face with my feet. I’m aware of how tiny I am compared to him.
“Amanirenas, you will live to regret this,” he growls, having quickly assessed the situation. His voice is a tone higher than previous, perhaps due to my nails still drawing delicate spirals on his chest.
“You’re deep in the Kushite heartland,” I say. “Your armies would have to conquer a kingdom to rescue you, and you know that’s impossible. There’s no escape.”
“I don’t need my men to free me. I will do that myself.” His muscles strain as he pulls upon the iron cuffs, his face reddening slightly.
“Don’t exert yourself too quickly,” I say dryly. “Perhaps were you twenty years younger, but perhaps no longer in your prime?”
“To Hades with you, harlot.”
“That’s not very nice I say,” quickening the pace of my nails, applying a slighter greater amount of pressure. Petronius gives an involuntary snort, and tries to shift his torso away from me. “Oh, surely the mighty general isn’t ticklish,” I ask innocently. “That would be a shame, after what you did to me.”
“Of course not,” he growls through gritted teeth.
“Oh good. Because Nysa has reconsidered her loyalties, and with her seeming skill at tickling my feet, I wanted to see how she is with yours. Take a seat, Nysa.”
My blonde servant, having been thoroughly humbled by me, now eagerly moves a wicker chair up to the end of the rack, and seats herself in front of the general’s large soles. She holds out her hands momentarily alongside his feet, which far dwarf her hands. With me still rubbing my feet on the general’s face, and flicking my nails around his belly, Nysa traces the index finger of each of her hands down each of Petronius’ soles. His toes flex, and a bark of laughter escapes his mouth.
“Not ticklish?” I tease, pushing my toes into his lips and prodding his gums. “I have doubts.”
“He’s lying,” Nysa exclaims excitedly. Her sadistic side must be having an interesting week, with first me, her mistress and queen, and now a mighty general, around twice her age.
“I think so, experiment further,” I command her. She begins flicking her nails erratically up his feet now. The flurry of Nysa’s sharp, especially groomed nails seemingly wreaks havoc on him, as he falls onto loud, hearty, reluctant laughter. His legs strain, desperate to pull his ticklish, helpless feet away from the mischievous hands exploring the abundance of sensitive skin, but even he is not strong enough to break his binds, and is instead forced to simply endure, laughing and snorting, although not (yet) begging.
“It’s kind of funny,” I say, moving from stroking his abs to poking his sides, making him jolt from side to side. “You must spend so much time training and marching, in those rough leather boots. You’d expect your feet to be hardened. But they seem even more sensitive than mine, and I have oils rubbed into mine twice a day.”
“I will have you executed” he barks out through his laughter, “paraded naked through Rome, then executed.”
“You’ll have to stop laughing first,” I say, rubbing each of his reddening cheeks with the balls of my feet, and pinching at his hips with my hands, making him buck aggressively.
“I think his toes are ticklish!” Nysa then exclaims with delight. Using all her strength, Nysa has managed to pry back the toes of his left foot with one hand, fighting a battle of strength to keep them back whilst her other hand probes them with her fingernails, one for each toe.
“Curse you both,” he roars, laughter flowing like wine at a Roman orgy.
“I should probably tell you,” I say to him, “that it isn’t just us three here. Many of your men are currently chained to the wall, gagged, but still able to watch their mighty general brought to helpless ticklish laughter by a couple of women. How embarrassing.”
His face reddens further than it already is. “Curse you both," he repeats. “You are both dead women.”
If only he could see the evil smile on my face. “Such a strong, tough Roman,” I tease, my hands now back at his stomach. “So strong, so ticklish.” I begin kneading his stomach, my knuckles digging into his chiseled abs. He practically screams with laughter, falls into silent, agony filled mirth, and then resumes booming into his loud, agonized laughs. “Not there,” he starts to finally plead, “not there.”
“Oh, ticklish tummy? Hit an even worse spot have I?” I say unempathetically. I explore the expanse of skin before me, attacking beneath his ribs, around his belly button, above his pelvis, drawing laughter after laughter. “Were you always this ticklish here, or did it get worse the more you worked out?”
He can’t answer, and can only laugh. Nysa has switched to his other foot now, just about holding those toes back, and is poking between his large and second two with the end of a quill I’d previously given her.
“Stop, just stop,” he manages to say.
“Ask nicely, and address me formally,” I say.
“To Hades with you.”
I shrug, and wiggle one of my index fingers into his belly button. His reactions are explosive, and a tear begins to form in the corner of his left eye.
“Stop. Stop Queen Ama-” he fails to say my whole name, perhaps forgetting in his moment of sensual overload, and falls back into silent laughter.
“Go on?” I coax.
“Stop, Queen Amanirenas.”
“Aww, pleading in front of your soldiers,” I say, giving my fingers a well-earned break from tickling him, although still allowing Nysa to torment his soles, where she now scratches around the balls and arches of his feet, drawing reduced but firm laughter from him. “You must have trained them so diligently, so ruthlessly. They must have seen you as an invincible hero. Surely now they just see you as a ticklish wreck.”
With my fingers away from his stomach, he manages to regain a small degree of composure. “Not just paraded in Rome,” he wheezes, “shackled in the public stockades and tickle tortured for all the empire to say.”
“Hmm, now that’s an idea I could apply for you right here after this,” I muse. ”But again, you’re not being very nice. And I do want you to be nice to me, or at least do something nice for me.”
I shift upright, and shuffle up the rack to remove his blindfold. He blinks against the light, taking in my regal form, and very, very briefly scanning his chained centurions by the wall. “Nysa,” I call to my slave, “if you could help with my dress.”
Nysa abandons his feet, hops up, and moves behind me, undoing the lace from the back of my dress. I wiggle out of it, and his eyes take in my breasts that he’d previously so cruelly tickled. My nipples are a little stiff, the excitement of this torture I’m inflicting being more than a little stimulating for me. I then pull the dress down past my hips, leaving myself more or less naked, aside from my plethora of gilded jewellery, the total of which is worth more than the wealth of most cities.
“Make me climax,” I tell him. “I’m going to tickle your belly until you do.”
“You accursed whore,” he growls. I stick my tongue out at him, and rearrange myself so I slide my left leg over his face, levering myself over his head so that my womanhood is only inches from his mouth.
“Start licking,” I say placidly. Nothing happens, so I decide to try out his underarms before going for the kill spots on his stomach. With his arms stretched tight, his armpit hollows are taut, and I find the skin soft as my fingertips begin to brush them. His laughter resumes, his armpits evidently as ticklish as much as the rest of him.
“Start licking,” I repeat. I nod to Nysa, and she takes my previous spot of lying alongside him, although slightly sprawling herself across his thighs, giving herself the best view of his stomach, and incidentally, loincloth.
He still refuses, and the anticipation actually starts making me a little wetter than I’ve already become over the last half an hour. Another nod to Nysa, and she starts wiggling her fingers until his belly. Petronius’ laughter rises, reaching a desperate chord from both his armpits and stomach being assaulted.
“This continues until I orgasm,” I say. “I’ve got all day.”
He laughs, he curses, and for five minutes or so the battle of wills continues, Nysa and myself unrelenting, but Petronius, despite his extreme ticklishness, is too stubborn or proud to bend. However, as Nysa moves to his bellybutton, I eventually feel a damp softness making contact with my womanhood, making me shudder.
“That’s it, slave,” I say to him softly, lessening my attack on his armpits as his tongue begins to electrify my most sensitive areas. His mouthwork is erratic, broken up by the near constant fits of laughter caused by Nysa’s unending assault. I motion for her to lower her speed a little, giving him enough focus to concentrate on me, whilst still facing a ticklish torment. Nysa subsequently moves to his sides, whilst I fully lower myself onto his face, giving his mouth full range of my trembling loins. His muffled laughter is absorbed into me, his tongue breaching my lower lips and making me audibly moan and blink repeatedly. Whenever he lessens his pace of technique, I motion for Nysa to resume her assault on his stomach and belly button, whilst I grind myself against him, edging myself closer to climax. Occasionally his tongue will find my clitoris, making me jolt sharply over his lips, where he loses focus and pushing back with his tongue deeper inside of me. At times, when his tongue caresses areas of my outer lips, he strikes a particularly ticklish spot for me, and I giggle or laugh aloud with him, getting more and more aroused.
Nysa, clearly feeling left out of my erotic adventure, and flushed with a little excitement of her own, tugs back the bulging loincloth before her, and Petronius’ cock swings out. Like the rest of him, it is enormous, more befitting a horse than a man. Is it ticklish too, I wonder to myself, as Nysa bats it a little, before grabbing the shaft and gently pumping. The general grunts in response beneath me, squirming as I resume tickling his armpits and then ribs, to ensure the tickling torture continues whilst Nysa is occupied with stimulating his massive member. He tries to pull from her, lest he give the satisfaction to both myself and a slave girl, but Nysa is skilled, and with further pumps and a few licks of his tip, has him more erect than the mast of a sailing ship.
“I still haven’t climaxed,” I tell him as he slows his pace for his own pleasure. “Come on.” I lean forwards a bit, attacking his stomach with ferocity. Muffled laughter intensifies beneath me. His tongue begins to fixate on one of the more ticklish places around my womanhood, making me laugh out loud alongside him. I don’t mind, the ticklish sensations making a deeper pressure build up within my loins, and for a few minutes we laugh alongside each other, his laughter frantic, deep, muffled, reluctant, mine airy and lustful. Nysa meanwhile holds his cock firmly in one hand, licks and kisses the tip, drawing pre-cum, whilst her other hand pinches around his knees, making his legs jolt.
Soon euphoria grips me entirely, the ticklish sensations between my legs as sheer unadulterated pressure erupts between my thighs, and the orgasm makes me grind forcefully over his face. After taking a moment to breathe and regain a degree of composure, I slide from his face, which glistens with a mix of signs of my arousal and his own sweat.
After readjusting my jewellery and hair that had become slightly displaced, I grab a rope gag, and try to force it into the general’s mouth. He tried to keep his jaw shut, but a quick tickle to his ribs forces his mouth open.
“Keep tickling his belly,” I tell Nysa. “But don’t let him orgasm.”
Petronius groans in protest, thrusting his hips to make his throbbing cock slide further into Nysa’s grip. She only slows her pace in response, keeping him painfully aroused, whilst also now using her long blonde hair to tickle his stomach, which seems to be at least a moderately effective tool.
Whilst Nysa is left as the sole torturer of the general, I want to stretch my legs, and so walk up to the wall facing us where the centurions are restrained. Each watches me, silenced by their gags. I enjoy taking in each naked form, and seeing how nearly half of them are either semi or fully aroused. Is it from seeing me naked and brought to loud orgasm, or from seeing the general humbled and brought to arousal himself? Perhaps both.
I then move from each centurion, performing a test on each. A quick tickling to the ribs and sides, or armpits. The slightly majority respond, either with a jolt of clear muffled laughter ,or tell-tale signs of trying to hold back evidence of their sensitivity. I make a note of who is ticklish and who isn’t, and then signal to my guards to remove the latter. I have no use for them, and so will send them to the slavers. Following this, I call out for a number of my subjects to be brought in, all widows whose husbands have been killed at the hands of the evil roman forces. The widows, a mix of ages and statuses, all want revenge, and so I offer them the captured centurions as playthings for now, and slaves in the future. With each remaining centurion being ticklish, there will be means for my subjects to control them.
Groans of stifled laughter echo around the dungeon, as my widowed subjects take some of their anger out on the helpless, naked, ticklish soldiers before them. Fingers on armpits, stomachs, ribs, hips, genitals, all before me all areas are teased and explored, each woman moving and working out who she will keep as a slave. One widow, in her forties, bends down to tickle the sides of a young, two year old centurion's feet, which, based from his jumping and thrashing, seem especially ticklish. I motion for my guards to take this centurion into the kneeling stocks, and allow the woman to now torment the upturned soles of his feet, which turn out to be excruciatingly ticklish.
Having had a rest and recovery from my intense climax, I leave my widowed subjects to continue avenging themselves on the centurions.
I return to the general. His cock is so hard, so erect, it looks ready to explode. Nysa is truly the master at keeping him on edge. Approaching, I give his feet a quick tickle, catching him off guard.
“Is your member ticklish?” I ask him, resuming my spot of lying inverted alongside him, my feet back near his face. Nysa mirrors me, and with us both flanking him, we both stare at his enormous manhood, with the soles of our feet more or less obstructing his view of what is to come.
“Can we find out?” Nysa asks, and I nod. I pinch the top of his cock to stop it flopping away, and Nysa stretches out to grab the quill she’d used previously to caress his feet. She then uses the feather sides to stroke up and down his member. Grunts slip from his gag, and he squirms against my loose grip, my fingertips starting to get coating in an increasing amount of precum.
“I think that’s a yes,” I muse. Using my toes, I manage to loosen his gag a little as Nysa continues to tease his manhood.
“You have to stop,” Petronius moans, now begging, “I can’t take this. I need to climax.”
“Say please,” I say. My free hand begins to lightly flutter my fingernails up his shaft, and the general begins giggling uncontrollably, making both me and Nysa both grin.
“Please,” he says, moaning and laughing and shaking his head wildly, “this is torture.”
“Good,” I say, with no intention of allowing an orgasm. We tickle his shaft together, nails on each side, Petronius increasingly trying to thrust up between our hands to reach climax. But neither of us allow it, and if he seems close we quickly move to tickling his belly or thighs, reducing him to heavier, mind-jolting laughter. Some minutes later, Nysa abandons his shaft, and with one hand cradling his balls, begging to tickle his testicles with the other, making him howl with renewed vigor. I then ramp it up, abandoning his pulsing cock, and going back to full on belly torture, digging at the abs and tantalising his bellybutton. He roars, he moans, he begs, he laughs, and then falls into silent laughter.
“I think you killed him,” Nysa says, concerned as he falls silent.
“Hmm, no. Not quite,” I say. “A slight break though, perhaps.”
Petronius nods, slightly grateful. I smirk. A slight break by my standards isn’t what he’s thinking.
I get back off of the rack, and call my servants to bring in the next visitors to the dungeon. Numerous more roman army recruits, auxiliary conscripts forced to serve Petronius’ legion. Amongst my many captives, these were the ones most angry at the general, who had marched them repeatedly to exhaustion, having those who would fall behind beaten. As Nysa continued to tease his cock, keeping him semi-stimulated, I allow each of these low ranking, young soldiers to take turns, several minutes at a time, tickling the general’s feet, teasing him about the power reversal, and making him drown in renewed laughter. Nysa then humiliates him even further, and whilst his feet are tickled by his subordinates, Nysa straddles his chest, facing him, and begins tickling his neck and collarbones, resting on her knees whilst her feet manage to take his cock, and her soles begin rubbing, keeping his arousal going.
The roman conscripts are then dismissed, leaving Petronius breathless, and panting against the continued tickling from Nysa’s nails, and the stimulation caused by her feet and toes.
“Will this hell never end,” he moans, beyond begging, and left in a state of stunned, ticklish, arousal.
“I’m not sure it’s fully begun yet,” I smile. I watch his engorged shaft, and wonder what next. Part of me wants to ride him, to feel that enormous shaft deep inside my body, reaching places I’ve never been touched before, but I’m still shuddering slightly from my earlier orgasm, and decide to let Nysa do the honors.
“Really?” she says excitedly. “For real?”
I nod. “Yes, but he cannot climax just yet. So go slow. I’ll distract him.” I take up the chair by his feet, crack my knuckles, and begin scampering my nails up his soles. Nysa readjusts herself sliding down, and levering herself gently onto his cock, giving one long, loud, moan as he enters her, his huge shaft slowly disappearing into her body. I’m not sure how much he notices, his laughter resplendent as I torment his feet. Nysa rides him softly, eyes closed, hands reaching out blindly to tickle his chest or ribs every so often. I hope none of her organs are being damaged from having such a pendulum pulsing within her.
Whenever Petronius’ facial expressions seem to suggest he is close to release, I intensify my tickling of his toes. On a few occasions, when Nysa is fully invested in mining his stomach and abs and the general is fully engrossed in his laughter, I can’t resist the urge to teach over and tickle the upturned soles of Nysa’s own feet, making her squeak out in bouts of laughter and squirm harder against the erect cock inside her. Eventually, Nysa lets out a screaming orgasm, her nails digging in and leaving red marks against Petronius’ abs. He is so close to climax himself, and so I harry her off of him, leaving his glistening cock to swing freely.
“You’ve made two woman climax, well done, slave,” I tell him.
“I’m no slave,” he mutters, enough pride left even at this point.
“No? Surrender yourself as my slave, and I’ll let you climax,” I tell him.
He breathes deeply, eyes locked onto mine as my eyebrows raise. “No,” he repeats.
“Very well,” I shrug. I sit back alongside him, and begin to tickle his shaft once again.
“No more of this,” he begs, but I’m not going to relent. Nysa momentarily recovers herself from her state of post-orgasmic euphoric bliss, and joins me, alternating between tickling his balls, shaft, and digging between his thighs. He howls, practically screaming. We have him exactly where we want him, on the cliff edge, but not quite pushed, in pure, ticklish, erotic agony.
“Alright, alright,” he begs, trying desperately to climax. “You win.”
“Say it,” I grin. “Say you are my slave, from today and forever.”
“Through his moaned laughter he says the words. As Nysa continues to tickle his testicles, I grip his cock, and pump him. Laughter falls onto a grunting orgasm, and he finally erupts, shooting his seed up across his chest and even onto his neck.
He revels in the orgasm momentarily, before begging once again. “Stop the tickling. Stop jerking.” I grin evilly. Neither me nor Nysa have stopped. Despite starting to deflate, we continued to tickle his cock, which seems even more ticklish following his immense orgasm. His laughter falls close to screams.
“No mercy just yet,” I tell him. “I need to make sure you’ve truly learnt your place.”
The once mighty Roman general can only howl as the torment continues. He had set out to win the glory of Rome and of Jupiter, but now begins to fully realize the reality of his fate, as his new mistress continued to titialate his ticklish member. There is no more glory for him. No future with Rome. The fates have spoken, and delivered him forever more as the plaything of the Queen of Kush.
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My longest one yet! Not planning to do a P3.
If anyone has any interesting story ideas of premises let me know! I'm thinking of something Viking era next to make the most of Scandi heritage.
