pixic
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A heroic captain crumbles!
CAUTION! urine and tickle torture.
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Under the dim light of a flickering lantern, Private Tom Jensen glanced into the cell, catching sight of the war hero from across enemy lines, Captain Eirik Valgren. Known as the “Butcher of Black Fields,”
Eirik had been a pillar of his homeland’s brutal regime, renowned for his strategic brilliance and unwavering loyalty to the tyrannical empire. He was a terrifying killer, cold and ruthless. Many were too scared to even look in his direction. he had short brown hair, a scarred but strong body, and piercing eyes.
But now he lay asleep, his hard expression softened in the shadows. He wore not his expensive garbs and rich robes, but dirty shorts and a top with the sleeves ripped off, showing pale skin very few ever got to see.
The plan was simple: capture Eirik and find out where his remaining battalion was hiding. He’d been silent during questioning, giving nothing away except a stare and a quiet word now and then. But the good guys didn’t resort to torture, and that only seemed to harden his resolve.
It was nearing midnight when Tom passed the cell again, this time noticing something strange. Eirik’s feet were sticking out from the barred door, his legs stretched out awkwardly through the door used to slide him food.
Tom raised an eyebrow. What kind of prisoner was this?
He shook his head, chuckling to himself. They were large like the man himself, hulking, easily size 11’s. The soles were broad and pale, clearly rarely seeing the outside world.
On impulse, Tom leaned in and gently poked the center of Eirik’s sole, expecting nothing to happen. It was just a way to annoy him.
Instead, Eirik burst out laughing—a deep, uncontrollable laugh, his eyes still shut. Tom blinked in surprise, then stifled his own laugh. So the mighty Butcher was ticklish?
Feeling bold, he did it again, this time a little softer. Eirik jerked awake, his laughter dying down abruptly as he pulled his legs back inside the cell, his face flushed with a strange blend of embarrassment and annoyance.
“What… what are you doing?” he stammered, the trace of laughter still lingering on his lips.
“Uh… just… checking on the prisoner, sir,” Tom replied with an innocent smile.
Eirik’s hard expression returned, but his cheeks remained flushed. “Is this some kind of new interrogation tactic?” he asked.
“Nah. Just didn’t expect someone like you to be… ticklish, I guess.”
Eirik scoffed, sitting up straighter. “I am human, you know. This cell is cramped, and I have to stretch my legs.”
The silence hung between them before Tom finally spoke up, almost hesitant. “Look, Captain… I know you’ve got no reason to trust us. But if you know where our men are, you could help us end this. End it for good.”
Eirik looked away, his gaze distant “.. if you think laughing will break my resolve… you’re mistaken.”
Tom nodded, understanding the pride and the chains that bound Eirik. “Well, maybe I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a grin. “Just in case.”
The next night he did the same, pushing his feet outside of the cell so he could stretch out his legs for a more comfortable sleep.
Eirik shifted in his cell, tugging his feet back only to find them held in place by a leather strap Tom had looped through the food slot, making him unable to pull them back. His eyes widened as he realized he was stuck.
And then he felt it: a single, feather-light scratch along the arch of his foot.
“W-What… what is this?” he muttered, trying to hold back a snort. But Tom’s fingers brushed against his skin again, then again—delicate, probing touches across the arch and heel. A low chuckle bubbled up, and before Eirik knew it, he was biting back a laugh, determined to maintain his composure.
Tom leaned in, grinning, his voice teasing. “Come on, Captain. Just a few details on your men’s location. Think of how much easier this will be.”
Eirik scoffed, though his voice wavered. “You think… you think this will make me talk? This—this ridiculous nonsense?”
But the tickling didn’t stop. Tom’s fingers started up a slow, steady rhythm, running along the sensitive skin with maddening precision. He scratched delicately at the curve of Eirik’s arch, then traced up to his toes with barely-there strokes. Eirik clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut as laughter rose in his chest, fighting to spill out.
“I’m the Butcher of Black Fields,” he ground out, his voice breaking with suppressed laughter. “This isn’t going to work on me. I will not—ah!” He broke off with an involuntary yelp as Tom wiggled his fingers along the underside of his toes, the sensation too much for him to resist.
“Doesn’t seem like it, Captain,” Tom replied, amused. “A man like you, ticklish? Who would’ve guessed?”
Eirik thrashed, his body jerking as Tom’s fingers continued to dance across his feet, each motion impossibly precise and unbearably light. His pride burned; he’d survived battles, broken enemy lines, earned the fear of a nation, and here he was, his dignity crumbling under a relentless tickling.
“I....I will not break,” Eirik gasped, though laughter colored his words, his tone both indignant and pleading. “I will not—stop it!”
Tom only chuckled, his fingers tracing maddening patterns across Eirik’s soles. He switched techniques, running his fingers in small circles, then scratching lightly along the ball of Eirik’s foot, alternating speeds and pressure with a methodical persistence.
Eirik’s laughter came in breathless gasps now, uncontrollable and rising despite every ounce of pride he clung to. “You—you fiend,” he sputtered between laughs. “You think… this is… some kind of… proper technique?”
Tom shrugged. “Seems like it’s getting a reaction. And from a Captain, no less.”
Eirik shook his head, trying to wrest back control, his expression growing indignant, even furious. “I’m a… I’m a symbol of hope! I…HahaHAHA… I will not talk… no matter what… ridiculous methods you try!”
Tom smiled, unfazed. “Oh, I’ve got all night, Captain. We’ll see just how long that hope lasts.”
He sped up, running his fingers along every vulnerable inch of Eirik’s feet, from his heels to the spaces beneath his toes. Eirik’s laughter filled the cell, and no matter how much he fought it, he felt the cracks widening in his resolve.
“Curse you,” he managed between laughs. “I will not… betray my people… HA..I won’t…”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “That so? Looks like I might just have to try a little harder.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed as he focused his attention on the center of Eirik’s soles, pressing just enough to send shocks of unbearable sensation radiating outward. Eirik’s eyes widened, and any remnants of composure shattered as he let out a full-throated howl of laughter, his body writhing helplessly on the cold cell floor. He thrashed, tugging and twisting, but his trapped feet remained vulnerable to Tom’s unrelenting touch.
“N-No! Stop it! You—AHAHAHAH--this is—this is insane!” Eirik gasped, trying to sound indignant, though his voice was strangled with hysterical laughter. But the tickling only grew worse, and each touch sent him spiraling deeper into uncontrollable laughter. He couldn’t hold it back, couldn’t hide the ridiculous sensitivity of his soles. His pride burned, but he was utterly powerless, his body betraying him as laughter poured out.
Hearing the commotion, a few soldiers gathered outside the cell door, looking in with amused expressions. One of them, a young private named Harris, raised an eyebrow, smirking as he took in the scene.
“What’s going on here?” Harris asked, grinning.
Tom grinned back, glancing at the soldiers. “Turns out our mighty Captain here is… extremely ticklish.” He leaned in, scratching along the center of Eirik’s sole, making him scream with laughter. “Couldn’t resist trying to see if he’d crack.”
Eirik’s face was a mix of horror and frustration, his eyes blazing even as his voice broke into another helpless round of hysterics. “I—I won’t… I won’t tell you… anything!” he managed to gasp, though his words were punctuated by peals of laughter. “You’re—you’re cowards, all of you!”
The soldiers burst out laughing, shaking their heads at the sight. “Cowards?” Harris scoffed. “We’re not the ones getting tickled senseless, Captain.” He leaned down, poking Eirik’s toes, which only made him yelp and pull his feet back as far as he could—though he was still stuck.
“Come on, Captain, let’s hear where your men are,” another soldier chimed in, joining Tom by scratching lightly at Eirik’s left foot. “Don’t make us tickle it out of you.”
Eirik clenched his fists, the strain of holding back laughter nearly painful. “You… you can’t… make me…” he stammered, his tone a blend of defiance and sheer desperation.
But they were merciless. Tom grinned, nodding to the others to continue, and they took turns prodding, poking, and scratching every ticklish inch of Eirik’s feet. One soldier traced his fingers in tight circles over the center of his left sole, while another wiggled his fingers along Eirik’s arches. The sensation was overwhelming, and Eirik’s mind spiraled, every thought drowned in hysterical, helpless laughter.
“Just give it up, Captain,” Tom said with a chuckle. “You’re laughing so hard you can barely think. Just tell us, and this all stops.”
Eirik squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving with breathless laughter, his resolve hanging by a thread. He was a war hero, a symbol of his people’s might, yet here he was, reduced to fits of laughter by a handful of soldiers. Still, he clenched his jaw, shaking his head, even as the relentless tickling continued, his pride the only thing keeping him from breaking completely.
“You—you’ll have to… do better than that!” he shouted defiantly, though it was barely intelligible through his howls of laughter.
The soldiers looked at each other, laughing along with him. “All right, Captain,” Tom said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
The soldiers leaned in with grins, eager to test the infamous Captain Eirik Valgren’s limits. Each one took a position, fingers poised to continue their relentless assault on his exposed feet. Tom, still grinning, zeroed in on the center of Eirik’s right sole, pressing his fingertips in a maddening, circular motion over the most sensitive spot. Eirik’s entire body jolted, laughter ripping from him uncontrollably, his pride and defiance crumbling with every touch.
“Aw, look at the great Captain squirm!” Harris chuckled, scratching gently along Eirik’s arch, his fingers moving in slow, taunting strokes. “Didn’t expect a fearsome war hero to be so… ticklish!”
Eirik’s face flushed as he tried to twist his feet away, but with the leather strap binding them, escape was impossible. He felt another soldier start to wriggle his fingers along the base of his toes, working meticulously between each toe with infuriating precision. Eirik’s laughter took on a desperate pitch, his words lost in a cacophony of hysterics.
“Come on, Captain, don’t tell me you’re really this sensitive,” Tom mocked, pressing harder against the center of Eirik’s sole, his fingers dancing over the exact spot that seemed to drive Eirik wild. “Where’s all that big talk now? The ‘Butcher of Black Fields’—laughing like a kid over a few tickles?”
Eirik’s face turned red, his voice breaking as he tried to spit out a retort, but all he could manage were breathless gasps between laughs. “You… you’re all… unworthy… of this… fight!” he spluttered, though his indignation sounded laughably feeble under the onslaught.
“Oh yeah?” one of the soldiers snickered, running his fingers up and down the length of Eirik’s left sole in a torturous, featherlight touch. “Let’s hear you say that without laughing, Captain.”
A fourth soldier leaned In, poking and wiggling his fingers along the tops of Eirik’s toes, flicking over the soft skin, while another began to gently pinch his heels. Eirik writhed, his body twisting on the other side of the door as they continued their relentless assault. His laughter reached a fever pitch, eyes squeezed shut, his face a mix of humiliation and helpless mirth.
“He can’t handle it!” Harris laughed, his fingers digging lightly into the delicate spaces between Eirik’s toes. “Is this what the ‘hero of the Empire’ has come to? Can’t even take a little tickling!”
Eirik’s cheeks burned, fury and embarrassment mingling in his mind, but his pride forced him to hold his ground.
“Y-You’ll get… nothing from me!” he choked out, though his words broke with each round of laughter that the soldiers pulled from him.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Tom teased, his fingers tracing rapid, unpredictable patterns over Eirik’s soles, alternating between gentle scratches and firmer pressure. “Seems to me like you’re barely holding it together."
One soldier leaned in close, grinning. “Why don’t you just admit it, Captain? You’re done. Just tell us what we want to know. Or do you actually like being tickled senseless?”
Eirik clenched his fists, trying to force himself to stay silent, to keep his resolve, but the tickling only grew worse. Every soldier worked in sync, their fingers never letting up, each one exploring different areas of his feet, their touches ranging from light, teasing strokes to firmer, maddening pressure. The sensation was inescapable, overwhelming, reducing him to a blubbering, laughing wreck.
“What a sight,” Tom taunted. “The Butcher himself—broken down to nothing but laughter. I guess the mighty hero of the Empire can’t even handle a few fingers on his feet.”
Eirik’s laughter hitched, the sound bordering on hysterical as he writhed against his restraints, his pride crushed beneath the mocking voices of his captors and their relentless, tickling fingers.
Amid the chaos of laughter, Eirik’s breathless chuckles faltered as he heard a voice echo from outside the cell door. It was calm, cold, and unmistakably familiar—the court wizard. Eirik couldn’t make out the words, only the murmur of a conversation between the wizard and the guards. His heart sank, and for a fleeting moment, he dared to hope that the wizard might put an end to this humiliation.
But his hopes were shattered the instant he felt a pair of ice-cold hands pressing against his trapped feet. The touch was so sudden and chilling that he nearly screamed, his body jolting as his nerves exploded with the shock of the freezing touch. The wizard’s fingers were deliberate, moving slowly, almost experimentally, tracing over the arches and around his toes with a touch that was both clinical and maddening. Eirik’s laughter became higher-pitched, more frantic, as he fought against the strange magic.
Then he felt a shift in his body, a strange sensation washing over him. The cold hands lifted, and for a second he thought it was over—but he couldn’t move. His arms, legs, every muscle felt like stone. He tried to twist, to pull back his feet, but he couldn’t so much as twitch a finger. His body was utterly limp, immobilized, while his mind remained painfully alert.
The wizard’s voice came again, clearer this time, as he muttered an incantation. “You’ll be able to feel every touch, Captain Valgren,” he said with a cool detachment. “But you will have no power to resist it.”
It was then he felt all the power from his arms and legs collapse. Every muscle went limp, all his strength absolutely sapped from him. He was paralyzed.
Eirik’s eyes widened, and he fought to cry out as two guards entered the chamber, wide grins plastered across their faces. One of them leaned down, smirking.
“Well, well, Captain. Looks like the mighty Butcher is in a bit of a bind.” He and the other guard hoisted Eirik’s arms above his head, exposing his upper body. No matter how much he strained, his arms stayed pinned where they’d left them, utterly beyond his control.
One guard paused, taking in Eirik’s cleanly shaven underarms with a curious look before bursting into laughter. “What’s this? You care that much about your appearance? A war hero fussing over his underarms? Don’t tell me they’re so sensitive you cant even have hair.”
Eirik’s face flushed. “You… let me go!” he demanded, though his voice quivered with both anger and lingering laughter.
The soldiers only chuckled, ignoring his pleas. “What’s the matter, Captain?” one of them teased, leaning down until his face was inches from Eirik’s. “You didn’t think we’d notice, did you? Or that we’d find it… sensitive?”
They shared a laugh, and then, with barely a pause, the first guard poked his index finger into the center of Eirik’s exposed underarm. The reaction was immediate. Eirik burst into hysterics, the sound raw and desperate, his body trembling as he tried—and failed—to bring his arms down. They were limp, utterly sapped of energy, leaving him helplessly vulnerable to the two men. The guard grinned, poking and scratching, while another soldier joined in on the other side, each one working his fingers in delicate circles, tapping and scratching lightly over the smooth skin.
“No—NO! aHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA--Stop! Stop this!” Eirik shouted, his voice breaking with helpless laughter. His underarms had always been his most sensitive spot, and the light, relentless touch was unbearable. He writhed internally, every nerve firing as the guards mocked him, their fingers never stopping.
“Poor Butcher can’t take it, huh?” one guard sneered, his fingers pressing firmly into Eirik’s right underarm, then skimming up to his shoulder only to dance back down to the underarm again. “Bet you didn’t expect to be taken down like this. All that strength, all that pride—reduced to a laughing mess.”
Eirik’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face red, humiliated beyond anything he’d ever known. His chest heaved with forced laughter, his voice hoarse as he struggled to speak between each uncontrollable breath. “I… I will not… tell you anything!” he managed, though his words were barely audible through his hysterical laughter.
The soldiers only laughed harder, fingers continuing their relentless dance across his underarms, pressing and poking every ticklish inch. “Oh, we’re just getting started,” one of them said with a smirk. “We’ve got plenty of time, Captain. And something tells me you’re not going anywhere.”
Pinned, helpless, and laughing against his will, Eirik’s mind spun as his captors explored every inch of his most vulnerable spot, his helpless laughter echoing through the stone walls, his legendary reputation in ruins.
Eirik’s heart pounded as he realized his worst nightmare was coming true. Immobilized by the wizard’s spell, he couldn’t budge an inch. His feet were still strapped securely outside the cell door, while his arms were pinned above his head, leaving his entire body vulnerable. Every ticklish spot was laid bare for his captors to exploit, and the smirking guards around him wasted no time diving in.
Tom started on his feet, fingers expertly scratching and teasing the big soft arches. He dragged his nails from Eirik’s heels all the way up to his toes, varying the pressure and speed until Eirik’s voice cracked with wild, helpless laughter.
“Oh, look at this!” Tom sneered, watching Eirik’s face contort. “The Butcher of Black Fields, reduced to a blubbering mess over a few little scratches! Not so tough now, are you, Captain?”
Eirik’s cheeks burned red with humiliation as he shook his head wildly, gasping between fits of laughter. “I—I will… never… give in!” he managed to choke out, but the laughter kept overtaking him, growing more frantic by the second.
Another guard, Harris, focused on Eirik’s exposed underarms, which were visibly clean-shaven. He traced his fingertips along the soft, bare skin, his touch light and taunting. Eirik’s eyes squeezed shut, the sensation driving him to new heights of hysteria.
“Look at you, all groomed and proper,” Harris mocked, his fingers swirling over the sensitive area, pressing and teasing with excruciating slowness. “What’s the matter, Captain? Do you get a little too ticklish with all that smooth skin?”
A fresh wave of laughter burst from Eirik, his voice cracking with every word he tried to say. “N-No… please! I—stop this!” he gasped, his pride disintegrating under the soldiers’ relentless assault. The wizard’s spell held him tight, denying him any relief, his body vibrating with uncontrollable laughter.
“Oh, we’ll stop, all right,” another soldier said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he joined in on Eirik’s left foot, scratching at the base of his toes. “Just as soon as you tell us what we want to know. All that big talk, and yet you can’t even handle a little tickling!”
Eirik writhed mentally, every nerve on fire as his laughter grew hoarse and frantic. The soldiers’ hands were everywhere: one was flicking his fingers between Eirik’s toes, wiggling each toe and pressing into the spaces between them, while another traced agonizing circles around his heels. Harris continued his merciless tickling along Eirik’s underarms, switching from light flicks to deeper, teasing scratches that made Eirik’s laughter erupt into desperate, pleading shrieks.
“Tickle, tickle, Captain!” Harris teased, his voice sing-song. “Don’t tell me you’re going to hold out against us, hm? You’re already falling apart, and we’re only just starting!”
Eirik’s mind spun, the words cutting through his pride like knives. The wizard watched from the doorway with an amused expression, arms crossed, as the soldiers ramped up their attack. Every inch of Eirik’s body felt like it was on fire with ticklish agony.
One guard leaned down, grinning as he scratched under Eirik’s chin, then poked lightly at his ribs, digging his fingers in just enough to make Eirik’s laughter reach a fever pitch. “Look at you, Captain—begging like a child! Are you ticklish everywhere? Can’t imagine what your people would say if they saw you like this!”
Eirik’s face turned crimson as his composure shattered completely. His laughter was raw and unrestrained, each touch driving him closer to madness. “I… I’ll never—aAHAHAAAAAh! Never… giiiiihahaHAHAHIve in!” he gasped, though his voice was barely a whisper through his unending laughter.
“A fearless Captain, huh?” one guard taunted, laughing as he poked at Eirik’s belly. “You’re more like a ticklish little kid than a soldier!”
Eirik’s head spun, laughter breaking into gasping pleas. “N-No! I—please! I can’t-AAHAHAHAHAHAH--… take it!” he cried, his voice a mix of laughter and desperate shame.
“Oh, but we’re only getting started, Captain,” Harris said with a grin, fingers gliding under Eirik’s arms again, finding the most sensitive spots as the other soldiers tickled his now pinkened soles “All you have to do is tell us what we want to know… or we’ll keep going until there’s nothing left of that so-called pride of yours!”
With his body and mind pushed to the brink, Eirik’s laughter echoed through the cold cell, his dignity and willpower crumbling beneath the cruel hands of his captors.
Just as Eirik thought the torture might end, a dense cloud of shimmering purple mist filled the room, swirling until it solidified into a mirror-like surface, reflecting his own image back at him On the cieling. He froze, watching himself pinned and helpless, his face flushed, his body a trembling mess from the relentless tickling.
The wizard’s cold, mocking voice cut through his thoughts. “Look well, Captain Valgren. There is another cloud ive placed in the townsquare of your empire, showing this very scene live. Your little predicament will be seen by all. The mighty ‘Butcher of Black Fields,’ laid bare, defeated not by swords or magic, but by laughter. The Empire will know their hero’s shame.”
Eirik’s heart sank as he realized the implications. “NNoAHAH—PLEAAHAHAHAASEEE…NOOO!!!not..not my reputation. .PLEAse..!” he shouted, straining against the spell’s hold on his body. “I… I won’t let yOUUUHahahaAHAHAAAA!”
The wizard chuckled, Ignoring his pleas, and gave a slight nod to the guards.
“Then let’s show them exactly what their fearless captain is made of. Get to work, men.”
Without hesitation, the guards descended upon him, grinning wickedly as they resumed their ticklish assault. Tom and Harris grabbed small threads and deftly tied Eirik’s toes, spreading them apart to leave no part of his sensitive feet untouched. Eirik’s heart pounded, watching in horror as they worked—he could feel every inch of his exposed skin, and now he could see it, too, reflected back at him in the cloudy mirror staring down at him.
“Look at him,” Tom sneered, wiggling his fingers just inches from Eirik’s immobile feet. “Completely at our mercy. Guess those legendary battle skills don’t count for much when your only enemy is a little… tickling. Must be awful to have such big wide feet…and you even gave yourself hairless pits! Its like you were begging someone to come along and tickle you..” With that, he dragged his fingers up and down Eirik’s arches, making slow, torturous strokes that forced a fresh wave of hysterical laughter out of the helpless captain.
Eirik tried to scream, tried to beg, but every time he opened his mouth, only laughter came out. He could feel his cock tingling with the urge to pee, but he tossed his head back and forth trying to fight it. And he was losing.
“NOOHOH..W..WAh..waiT…WAIT I..AHAHHAAH…WAIT…!!!”
His eyes darted back to the mirror, watching himself writhing in silent humiliation, his cheeks red, his body quivering with helpless laughter, a wet spot starting to grow in the very center of his pants
“NOOOHAHAHAHANOOOOOHHAAYAHHAAHA—DOOOHOHONT.. LOOOHOOOHK..!!” He tried to beg and plead for them to stop, but all that came out was hysterical laughter.
Another guard leaned in, wiggling his fingers between Eirik’s splayed toes. “Oh, what’s the matter, Captain? Are these little piggies too sensitive for you? Or maybe its those stretched pits? Did the wittle captain have an accident?” he mocked, pressing his nails into the tender spaces, making Eirik’s laughter hit a pitch he hadn’t even known he could reach. His body shook, desperate to pull his toes back, but they stayed locked in place, his immobility only making him more helpless.
“He’s practically crying!” Harris laughed, trailing his fingers back up to Eirik’s bare underarms. He traced slow, mocking circles, pressing down just enough to keep Eirik teetering on the edge of madness. “Guess we were wrong about you, Captain. You’re not a soldier; you’re just a little ticklish toy.”
The sight of his own helpless laughter, his mouth open, his eyes wide and pleading, played out before him in the enchanted mirror. Eirik’s chest heaved as he tried to hold back, but his body betrayed him, giving in to the relentless touch of their fingers. “NoooOHOHOHHHOOO!!!! H..HEEELP..HAHAHAHEELP…!” he tried to beg, but his voice came out weak, almost a whisper, drowned by the peals of laughter echoing through the cell.
“Aw, don’t you want everyone to see this?” Tom taunted, scratching along Eirik’s heels, then flicking his nails along the sides of his feet, right at the tenderest spots near his ankles. “Come on, Captain—give the Empire a good show! Show them just how easily you break!”
Eirik was helpless to do anything but watch himself, his reputation crumbling with every second. He could see the mockery in his own eyes, the desperation in his laughter. The guards only took his anguish as fuel to push him further, their fingers finding every weak spot with practiced precision.
One of the guards leaned in, whispering just loud enough for the enchantment to pick up, “Who would’ve thought the great ‘Butcher’ was so ticklish he’d fall apart at a few touches? What’s next, Captain? Gonna beg us for mercy? Maybe cry?”
Another guard poked his fingers into Eirik’s underarms, digging in and wiggling them mercilessly. “A real hero, aren’t you, Captain? Heroes don’t break down from a little tickling. Maybe you’re not the warrior everyone thought you were.”
Eirik’s mind was drowning in humiliation. He could feel the heat on his face, knowing his shame was being broadcast to everyone he’d ever fought for. The Empire, his soldiers, his friends—seeing him reduced to this. He could only laugh, his will slipping further and further as the guards’ mocking words blended with the torturous sensations.
“Face it, Captain,” Tom said, grinning as he scratched at the base of Eirik’s toes. “You’re done. Broken. And now everyone gets to see it.”
He tries his best to keep tight lipped, a fruitless endeavor, to keep from saying anything more.
The wizard smirked, raising his hands to cast yet another spell, his voice echoing through the cell. “Let’s make this more… honest. You see, Captain Valgren, now you’ll be speaking exactly what’s on your mind. You’ll admit truths even you arent aware of.” He uttered a few arcane words, and with a final flick of his fingers, Eirik felt a strange sensation take over his throat and mouth, as though his own thoughts were being pulled up and forced out.
Immediately, between bursts of laughter, he started speaking against his will, his mind’s thoughts spilling out into the air. “No! It—no, it tickles too much! My feet—my feet are so sensitive! I can’t stand it! It’s—please, it’s torture! I…I shaved my pits because I hated the tickling of sweat! I cant stand it!! PLEAAHHSSSE!! I CANT BARE IT!” The words came out in a frantic jumble, mixed with his uncontrollable laughter, his voice cracking as he spoke his own humiliating confession for all to hear.
The guards burst Into raucous laughter, some leaning against the cell walls, clutching their sides as they howled at his forced admissions. One soldier leaned down close to his face, smirking. “Oh, too sensitive, are you? The big, bad Captain can’t handle a little tickling? That’s priceless!”
Eirik could only laugh, his body vibrating with hysteria as his own thoughts betrayed him.
The guards took advantage of every word, their fingers redoubling on his exposed skin, one of them focusing on his underarms, others mercilessly teasing his restrained feet. “So sensitive, are we?” Harris sneered, scratching his nails lightly across Eirik’s underarms, knowing how it would drive him mad. “Good to know, Captain. Seems like we’ve got plenty to work with!”
Another soldier, grinning, knelt by Eirik’s feet, using the ropes to pull his toes even further apart, granting him full access to every ticklish crevice. “Oh, we’re not stopping now! In fact, we’ll keep at it every single day, just for fun. Your people can watch their hero crack, laughing and begging, just like this!”
Eirik’s mind screamed with indignation and humiliation, but his voice continued its terrible monologue, betraying every weakness. “No! Don’t—pleasepleasePLEAAASE, not my toes! I’m too ticklish there! I can’t take it!” The words left his mouth unbidden, the admission laying bare his vulnerability to all of them.
The guards laughed even harder, mocking him with every word. “Oh, don’t worry, Captain,” one of them taunted, wriggling his fingers between Eirik’s toes as he screamed with laughter. “We won’t stop. In fact, we might just keep this going forever—just you, us, and a good, daily laugh.”
It was just then he spotted an lump growing in his pants.
They had to tickled him so far past hysteria his cock was starting to lift, lifting up the wet spot in his pants along with his erection to show every guard just how melted his mind was becoming.
They exchanged looks before bursting out laughing, Tom staring at his uselessly twitching member as they tickled him “HAHAHA! HES HARD??? Hilarious! This legendary hero gets a hard on from being tickled senseless by men?? What a useless tickle slut.”
As the guards gathered closer, they exchanged wicked grins, clearly reveling in Eirik’s despair. “Let’s have a little more fun,” Tom said, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, his breath sending shivers down Eirik’s spine. “What’s the worst way to tickle you, Captain? I mean, we want this to be special for everyone watching.”
Eirik’s heart raced, and despite the laughter that spilled from him involuntarily, he couldn’t help but respond to their taunting. “N-No! I can’t …CAHAHANT…TELL YOU..! NOO-- don’t tickle between my toes! Or my soles! Or the center of my—MY PIIHIHITS!” Each confession came out in frantic bursts of laughter, the sheer humiliation only adding to his suffering. “I’ll..im..IM GOING MAD…!!”
“Oh, that sounds fun!” Harris grinned, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Guess we’ll have to test that theory then!” He winked at the other guards, who all nodded in agreement, their eyes alight with mischief.
Without hesitation, they descended upon him once more. One guard expertly attacked Eirik’s exposed soles, fingers skimming over the delicate skin with just the right amount of pressure, while another zeroed in on the center of his hairless armpits, their fingers swirling and poking with relentless precision.
Eirik’s laughter erupted, a wild, frantic sound that filled the chamber, like a man losing any slight sanity he could have left “N-no! NONOHOHOOOO!” he gasped, his body jerking and shaking as the ticklish sensations shot through him. His arms trembled, and he could feel his legs quivering uncontrollably, the spell amplifying his vulnerability in ways he never imagined possible.
He was so ticklish even the spell couldn’t keep him 100% still.
Especially not his now completely hard cock uselessly wagging in the air.
“Look at him squirm!” Tom laughed, enjoying the sight of Eirik’s taut body twisting and writhing. “You’re a real mess, Captain! And you thought you could hold out against us!”
The guards worked In unison, each of them exploiting his weakest spots with the deftness of seasoned tormentors. Fingers danced between his toes, wiggling and scratching at the tender skin while another set of fingers explored the sensitive hollows of his armpits, twisting and teasing in a way that left Eirik teetering on the edge of madness.
“Come on, Captain! Just a little more, and we might let you go!” one of them teased, the tone dripping with sarcasm. “Or we could just keep you here, tickling you daily for everyone to see! Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Eirik’s mind spun, laughter morphing into desperate pleas. “I can’t take it! I’ll tell you anything! Just stop!” he howled, shaking his head as he tried to claw back some semblance of dignity. But the tickling was relentless, each touch forcing another round of hysterical laughter from him.
“Let’s hear it, then!” Tom urged, his fingers still dancing along Eirik’s soles, working in a steady rhythm that made Eirik want to scream. “What do we want to know, Captain? Where are your comrades? Or do we just keep this up until you go mad?”
“P-Please!” Eirik gasped, his voice breaking. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything! Just stop tickling me! I can’t take it anymore!”
The guards exchanged triumphant glances, the glee evident on their faces as Eirik succumbed to their relentless teasing. “We’re all ears, Captain,” Harris said with a grin, his fingers still moving playfully around those now bright pink tortured soles, though the tempo slowed as they leaned in, eager to hear what he had to say.
“Fine! They’re in the old fort near the river!” Eirik cried, the words spilling out between ragged breaths, laughter still bubbling up. “You’ll find them there! Just please, I can’t—IIIIII CAHAHAHAHANT TAAAKKEE ITTT!!!AHAHAHAHAHA!”
As he revealed their location, the guards couldn’t help but chuckle, the victory even sweeter now that it came with the sound of Eirik’s laughter echoing through the chamber, a war hero brought low by the simplest of tortures.
Now it was time to add humiliation to the mix.
The guards yanked his pants down in one swift motion, making him gasp and eyes bug out of his skull. His cock was standing upright, flexing and drooling bits of precum down his stubby shaft. His cock was hardly even 4 inches, the guards snickering at laughing. The degrading feeling of others looking at his short cock just added the red to his cheeks “awwwe…little cock legend is too ticklish to keep it together? Thanks for the info stubby. But I think we should keep “interrogating” you, just to make sure you’re being honest.”
Right as the war hero screamed uselessly at the top of his lungs the tickling hit a crescendo.
Two men worked his pits, tickling and scratching his hairless hallows slick with sweat making their nails easy to skitter around. They used one hand to spread open the very wrinkles of his hairless pits, while all five fingers ruthlessly tickled every inch. All the while they coo and whisper in his ear “these pits will never know peace again.. they’ll be spread open forever and ever. Does that tickle? Right? Ohh poor baby..tickle tickleeee”
Two men perched onto his toes, wiggling fingers between each, even going so far as to kiss and nibble on the useless stems wanting so bad to at least wiggle—but couldn’t.
And lastly there was Tom. The man absorbed by his tender, gentle soles. How glided over every wrinkle, scratched every inch. The beautiful raw pink making even him get hard at the sight of them.
One solider got the bright idea to grab a feather from the nearby bed and tickle up his shaft and the head of his cock. He’d stroke lazily up and down, whispering “coochie coochie coooo” as he played with the engorged member.
By now the supposed legend was laughing so hard it was silent. Tears streamed down his face, drool out of his mouth, and an entire village watching their symbol of strength piss himself for the second time. The urine bubbling down his cock didn’t even phase the soldier tickling it, only making him giggle as he watched the helpless man slowly lose his mind.
Now it was time for the king to see his mortal enemy.
CAUTION! urine and tickle torture.
----‐-----‐----------------------
Under the dim light of a flickering lantern, Private Tom Jensen glanced into the cell, catching sight of the war hero from across enemy lines, Captain Eirik Valgren. Known as the “Butcher of Black Fields,”
Eirik had been a pillar of his homeland’s brutal regime, renowned for his strategic brilliance and unwavering loyalty to the tyrannical empire. He was a terrifying killer, cold and ruthless. Many were too scared to even look in his direction. he had short brown hair, a scarred but strong body, and piercing eyes.
But now he lay asleep, his hard expression softened in the shadows. He wore not his expensive garbs and rich robes, but dirty shorts and a top with the sleeves ripped off, showing pale skin very few ever got to see.
The plan was simple: capture Eirik and find out where his remaining battalion was hiding. He’d been silent during questioning, giving nothing away except a stare and a quiet word now and then. But the good guys didn’t resort to torture, and that only seemed to harden his resolve.
It was nearing midnight when Tom passed the cell again, this time noticing something strange. Eirik’s feet were sticking out from the barred door, his legs stretched out awkwardly through the door used to slide him food.
Tom raised an eyebrow. What kind of prisoner was this?
He shook his head, chuckling to himself. They were large like the man himself, hulking, easily size 11’s. The soles were broad and pale, clearly rarely seeing the outside world.
On impulse, Tom leaned in and gently poked the center of Eirik’s sole, expecting nothing to happen. It was just a way to annoy him.
Instead, Eirik burst out laughing—a deep, uncontrollable laugh, his eyes still shut. Tom blinked in surprise, then stifled his own laugh. So the mighty Butcher was ticklish?
Feeling bold, he did it again, this time a little softer. Eirik jerked awake, his laughter dying down abruptly as he pulled his legs back inside the cell, his face flushed with a strange blend of embarrassment and annoyance.
“What… what are you doing?” he stammered, the trace of laughter still lingering on his lips.
“Uh… just… checking on the prisoner, sir,” Tom replied with an innocent smile.
Eirik’s hard expression returned, but his cheeks remained flushed. “Is this some kind of new interrogation tactic?” he asked.
“Nah. Just didn’t expect someone like you to be… ticklish, I guess.”
Eirik scoffed, sitting up straighter. “I am human, you know. This cell is cramped, and I have to stretch my legs.”
The silence hung between them before Tom finally spoke up, almost hesitant. “Look, Captain… I know you’ve got no reason to trust us. But if you know where our men are, you could help us end this. End it for good.”
Eirik looked away, his gaze distant “.. if you think laughing will break my resolve… you’re mistaken.”
Tom nodded, understanding the pride and the chains that bound Eirik. “Well, maybe I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a grin. “Just in case.”
The next night he did the same, pushing his feet outside of the cell so he could stretch out his legs for a more comfortable sleep.
Eirik shifted in his cell, tugging his feet back only to find them held in place by a leather strap Tom had looped through the food slot, making him unable to pull them back. His eyes widened as he realized he was stuck.
And then he felt it: a single, feather-light scratch along the arch of his foot.
“W-What… what is this?” he muttered, trying to hold back a snort. But Tom’s fingers brushed against his skin again, then again—delicate, probing touches across the arch and heel. A low chuckle bubbled up, and before Eirik knew it, he was biting back a laugh, determined to maintain his composure.
Tom leaned in, grinning, his voice teasing. “Come on, Captain. Just a few details on your men’s location. Think of how much easier this will be.”
Eirik scoffed, though his voice wavered. “You think… you think this will make me talk? This—this ridiculous nonsense?”
But the tickling didn’t stop. Tom’s fingers started up a slow, steady rhythm, running along the sensitive skin with maddening precision. He scratched delicately at the curve of Eirik’s arch, then traced up to his toes with barely-there strokes. Eirik clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut as laughter rose in his chest, fighting to spill out.
“I’m the Butcher of Black Fields,” he ground out, his voice breaking with suppressed laughter. “This isn’t going to work on me. I will not—ah!” He broke off with an involuntary yelp as Tom wiggled his fingers along the underside of his toes, the sensation too much for him to resist.
“Doesn’t seem like it, Captain,” Tom replied, amused. “A man like you, ticklish? Who would’ve guessed?”
Eirik thrashed, his body jerking as Tom’s fingers continued to dance across his feet, each motion impossibly precise and unbearably light. His pride burned; he’d survived battles, broken enemy lines, earned the fear of a nation, and here he was, his dignity crumbling under a relentless tickling.
“I....I will not break,” Eirik gasped, though laughter colored his words, his tone both indignant and pleading. “I will not—stop it!”
Tom only chuckled, his fingers tracing maddening patterns across Eirik’s soles. He switched techniques, running his fingers in small circles, then scratching lightly along the ball of Eirik’s foot, alternating speeds and pressure with a methodical persistence.
Eirik’s laughter came in breathless gasps now, uncontrollable and rising despite every ounce of pride he clung to. “You—you fiend,” he sputtered between laughs. “You think… this is… some kind of… proper technique?”
Tom shrugged. “Seems like it’s getting a reaction. And from a Captain, no less.”
Eirik shook his head, trying to wrest back control, his expression growing indignant, even furious. “I’m a… I’m a symbol of hope! I…HahaHAHA… I will not talk… no matter what… ridiculous methods you try!”
Tom smiled, unfazed. “Oh, I’ve got all night, Captain. We’ll see just how long that hope lasts.”
He sped up, running his fingers along every vulnerable inch of Eirik’s feet, from his heels to the spaces beneath his toes. Eirik’s laughter filled the cell, and no matter how much he fought it, he felt the cracks widening in his resolve.
“Curse you,” he managed between laughs. “I will not… betray my people… HA..I won’t…”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “That so? Looks like I might just have to try a little harder.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed as he focused his attention on the center of Eirik’s soles, pressing just enough to send shocks of unbearable sensation radiating outward. Eirik’s eyes widened, and any remnants of composure shattered as he let out a full-throated howl of laughter, his body writhing helplessly on the cold cell floor. He thrashed, tugging and twisting, but his trapped feet remained vulnerable to Tom’s unrelenting touch.
“N-No! Stop it! You—AHAHAHAH--this is—this is insane!” Eirik gasped, trying to sound indignant, though his voice was strangled with hysterical laughter. But the tickling only grew worse, and each touch sent him spiraling deeper into uncontrollable laughter. He couldn’t hold it back, couldn’t hide the ridiculous sensitivity of his soles. His pride burned, but he was utterly powerless, his body betraying him as laughter poured out.
Hearing the commotion, a few soldiers gathered outside the cell door, looking in with amused expressions. One of them, a young private named Harris, raised an eyebrow, smirking as he took in the scene.
“What’s going on here?” Harris asked, grinning.
Tom grinned back, glancing at the soldiers. “Turns out our mighty Captain here is… extremely ticklish.” He leaned in, scratching along the center of Eirik’s sole, making him scream with laughter. “Couldn’t resist trying to see if he’d crack.”
Eirik’s face was a mix of horror and frustration, his eyes blazing even as his voice broke into another helpless round of hysterics. “I—I won’t… I won’t tell you… anything!” he managed to gasp, though his words were punctuated by peals of laughter. “You’re—you’re cowards, all of you!”
The soldiers burst out laughing, shaking their heads at the sight. “Cowards?” Harris scoffed. “We’re not the ones getting tickled senseless, Captain.” He leaned down, poking Eirik’s toes, which only made him yelp and pull his feet back as far as he could—though he was still stuck.
“Come on, Captain, let’s hear where your men are,” another soldier chimed in, joining Tom by scratching lightly at Eirik’s left foot. “Don’t make us tickle it out of you.”
Eirik clenched his fists, the strain of holding back laughter nearly painful. “You… you can’t… make me…” he stammered, his tone a blend of defiance and sheer desperation.
But they were merciless. Tom grinned, nodding to the others to continue, and they took turns prodding, poking, and scratching every ticklish inch of Eirik’s feet. One soldier traced his fingers in tight circles over the center of his left sole, while another wiggled his fingers along Eirik’s arches. The sensation was overwhelming, and Eirik’s mind spiraled, every thought drowned in hysterical, helpless laughter.
“Just give it up, Captain,” Tom said with a chuckle. “You’re laughing so hard you can barely think. Just tell us, and this all stops.”
Eirik squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving with breathless laughter, his resolve hanging by a thread. He was a war hero, a symbol of his people’s might, yet here he was, reduced to fits of laughter by a handful of soldiers. Still, he clenched his jaw, shaking his head, even as the relentless tickling continued, his pride the only thing keeping him from breaking completely.
“You—you’ll have to… do better than that!” he shouted defiantly, though it was barely intelligible through his howls of laughter.
The soldiers looked at each other, laughing along with him. “All right, Captain,” Tom said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
The soldiers leaned in with grins, eager to test the infamous Captain Eirik Valgren’s limits. Each one took a position, fingers poised to continue their relentless assault on his exposed feet. Tom, still grinning, zeroed in on the center of Eirik’s right sole, pressing his fingertips in a maddening, circular motion over the most sensitive spot. Eirik’s entire body jolted, laughter ripping from him uncontrollably, his pride and defiance crumbling with every touch.
“Aw, look at the great Captain squirm!” Harris chuckled, scratching gently along Eirik’s arch, his fingers moving in slow, taunting strokes. “Didn’t expect a fearsome war hero to be so… ticklish!”
Eirik’s face flushed as he tried to twist his feet away, but with the leather strap binding them, escape was impossible. He felt another soldier start to wriggle his fingers along the base of his toes, working meticulously between each toe with infuriating precision. Eirik’s laughter took on a desperate pitch, his words lost in a cacophony of hysterics.
“Come on, Captain, don’t tell me you’re really this sensitive,” Tom mocked, pressing harder against the center of Eirik’s sole, his fingers dancing over the exact spot that seemed to drive Eirik wild. “Where’s all that big talk now? The ‘Butcher of Black Fields’—laughing like a kid over a few tickles?”
Eirik’s face turned red, his voice breaking as he tried to spit out a retort, but all he could manage were breathless gasps between laughs. “You… you’re all… unworthy… of this… fight!” he spluttered, though his indignation sounded laughably feeble under the onslaught.
“Oh yeah?” one of the soldiers snickered, running his fingers up and down the length of Eirik’s left sole in a torturous, featherlight touch. “Let’s hear you say that without laughing, Captain.”
A fourth soldier leaned In, poking and wiggling his fingers along the tops of Eirik’s toes, flicking over the soft skin, while another began to gently pinch his heels. Eirik writhed, his body twisting on the other side of the door as they continued their relentless assault. His laughter reached a fever pitch, eyes squeezed shut, his face a mix of humiliation and helpless mirth.
“He can’t handle it!” Harris laughed, his fingers digging lightly into the delicate spaces between Eirik’s toes. “Is this what the ‘hero of the Empire’ has come to? Can’t even take a little tickling!”
Eirik’s cheeks burned, fury and embarrassment mingling in his mind, but his pride forced him to hold his ground.
“Y-You’ll get… nothing from me!” he choked out, though his words broke with each round of laughter that the soldiers pulled from him.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Tom teased, his fingers tracing rapid, unpredictable patterns over Eirik’s soles, alternating between gentle scratches and firmer pressure. “Seems to me like you’re barely holding it together."
One soldier leaned in close, grinning. “Why don’t you just admit it, Captain? You’re done. Just tell us what we want to know. Or do you actually like being tickled senseless?”
Eirik clenched his fists, trying to force himself to stay silent, to keep his resolve, but the tickling only grew worse. Every soldier worked in sync, their fingers never letting up, each one exploring different areas of his feet, their touches ranging from light, teasing strokes to firmer, maddening pressure. The sensation was inescapable, overwhelming, reducing him to a blubbering, laughing wreck.
“What a sight,” Tom taunted. “The Butcher himself—broken down to nothing but laughter. I guess the mighty hero of the Empire can’t even handle a few fingers on his feet.”
Eirik’s laughter hitched, the sound bordering on hysterical as he writhed against his restraints, his pride crushed beneath the mocking voices of his captors and their relentless, tickling fingers.
Amid the chaos of laughter, Eirik’s breathless chuckles faltered as he heard a voice echo from outside the cell door. It was calm, cold, and unmistakably familiar—the court wizard. Eirik couldn’t make out the words, only the murmur of a conversation between the wizard and the guards. His heart sank, and for a fleeting moment, he dared to hope that the wizard might put an end to this humiliation.
But his hopes were shattered the instant he felt a pair of ice-cold hands pressing against his trapped feet. The touch was so sudden and chilling that he nearly screamed, his body jolting as his nerves exploded with the shock of the freezing touch. The wizard’s fingers were deliberate, moving slowly, almost experimentally, tracing over the arches and around his toes with a touch that was both clinical and maddening. Eirik’s laughter became higher-pitched, more frantic, as he fought against the strange magic.
Then he felt a shift in his body, a strange sensation washing over him. The cold hands lifted, and for a second he thought it was over—but he couldn’t move. His arms, legs, every muscle felt like stone. He tried to twist, to pull back his feet, but he couldn’t so much as twitch a finger. His body was utterly limp, immobilized, while his mind remained painfully alert.
The wizard’s voice came again, clearer this time, as he muttered an incantation. “You’ll be able to feel every touch, Captain Valgren,” he said with a cool detachment. “But you will have no power to resist it.”
It was then he felt all the power from his arms and legs collapse. Every muscle went limp, all his strength absolutely sapped from him. He was paralyzed.
Eirik’s eyes widened, and he fought to cry out as two guards entered the chamber, wide grins plastered across their faces. One of them leaned down, smirking.
“Well, well, Captain. Looks like the mighty Butcher is in a bit of a bind.” He and the other guard hoisted Eirik’s arms above his head, exposing his upper body. No matter how much he strained, his arms stayed pinned where they’d left them, utterly beyond his control.
One guard paused, taking in Eirik’s cleanly shaven underarms with a curious look before bursting into laughter. “What’s this? You care that much about your appearance? A war hero fussing over his underarms? Don’t tell me they’re so sensitive you cant even have hair.”
Eirik’s face flushed. “You… let me go!” he demanded, though his voice quivered with both anger and lingering laughter.
The soldiers only chuckled, ignoring his pleas. “What’s the matter, Captain?” one of them teased, leaning down until his face was inches from Eirik’s. “You didn’t think we’d notice, did you? Or that we’d find it… sensitive?”
They shared a laugh, and then, with barely a pause, the first guard poked his index finger into the center of Eirik’s exposed underarm. The reaction was immediate. Eirik burst into hysterics, the sound raw and desperate, his body trembling as he tried—and failed—to bring his arms down. They were limp, utterly sapped of energy, leaving him helplessly vulnerable to the two men. The guard grinned, poking and scratching, while another soldier joined in on the other side, each one working his fingers in delicate circles, tapping and scratching lightly over the smooth skin.
“No—NO! aHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA--Stop! Stop this!” Eirik shouted, his voice breaking with helpless laughter. His underarms had always been his most sensitive spot, and the light, relentless touch was unbearable. He writhed internally, every nerve firing as the guards mocked him, their fingers never stopping.
“Poor Butcher can’t take it, huh?” one guard sneered, his fingers pressing firmly into Eirik’s right underarm, then skimming up to his shoulder only to dance back down to the underarm again. “Bet you didn’t expect to be taken down like this. All that strength, all that pride—reduced to a laughing mess.”
Eirik’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face red, humiliated beyond anything he’d ever known. His chest heaved with forced laughter, his voice hoarse as he struggled to speak between each uncontrollable breath. “I… I will not… tell you anything!” he managed, though his words were barely audible through his hysterical laughter.
The soldiers only laughed harder, fingers continuing their relentless dance across his underarms, pressing and poking every ticklish inch. “Oh, we’re just getting started,” one of them said with a smirk. “We’ve got plenty of time, Captain. And something tells me you’re not going anywhere.”
Pinned, helpless, and laughing against his will, Eirik’s mind spun as his captors explored every inch of his most vulnerable spot, his helpless laughter echoing through the stone walls, his legendary reputation in ruins.
Eirik’s heart pounded as he realized his worst nightmare was coming true. Immobilized by the wizard’s spell, he couldn’t budge an inch. His feet were still strapped securely outside the cell door, while his arms were pinned above his head, leaving his entire body vulnerable. Every ticklish spot was laid bare for his captors to exploit, and the smirking guards around him wasted no time diving in.
Tom started on his feet, fingers expertly scratching and teasing the big soft arches. He dragged his nails from Eirik’s heels all the way up to his toes, varying the pressure and speed until Eirik’s voice cracked with wild, helpless laughter.
“Oh, look at this!” Tom sneered, watching Eirik’s face contort. “The Butcher of Black Fields, reduced to a blubbering mess over a few little scratches! Not so tough now, are you, Captain?”
Eirik’s cheeks burned red with humiliation as he shook his head wildly, gasping between fits of laughter. “I—I will… never… give in!” he managed to choke out, but the laughter kept overtaking him, growing more frantic by the second.
Another guard, Harris, focused on Eirik’s exposed underarms, which were visibly clean-shaven. He traced his fingertips along the soft, bare skin, his touch light and taunting. Eirik’s eyes squeezed shut, the sensation driving him to new heights of hysteria.
“Look at you, all groomed and proper,” Harris mocked, his fingers swirling over the sensitive area, pressing and teasing with excruciating slowness. “What’s the matter, Captain? Do you get a little too ticklish with all that smooth skin?”
A fresh wave of laughter burst from Eirik, his voice cracking with every word he tried to say. “N-No… please! I—stop this!” he gasped, his pride disintegrating under the soldiers’ relentless assault. The wizard’s spell held him tight, denying him any relief, his body vibrating with uncontrollable laughter.
“Oh, we’ll stop, all right,” another soldier said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he joined in on Eirik’s left foot, scratching at the base of his toes. “Just as soon as you tell us what we want to know. All that big talk, and yet you can’t even handle a little tickling!”
Eirik writhed mentally, every nerve on fire as his laughter grew hoarse and frantic. The soldiers’ hands were everywhere: one was flicking his fingers between Eirik’s toes, wiggling each toe and pressing into the spaces between them, while another traced agonizing circles around his heels. Harris continued his merciless tickling along Eirik’s underarms, switching from light flicks to deeper, teasing scratches that made Eirik’s laughter erupt into desperate, pleading shrieks.
“Tickle, tickle, Captain!” Harris teased, his voice sing-song. “Don’t tell me you’re going to hold out against us, hm? You’re already falling apart, and we’re only just starting!”
Eirik’s mind spun, the words cutting through his pride like knives. The wizard watched from the doorway with an amused expression, arms crossed, as the soldiers ramped up their attack. Every inch of Eirik’s body felt like it was on fire with ticklish agony.
One guard leaned down, grinning as he scratched under Eirik’s chin, then poked lightly at his ribs, digging his fingers in just enough to make Eirik’s laughter reach a fever pitch. “Look at you, Captain—begging like a child! Are you ticklish everywhere? Can’t imagine what your people would say if they saw you like this!”
Eirik’s face turned crimson as his composure shattered completely. His laughter was raw and unrestrained, each touch driving him closer to madness. “I… I’ll never—aAHAHAAAAAh! Never… giiiiihahaHAHAHIve in!” he gasped, though his voice was barely a whisper through his unending laughter.
“A fearless Captain, huh?” one guard taunted, laughing as he poked at Eirik’s belly. “You’re more like a ticklish little kid than a soldier!”
Eirik’s head spun, laughter breaking into gasping pleas. “N-No! I—please! I can’t-AAHAHAHAHAHAH--… take it!” he cried, his voice a mix of laughter and desperate shame.
“Oh, but we’re only getting started, Captain,” Harris said with a grin, fingers gliding under Eirik’s arms again, finding the most sensitive spots as the other soldiers tickled his now pinkened soles “All you have to do is tell us what we want to know… or we’ll keep going until there’s nothing left of that so-called pride of yours!”
With his body and mind pushed to the brink, Eirik’s laughter echoed through the cold cell, his dignity and willpower crumbling beneath the cruel hands of his captors.
Just as Eirik thought the torture might end, a dense cloud of shimmering purple mist filled the room, swirling until it solidified into a mirror-like surface, reflecting his own image back at him On the cieling. He froze, watching himself pinned and helpless, his face flushed, his body a trembling mess from the relentless tickling.
The wizard’s cold, mocking voice cut through his thoughts. “Look well, Captain Valgren. There is another cloud ive placed in the townsquare of your empire, showing this very scene live. Your little predicament will be seen by all. The mighty ‘Butcher of Black Fields,’ laid bare, defeated not by swords or magic, but by laughter. The Empire will know their hero’s shame.”
Eirik’s heart sank as he realized the implications. “NNoAHAH—PLEAAHAHAHAASEEE…NOOO!!!not..not my reputation. .PLEAse..!” he shouted, straining against the spell’s hold on his body. “I… I won’t let yOUUUHahahaAHAHAAAA!”
The wizard chuckled, Ignoring his pleas, and gave a slight nod to the guards.
“Then let’s show them exactly what their fearless captain is made of. Get to work, men.”
Without hesitation, the guards descended upon him, grinning wickedly as they resumed their ticklish assault. Tom and Harris grabbed small threads and deftly tied Eirik’s toes, spreading them apart to leave no part of his sensitive feet untouched. Eirik’s heart pounded, watching in horror as they worked—he could feel every inch of his exposed skin, and now he could see it, too, reflected back at him in the cloudy mirror staring down at him.
“Look at him,” Tom sneered, wiggling his fingers just inches from Eirik’s immobile feet. “Completely at our mercy. Guess those legendary battle skills don’t count for much when your only enemy is a little… tickling. Must be awful to have such big wide feet…and you even gave yourself hairless pits! Its like you were begging someone to come along and tickle you..” With that, he dragged his fingers up and down Eirik’s arches, making slow, torturous strokes that forced a fresh wave of hysterical laughter out of the helpless captain.
Eirik tried to scream, tried to beg, but every time he opened his mouth, only laughter came out. He could feel his cock tingling with the urge to pee, but he tossed his head back and forth trying to fight it. And he was losing.
“NOOHOH..W..WAh..waiT…WAIT I..AHAHHAAH…WAIT…!!!”
His eyes darted back to the mirror, watching himself writhing in silent humiliation, his cheeks red, his body quivering with helpless laughter, a wet spot starting to grow in the very center of his pants
“NOOOHAHAHAHANOOOOOHHAAYAHHAAHA—DOOOHOHONT.. LOOOHOOOHK..!!” He tried to beg and plead for them to stop, but all that came out was hysterical laughter.
Another guard leaned in, wiggling his fingers between Eirik’s splayed toes. “Oh, what’s the matter, Captain? Are these little piggies too sensitive for you? Or maybe its those stretched pits? Did the wittle captain have an accident?” he mocked, pressing his nails into the tender spaces, making Eirik’s laughter hit a pitch he hadn’t even known he could reach. His body shook, desperate to pull his toes back, but they stayed locked in place, his immobility only making him more helpless.
“He’s practically crying!” Harris laughed, trailing his fingers back up to Eirik’s bare underarms. He traced slow, mocking circles, pressing down just enough to keep Eirik teetering on the edge of madness. “Guess we were wrong about you, Captain. You’re not a soldier; you’re just a little ticklish toy.”
The sight of his own helpless laughter, his mouth open, his eyes wide and pleading, played out before him in the enchanted mirror. Eirik’s chest heaved as he tried to hold back, but his body betrayed him, giving in to the relentless touch of their fingers. “NoooOHOHOHHHOOO!!!! H..HEEELP..HAHAHAHEELP…!” he tried to beg, but his voice came out weak, almost a whisper, drowned by the peals of laughter echoing through the cell.
“Aw, don’t you want everyone to see this?” Tom taunted, scratching along Eirik’s heels, then flicking his nails along the sides of his feet, right at the tenderest spots near his ankles. “Come on, Captain—give the Empire a good show! Show them just how easily you break!”
Eirik was helpless to do anything but watch himself, his reputation crumbling with every second. He could see the mockery in his own eyes, the desperation in his laughter. The guards only took his anguish as fuel to push him further, their fingers finding every weak spot with practiced precision.
One of the guards leaned in, whispering just loud enough for the enchantment to pick up, “Who would’ve thought the great ‘Butcher’ was so ticklish he’d fall apart at a few touches? What’s next, Captain? Gonna beg us for mercy? Maybe cry?”
Another guard poked his fingers into Eirik’s underarms, digging in and wiggling them mercilessly. “A real hero, aren’t you, Captain? Heroes don’t break down from a little tickling. Maybe you’re not the warrior everyone thought you were.”
Eirik’s mind was drowning in humiliation. He could feel the heat on his face, knowing his shame was being broadcast to everyone he’d ever fought for. The Empire, his soldiers, his friends—seeing him reduced to this. He could only laugh, his will slipping further and further as the guards’ mocking words blended with the torturous sensations.
“Face it, Captain,” Tom said, grinning as he scratched at the base of Eirik’s toes. “You’re done. Broken. And now everyone gets to see it.”
He tries his best to keep tight lipped, a fruitless endeavor, to keep from saying anything more.
The wizard smirked, raising his hands to cast yet another spell, his voice echoing through the cell. “Let’s make this more… honest. You see, Captain Valgren, now you’ll be speaking exactly what’s on your mind. You’ll admit truths even you arent aware of.” He uttered a few arcane words, and with a final flick of his fingers, Eirik felt a strange sensation take over his throat and mouth, as though his own thoughts were being pulled up and forced out.
Immediately, between bursts of laughter, he started speaking against his will, his mind’s thoughts spilling out into the air. “No! It—no, it tickles too much! My feet—my feet are so sensitive! I can’t stand it! It’s—please, it’s torture! I…I shaved my pits because I hated the tickling of sweat! I cant stand it!! PLEAAHHSSSE!! I CANT BARE IT!” The words came out in a frantic jumble, mixed with his uncontrollable laughter, his voice cracking as he spoke his own humiliating confession for all to hear.
The guards burst Into raucous laughter, some leaning against the cell walls, clutching their sides as they howled at his forced admissions. One soldier leaned down close to his face, smirking. “Oh, too sensitive, are you? The big, bad Captain can’t handle a little tickling? That’s priceless!”
Eirik could only laugh, his body vibrating with hysteria as his own thoughts betrayed him.
The guards took advantage of every word, their fingers redoubling on his exposed skin, one of them focusing on his underarms, others mercilessly teasing his restrained feet. “So sensitive, are we?” Harris sneered, scratching his nails lightly across Eirik’s underarms, knowing how it would drive him mad. “Good to know, Captain. Seems like we’ve got plenty to work with!”
Another soldier, grinning, knelt by Eirik’s feet, using the ropes to pull his toes even further apart, granting him full access to every ticklish crevice. “Oh, we’re not stopping now! In fact, we’ll keep at it every single day, just for fun. Your people can watch their hero crack, laughing and begging, just like this!”
Eirik’s mind screamed with indignation and humiliation, but his voice continued its terrible monologue, betraying every weakness. “No! Don’t—pleasepleasePLEAAASE, not my toes! I’m too ticklish there! I can’t take it!” The words left his mouth unbidden, the admission laying bare his vulnerability to all of them.
The guards laughed even harder, mocking him with every word. “Oh, don’t worry, Captain,” one of them taunted, wriggling his fingers between Eirik’s toes as he screamed with laughter. “We won’t stop. In fact, we might just keep this going forever—just you, us, and a good, daily laugh.”
It was just then he spotted an lump growing in his pants.
They had to tickled him so far past hysteria his cock was starting to lift, lifting up the wet spot in his pants along with his erection to show every guard just how melted his mind was becoming.
They exchanged looks before bursting out laughing, Tom staring at his uselessly twitching member as they tickled him “HAHAHA! HES HARD??? Hilarious! This legendary hero gets a hard on from being tickled senseless by men?? What a useless tickle slut.”
As the guards gathered closer, they exchanged wicked grins, clearly reveling in Eirik’s despair. “Let’s have a little more fun,” Tom said, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, his breath sending shivers down Eirik’s spine. “What’s the worst way to tickle you, Captain? I mean, we want this to be special for everyone watching.”
Eirik’s heart raced, and despite the laughter that spilled from him involuntarily, he couldn’t help but respond to their taunting. “N-No! I can’t …CAHAHANT…TELL YOU..! NOO-- don’t tickle between my toes! Or my soles! Or the center of my—MY PIIHIHITS!” Each confession came out in frantic bursts of laughter, the sheer humiliation only adding to his suffering. “I’ll..im..IM GOING MAD…!!”
“Oh, that sounds fun!” Harris grinned, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Guess we’ll have to test that theory then!” He winked at the other guards, who all nodded in agreement, their eyes alight with mischief.
Without hesitation, they descended upon him once more. One guard expertly attacked Eirik’s exposed soles, fingers skimming over the delicate skin with just the right amount of pressure, while another zeroed in on the center of his hairless armpits, their fingers swirling and poking with relentless precision.
Eirik’s laughter erupted, a wild, frantic sound that filled the chamber, like a man losing any slight sanity he could have left “N-no! NONOHOHOOOO!” he gasped, his body jerking and shaking as the ticklish sensations shot through him. His arms trembled, and he could feel his legs quivering uncontrollably, the spell amplifying his vulnerability in ways he never imagined possible.
He was so ticklish even the spell couldn’t keep him 100% still.
Especially not his now completely hard cock uselessly wagging in the air.
“Look at him squirm!” Tom laughed, enjoying the sight of Eirik’s taut body twisting and writhing. “You’re a real mess, Captain! And you thought you could hold out against us!”
The guards worked In unison, each of them exploiting his weakest spots with the deftness of seasoned tormentors. Fingers danced between his toes, wiggling and scratching at the tender skin while another set of fingers explored the sensitive hollows of his armpits, twisting and teasing in a way that left Eirik teetering on the edge of madness.
“Come on, Captain! Just a little more, and we might let you go!” one of them teased, the tone dripping with sarcasm. “Or we could just keep you here, tickling you daily for everyone to see! Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Eirik’s mind spun, laughter morphing into desperate pleas. “I can’t take it! I’ll tell you anything! Just stop!” he howled, shaking his head as he tried to claw back some semblance of dignity. But the tickling was relentless, each touch forcing another round of hysterical laughter from him.
“Let’s hear it, then!” Tom urged, his fingers still dancing along Eirik’s soles, working in a steady rhythm that made Eirik want to scream. “What do we want to know, Captain? Where are your comrades? Or do we just keep this up until you go mad?”
“P-Please!” Eirik gasped, his voice breaking. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything! Just stop tickling me! I can’t take it anymore!”
The guards exchanged triumphant glances, the glee evident on their faces as Eirik succumbed to their relentless teasing. “We’re all ears, Captain,” Harris said with a grin, his fingers still moving playfully around those now bright pink tortured soles, though the tempo slowed as they leaned in, eager to hear what he had to say.
“Fine! They’re in the old fort near the river!” Eirik cried, the words spilling out between ragged breaths, laughter still bubbling up. “You’ll find them there! Just please, I can’t—IIIIII CAHAHAHAHANT TAAAKKEE ITTT!!!AHAHAHAHAHA!”
As he revealed their location, the guards couldn’t help but chuckle, the victory even sweeter now that it came with the sound of Eirik’s laughter echoing through the chamber, a war hero brought low by the simplest of tortures.
Now it was time to add humiliation to the mix.
The guards yanked his pants down in one swift motion, making him gasp and eyes bug out of his skull. His cock was standing upright, flexing and drooling bits of precum down his stubby shaft. His cock was hardly even 4 inches, the guards snickering at laughing. The degrading feeling of others looking at his short cock just added the red to his cheeks “awwwe…little cock legend is too ticklish to keep it together? Thanks for the info stubby. But I think we should keep “interrogating” you, just to make sure you’re being honest.”
Right as the war hero screamed uselessly at the top of his lungs the tickling hit a crescendo.
Two men worked his pits, tickling and scratching his hairless hallows slick with sweat making their nails easy to skitter around. They used one hand to spread open the very wrinkles of his hairless pits, while all five fingers ruthlessly tickled every inch. All the while they coo and whisper in his ear “these pits will never know peace again.. they’ll be spread open forever and ever. Does that tickle? Right? Ohh poor baby..tickle tickleeee”
Two men perched onto his toes, wiggling fingers between each, even going so far as to kiss and nibble on the useless stems wanting so bad to at least wiggle—but couldn’t.
And lastly there was Tom. The man absorbed by his tender, gentle soles. How glided over every wrinkle, scratched every inch. The beautiful raw pink making even him get hard at the sight of them.
One solider got the bright idea to grab a feather from the nearby bed and tickle up his shaft and the head of his cock. He’d stroke lazily up and down, whispering “coochie coochie coooo” as he played with the engorged member.
By now the supposed legend was laughing so hard it was silent. Tears streamed down his face, drool out of his mouth, and an entire village watching their symbol of strength piss himself for the second time. The urine bubbling down his cock didn’t even phase the soldier tickling it, only making him giggle as he watched the helpless man slowly lose his mind.
Now it was time for the king to see his mortal enemy.
