The Tickle Dungeons Pt. 01

She had nothing but desperate defiance. "You're too good for a cock, BITCH-CUNT!" she yelled at the bird.

It was a big mistake.

The Mocking Birds burst into laughter around her, and she felt its sharp claws light on the small of her back, holding her by the hips.

"RAWWKKK!! Bitch-Chloe wants us to think she's brave and strong!" It laughed in its human voice. "Little-Bitty-Chloe is going to beg hard and tell us what a weak, little whelp she is! RAWKKK! RAWKKK!"

The claws felt like they could become knives easily puncturing or lacerating her flesh--but they just held her at her hips and the bird tilted itself--and oh--oh shit!!

The feathers brushed her buttocks, and she felt stings erupt from the light contact and---Ahh!! It tickled! Her eyes widened as her bottom flared in the discomfort of an assault of stings. Then she gasped as, at that point, the pruritus ani bit and her anus suddenly flared with an itch she could not ignore--could not focus through!

She gasped--it would subside--it must! She clenched her bottom as the birds laughed around her. And then--oh--oh no! Her bottom was engulfed in stinging feathers as it forced a cock--a huge thick one--into her vagina. She could imagine it, perched on her, its head thrown back, cawing, as its cock--big, stiff, warm, wet, and painful bullied its way into her.

She cried out as the feathers brushed over her buttocks, laying lines of stinging itch. Her anus throbbed with a different itch--not as harsh--but deep and sensual--a thick flaring itch that refused to be ignored--and her pussy stretched hard to accommodate the Mockingbird's cock.

She wailed in distress as it bucked, its penis like a battering ram into her cervix. She struggled for all her worth as it pulled back and then sank home again, with terrible force. Her hips were afire with the burn of its feathers. She felt like she was pushed into a bed of soft stinging insects or sea-jellies. She tried to buck it off--but it was far too strong and it laughed horribly as it fucked her.

"Chloe's too-good-for-cock," it sang. "Chloe is too proud to be degraded by a fucking!"--"Ohh! Chloe-princess-cunt is being finally, finally, fucked!"

She wailed. Its words were like its talons, and her vagina couldn't take the assault. She tried in vain to force it out and it sniggered nastily. She tried to buck, but she couldn't get enough motion to throw it off--and it punished her with its cock over and over with the cadence of a spanking.

Her anus itched all through it. Horrible and warm, the chemical made it feel dirty--urgent--horrible. She cried out--and then just cried.

Her buttocks felt whipped by nettles--swollen, stripped with liquid painful stripes. Itching fiercely, and tickled and caressed by the the feathers of the thing's wing.

She bawled as it bruised her inside. When its ejaculation exploded in her, she gasped again, and fought. The thick irritating slime felt dirty--disgusting--in a way she couldn't explain--it was as though someone making fun of her had defecated in her sex and she thrashed as hard or harder than she had in the tickle dungeons to expel it.

But she couldn't--When the huge feeling cock withdrew, leaving her channel feeling aching, burning with the stretching, and empty, the cum flowing out was a deep intense humiliation as it oozed from her cleft and down her thighs. She needed to wash it off--to be free of it--but she could not and all she could think of was the horrible sense of its spend oozing from within her--far too much of it--and her sex, stinking--reeking--of its cum.

"RRAAAWKKKE! Chloe-coward ran away to become a bad girl so she wouldn't bow to her man's cock!" It laughed. "Chloe-coward! Chloe-coward!"

"No!" she bawled. She was sobbing in horrible distress.

"RAWKK! Yes! Chloe-Coward!! Fucked into submission by a man and Chloe-slut enjoyed to too much! Rawkkk! Chloe-slut didn't have her precious little cum, did she? Rawkkk!! Chloe-slut knew she'd be sucking his cock and Chloe-princess couldn't bear it! RAWAKKK!!"

She needed her anus wiped and washed--oh, she had to have it! She needed her sex douched--cleaned--oh, please!! Neither was going to happen. She couldn't bear this--oh, she couldn't bear the taunting.

"RAWAKK! Chloe-slut knows she's just another bad-girl to have her cunt tamed by her husband! RAWKK Chloe-slut is afraid everyone knows it! RAWKKK!! That's what Clhoe-slut thinks of with her dirty fingers on her filthy little Chloe-clit! RAWAKK!"

Oh--oh no--it could see into her--see her fantasies--her most secret ones of being submitted--being dominated--the ones she could never approach in real life--the ones that would degrade her in the eyes of everyone. The ones his mother had seen. Oh, no-no-no-no!

She shook her head.

One of its claws came down--and she gasped and cried out as it traced tiny lines of pain on her thighs and the clefts where her thighs met her buttocks. She didn't think it drew blood--or at least not an appreciable amount--but the thing was so sharp, so exacting, that she was forced to hold still and howl as it snapped its talon along her skin.

It didn't go over her buttocks where scratching would have been welcome

and when it swiped along her anal cleft, and she moaned, it avoided her terribly itching anus.

The talon stroked through her vulva, not leaving as harsh trails of pain, but frightening her with its ability to caress a tender, wet fold in a way that could erupt in horrible burning lines. Its cum seemed to have congealed in her vagina and it still oozed slowly--like snot--from her. Each new dribble was a horrible splash of a filthy feeling and she wailed inconsolably.

"RAAWAKK! Chloe-slut is going to ask to suck her inspector's cock after it has been thoroughly in her anus! RAAWAAK!! She's going to tell him about her masturbating her naughty little clitty to that! RAAWK! But this time she won't have her bad little cum-y, will she? RAAAWKK!"

Now she bawled out the answers in utter submission to it. Crying that she would tell him! That she would tell him that she'd masturbated to thinking about him having her--in degrading ways--in her private places she had imagined him humiliating her--and she had spent to it!

She didn't doubt for a moment that she would do as she said she would if he were there. She needed the terrible Mockingbird to show her mercy. Oh, she needed any mercy she could have so badly!

She moaned as the itch in her anus now assaulted and drove her.

It was like a burning patch of fire--not in its flaming intensity--but in its impossibility to ignore or think past! Every minute was a squirming nightmare.

She huddled there, under its great shadow, naked and sobbing and trembling. It told her what she was most reluctant to hear--how her terrible arousal at the degradation and humiliation marked her. How she would, in the future, masturbate to her time in the Tickle Dungeons--the restraint, the humilation, the loss of control, and the merciless, intimate attention, showed her for what she was--a submissive girl who ached to be utterly dominated and was a prisoner of her own ability and confidence.

Day slipped into night and she moaned and begged hoarsely. It fucked her twice more. In the vagina again, where she moaned and begged it not to--and then it shifted its awful feathers so they played and rippled across her clitoris as it burrowed deep in her--and somehow the stings became an intense wave that crested, inexorable, until she begged for it not to stop, and she came, squirting humiliatingly against the back wall of the stall she was in.

Basting in the humiliation of her orgasm, it mocked her for trying to hide that she was a slut while radiating it so strongly and firmly.

The kneeling pillories were designed not so much for sleep, as for a subject who was utterly limp and defeated.

She dangled in it, her fingers drooping. She was itching terribly, her anus a small star of discomfort, her entire being orbited around. Her sex a terrible cauldron, boiling over with its cum, her oil, and her deep humiliation and arousal.

Her buttocks stung all along their curves, feeling swollen and tender beyond measure.

She sobbed hoarsely.

It took her in her anus. The relief from the infernal itching was distantly welcome--but the feeling of its huge cock invading her--her cleft screaming with the caress of its feathers, the terrible stretch and fullness threatening to explode in her.

She gasped and tried to beg--but her breath came in ragged pauses as she moaned and grunted. She had the profound feeling of moving her bowels in reverse as it entered her--becoming fuller and fuller as the rim of her anus stretched what seemed wide enough to admit a man's fist.

She gasped and moaned and bucked--and it slid in and out, slightly--the feeling shifting back and forth in her.

She cried out and then grit her teeth, hoping to ride it out--but it mocked her--telling her she would cum from a cock in her anus--that the dirtiness of it--the degradation of taking a penis there--would inspire her. She shook her head, horrified by its words--and she felt, again--the stirrings of sexual release in her.

She begged it not to finish her--to relent--to leave her be--but it did not. She orgasmed in the pillory, the restraint adding to her intense sexual experience. The rush was horrible and humilating and it spent in her, filling her bottom with its foul cum.

Later into the night, it shat on her bottom, smearing her with thick white fluid that stank and clung to her.

Every small wound its talons had made shrieked and itched wildly under its fluid. Her anus, splattered and leaking its cum, convulsed, spurting out its spend beyond her control.

She howled hoarsely, melting down into a quivering, limp form.

The feeling of its excrement splattered across her felt like being filthy in public. She moaned in horrified mortification and quivered as it slowly dripped along her and dried. The itching from its fluid was awful, but far secondary to the shame that drenched her. She felt people she knew all back through her history could see its soiled spoor on her--and would know she thoroughly deserved it. She wailed until morning broke.

It's mocking explained to her that she was the dirty thing her betters all suspected she was--that she responded hungrily to punishment and would seek it to satisfy her cunt--which was in charge of her--which drove her actions. It cackled out her most humiliating fantasies, and she wailed under it.

The sun was angled into the afternoon when they came for her.

She was cleaned, washed, a salve was put on her buttocks and sex.

Mavoreau was there to check on her--and although she was worn beyond endurance, she begged him to let her apologize and bade him sit. She took him in his mouth and was rewarded with his stiffening at her insistent urgency.

She held down her gag and used her tongue as expertly as any prostitute until he spurted into her throat. She swallowed and curled by his feet.

She slept--she was told it was for two days straight--but when she awoke; she was in an actual bed chamber and clothes had been laid out for her. She dressed and looked at herself in the mirror. Still bedraggled, pale looking--vulnerable and probably fragile.

She knocked timidly on the door, and an acolyte girl opened it.

"May I see the punishment mistress?" she asked. She didn't know how to specify the one who had dealt with her. The acolyte did, however, and she was led down a hall, down stairs, through an underground hall and up.

It was a meeting room with a fine table and several men, Mavoreau, and the punishment mistress, in attendance. She was embarrassed to be brought before them all as she was, but a nod from Mavoreau and the acolyte ushered her into the room. She stood blushing, clasping her hands behind her. She had thoughts of apologizing, but wasn't clear about how to address the gathered people.

"This is our expert," Mavoreau said. "She has been through the necessary ordeals."

"She will need more recovery," the punishment mistress said. "Two days in the aerie is... a trying time for the best. Go and rest, Chloe."

"Mistress, please?" she asked. Her voice sounded timid to her. She didn't want the woman to think she was defying her. "Please, just a hint of what you wish me to do?"

The punishment mistress gave her a look--but glanced over at a bald man--one of the senior members of the order.

He nodded. He directed her to stand on a small podium that would present her to the group and she did. She felt she ought to be doing it naked and disgraced before them--but she would have been unable to.

"We believe that the plot that is presently afoot takes place in the Astrologer's Tower," said a man. "It is a maze, enchanted, and full of secrets. We know what we are seeking--but we are unclear as to whether anyone can enter undetected. Even the Great Grimalkin."

She bit her lower lip, considering.

"Additionally," said a woman, "as we do not wish to tip our hand, I feel that any intrusion should be withheld until the external investigation is complete. If she is entangled with anything inside, cannot their artists follow her thread back to us? Even if they do not know it is her--a stretch--my understanding of the art is such that any entanglement with an object or person can be followed by a powerful enough artisan--"

Chloe held up a hand, waiting to speak.

"Yes?" the bald man asked.

"It is true, ma'am," Chloe said. "However, in my previous capacity--I had a way of avoiding such a discovery. It will work here as well."

"What?" demanded a man--an Artisan from the look of him. Chloe cringed slightly--but she was determined to do this.

"There are tinctures that can confuse the bindings," she started--

"Those will not stop an expert," he said.

"No," she agreed. "I say this only because I stole some early on--" she glanced at Mavoreau, "to throw my pursuers off the scent."

He nodded. He had been watching those with the alchemical knowledge to created the mixtures closely. She had stolen a large batch on the theory that it would keep him looking for traces that could lead to her.

"My real edge was a procedure done in secret to me years ago. My entanglements lead nowhere now."

The artisan raised an eyebrow.

"You can enchant me here," she said hastily--"if I stand before you--or, perhaps if we are intimate--but casual contact--or even prolonged interaction entangles the object, person, or place with... something else."

"What else?" demanded the artisan.

Chloe opened her mouth to answer but the bald man held up a hand. "Enough. This is good information. We will discuss the eventualities and possibilities in discrete sessions. For now, I am impressed. Mavoreau, please escort her to chambers."

He rose and the babble at the table rose and fell as he guided her out of the room. She thought he had taken her to his quarters, as they were large, airy, and had a full bathroom and even a sitting area. But he showed her in and then made to leave.

"Please?" she asked. "Do you have to go?"

He paused. "No. The group will be broken up for smaller discussions. I can stay."

She nodded. She patted the bed. He came and sat. She looked to see if he was awkward--but he seemed at ease.

She sat and leaned against him. He put an arm gently around her and she shuddered.

"I... " she started and swallowed. She had looked into him closely when she returned to DunnisUrom. He was yet single. He was considered a fine catch--but his consumption with his work had made him difficult for the ladies to ensnare.

She wondered if he still had an interest in her after she had run from him so long ago. "I wondered--" she couldn't figure out how to ask. She knew that what the Mockingbird had said was cuttingly true. He shifted on the bed, moving so as to lay her back on it, while he sat next to her.

She swallowed. She looked down and begin to undo the buttons on her shirt. After a moment, her hands trembling, he helped her. She slid down her skirt and panties, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

"You'd rather do this naked?" he asked. She shook her head, slightly. But: "I want you to punish me," she whispered.

"I see--how?" he drew her shirt away and laid it on the bed, distant from them.

"However you want, sir," she whispered. She drew here legs up, placing the soles of her feet together and opening her thighs to lay her knees flat to either side--displaying her full nudity. She paused, the blush intensifying. Overwhelming.

"T-take my bottom--then, m-my mouth," she whimpered. "Like we discussed. I tried to--to humiliate you. I tried to defy everyone and everything--"

He ran a finger from her belly button down her front, through her lips, and across her taint to her anus. She gasped.

"Why don't we start with a spanking," he suggested. She could tell he was hard now in his pants. Oh!

"A hard one," she whispered. "Don't spare me--" She cried out then covering her face. She said something he couldn't understand.

"What was that?" He asked. She was trembling with tears.

"Tickle me," she moaned. "Ohh!! I can't--" She almost broke then, curling up, trying to protect herself and her tender vulnerable skin from him.

"I'll see to you," he promised, stroking her hair. "But in a moment--calm yourself, Chloe."

He propped her head up on a pillow.

"Tell me how you avoided those... entanglements," he asked. The way he said the last word gave her a warm feeling below the pit of her stomach. His words quieted her.

"You know who the Lunatics are?" she asked.

"The Swords Dancer Women?" he blinked in surprise.

She nodded. "It's not really a dance--it's a martial technique from before the Age of Sattva when you could kill people with swords. They'd cut you six ways before you knew you were in a fight."

"I've heard of it," he allowed. "None here though?"

"No--it's in the south--in the ring cities around the throne."

He nodded.

"I was--taken in--no, don't worry. I'm not a heretic or a lunatic. But I was a very fancy finished young woman who had come from a wealthy background but left all of that behind her."

He nodded.

"So when they took me in, they had uses for a girl like me."

"Robbery?"

She laughed. "Not at first, no. I could go into high society though. Most of them could not. I could bring messages from the Lunatics to people in power. Things like that."

He nodded.

"They trained me--a lot of it. How to fight and dodge and slip through someone's grasp. I learned that from them."

"I wondered," he admitted.

"But--you know why they're called Lunatics?"

"Because they worship the moon," he said.

"They worship Selene--the goddess of the moon, an ancient titan. This is from before the Age of Sattva."

He nodded. "We're hearing a lot of that of late."

"Well, there's--they had a kind of--the techniques they teach are secrets," she said. "Being able to spin and become invisible for a few moments--or able to go motionless and become a shadow--things like that--secrets. Kinds of Arts but not as Artisans."

"So before they do that, you must be an initiate. And to do that... "

He raised an eyebrow.

It had been years ago looking out over the back garden of a mansion. The woman behind her was one of the high priestesses of the ancient sect. The sun was going down--the moon to rise.

Chloe had stood on the balcony dressed in a diaphanous nightgown, her hands on the rail.

"Nervous, little-Chloe?" the older woman purred, coming from behind, to place her hands on Chloe's shoulders.

"No," she'd lied. "You've trained me well!"

"You ought to be nervous," the woman laughed, rubbing her shoulders and neck muscles. "You are taught that the goddesses are vanished spirits--that the time of myth is long past. Tonight, when that sun vanishes, you will learn differently."