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Knis Kingdom

T Warning: NSFW gang tickle torture. 18+ Only

The Princess, the Dungeon, her Maiden, and the Coven

By Lady Featherquill

Princess Lysia stepped carefully as she crept through the sprawling palace. The corridors were fairly dark this time of night. Flameless torches lined the misty gray walls on shoulder-high pedestals. Since it was the middle of the night, the hovering balls of light had a red orange hue. They bobbed atop the spindly platforms like giant candles.

Or maybe she just saw them as such because it was her name day. It was the potent spirits at the celebration earlier that night that had emboldened her to take this risky journey. Her curiosity about what went on in the dungeon was just too powerful.

The princess came to a spiral staircase and hurried down it, descending into the depths of the palace. Suits of armor in silver and burnished bronze stood in nooks along the walls here.

At least I’m going in the right direction, she thought.

A shuffling sound ahead made her heart leap into her throat. She froze, listening hard. Footsteps were approaching. The repetitive claps sounded from around the corner. They seemed to be getting closer.

Lysia tiptoed toward a shadowy recess in the stone wall.

Thank the gods I wore my velvet night slippers for this quest, she thought. Then she ducked behind the suit of armor standing in the nook.

“Toast my toes!” a feminine voice cursed. She sounded middle-aged and aggravated. “The King’s been pilfering from the storage room again.”

“Pilf… huh?” a man intoned. “What’s that?”

“Stealin’, Harmon. It means stealin’. He snatches the feather dusters like there’s an endless supply. Like they’re just flying into the castle on their own.”

“Well, there ain’t no shortage of birds in the Enchanted Weald. I can tell you that. Besides, it ain’t stealin’ if it’s already his. Right?”

“It is so. He stealin’ my time, ain’t he? Gonna have to go all the way into the city for more,” she complained. They walked past the hall where Lysia hid as they continued their spat.

“I thought Mearl does the supply runs.”

There was a prolonged pause before she replied. “Well, I gotta go down and tell Mearl, don’t I?”

Their voices faded as they got further away. Once the corridor was silent again, she stepped out from behind the armor and went on her way.

She prowled deeper into the palace, searching for the door she’d heard tales about. Rumors about the Dungeon of Knis were scarce in the palace proper, but the city was soaked in stories about them. The entrance had to be getting close now.

Only if the instructions I got from that criminal are accurate, she reminded herself. How much could she trust someone who’d been sent to the stocks on Bratty Lee Lane on numerous occasions? He’d been sentenced to public tickle torture so many times, the queen eventually condemned him to a night in the dungeon.

Since then, the infamous criminal had kept his nefarious shenanigans to a minimum.

The dungeon must be a terribly torturous place to deter a masochist like him, she thought, heart quickening.

Another noise drew her attention. More footsteps.

Why are so many people out-and-about so late? Lysia wondered. How is a girl supposed to find mischief with all these obstacles?

This time, they were coming from behind. She spun around and spotted a shadow moving into the corner.

“Who’s there?” she said with an air of command.

A youthful woman stepped out of the darkness. The lambent vermillion light made her red hair blaze like the embers in a fire. It was Lysia’s lady-in-waiting.

“Ginna!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

The handmaiden kept her eyes downcast. “Sorry, m’lady. I couldn’t let you go alone.”

“You don��t even know where I’m going.”

“You’re sneaking through the castle at night. You must be up to something. Something that could be dangerous. Certainly, something that could get you into trouble.”

Lysia sealed her lips. She was too embarrassed to say where she was going. I should just say I fancied a midnight stroll.

A sudden high-pitched shriek echoed along the corridor. Both women jumped, heads turning toward the sound. The prolonged scream shattered into a torrent of turbulent laughter.

“Hmmm. I wonder what that was,” the princess said, trying to sound earnest. Truthfully, she knew exactly what it was. It was the reason she came.

Her handmaiden lifted an exasperated eyebrow at her, and she felt herself blush.

I’m not turning back, she thought. Not when I’m this close. Despite her humiliation, all she could do was press onward. “Shall we… go check it out?”

“Yes,” Ginna answered quickly.

The princess spun on her heels, then started along the corridor. She heard the handmaiden fall in-step behind her and smiled. Unlike Lysia, she hadn’t worn the proper shoes for sneaking.

Another howl reverberated from somewhere ahead. It stoked the restless flames lapping at her insides. She sped up, rounding a corner. Then she came to a halt.

There, straight ahead, was the door she’d heard about. The entrance to the dungeon.

It was a sturdy oaken thing that looked too heavy to move. There was a half-moon window in the top fitted with bars of cold-rolled steel. The door looked as if had been here even before the castle itself, and it would remain long after the stones turned to dust.

Lysia had stopped so abruptly that her handmaiden ran right into the back of her.

“Watch it,” the princess said.

The bellowing laughter cut off and she heard footsteps from beyond the entrance. Before they could blink, the dungeon door creaked open.

Not so immovable after all, she thought.

A massive figure in charcoal chainmail stepped out. He had tall boots of shiny black leather and long matching gloves. Cuffs, blindfolds, and hairbrushes were tucked into his belt. The hood of his crimson cloak draped his face, casting most of it in shadow. All that was visible of the burly man was a salted red beard outlining a tight-lipped frown.

The three of them stared at each other for a few seconds before he shouted.

“Seize them!” his voice boomed.

A second later, footsteps thundered through the hall. It sounded like his command had set off an avalanche.

Lysia squeaked as the beast-of-a-man snatched her and tossed her over his broad shoulder.

“Unhand me, you barrel-armed brute!” she cried, pounding her fists into his armored back. It added to the cacophony, but it had no effect on her jailor. He simply turned and carried her into the dungeon as easily as if she were a sack of potatoes.

That’s probably how I look in this cotton shift and simple brown cloak, she thought. He just doesn’t realize who I am. Once he understands who he’s dealing with, he’ll release me.

“You will put me down at once, sir!” she shouted. “I am the princess, Lysia!”

“Aye. And I’m King Quillian the Kinky,” he retorted sarcastically.

Her head bounced off his back as he walked. Although they appeared upside-down, she could see more guards barreling along the corridor toward them.

“There’s another one trying to escape,” he said as the squadron reached the doorway.

“I love it when they run,” one of the guards said. Then they rushed after Ginna.

Her captor’s slinky chainmail whisked as he brought her into a two-story room. Lysia’s sudden but inevitable capture made it hard to think. The metallic rustling in her ears and her bobbing vision didn’t help.

Finally, the guard came to a stop. He set her down before a wall the seemed distinctly out of place. While most of the room was still a blur of slate gray, this length of wall was made of red brown bricks. Some of them seemed to be crumbling away. The patch of wall looked as old as the dungeon door.

Lysia shook her head, clearing her mind. Then she put her hands on her hips and prepared her most authoritative voice. “As I said before, guardsman, I am a princess of Knis. If you do not let me go this instant, you’ll be the one released, from service that is.” It seemed more petulant than powerful to her, but perhaps it would be enough to make him think twice.

The man looked her up and down. For a moment, she thought she’d gotten through to him. But then he snorted disdainfully.

“Keep that pretty mouth shut or I’ll shove a gag in it. The queen prefers to hear the screams of laughter, but there’s plenty’a prisoners here to satiate her tonight.”

As if on cue, cackles rang from across the room, drawing her attention. Her eyes went wide at what she saw. A row of six naked people hung from metal shackles around their wrists. The shackle chains were affixed to the ceiling high above, and they clanged whenever one of them moved.

Women in unfamiliar uniforms moved between them all, tickling various spots. Their long tunics were deep red with loose sleeves for easy movement. Like the guards, the belts around their middles were lined in slots for tickle tools. Their faces were hidden by elegant velvet masks decorated with black lace and feathers.

The most youthful among them was taking notes with a purple peacock feather quill. It scratched across an enchanted scroll floating in the air beside her.

Two of the female tickle victims had ankle shackles as well. The chains were attached to the wall behind them, making them hang facedown at a horizontal angle. Two of the tickle torturers were standing between them. The one by their torsos had her arms outstretched beneath them, and she used a pair of identical feathers to tease one nipple on each prisoner.

As soon as she stopped, the one between their legs twirled a wispy feather over one of the prisoner’s feet. The woman started shaking, eyes pleading. She looked too exhausted to speak.

“If you didn’t want to be thoroughly punished,” the torturer said loudly, looking down the line of prisoners, “then you shouldn’t have let the queen catch you all in tickle session with King Quillian the Kinky.” The torturer rested the feather on both her upturned heels. She twisted it, making the silky edges flutter on her skin. Then she trailed it upward.

The feather was so long that it spanned the width of both her soles. She sawed it back and forth as the woman squealed. After a minute or so, she stretched her opposite arm over to the other prisoner to give the same treatment to her helpless soles.

The pair laughed hysterically. Their bodies swung back and forth like hammocks as they tried to escape the tickly feathers shimmying on their feet. Then the second torturer got back to work on their stiff nipples.

Who are these women? Lysia wondered. She’d never seen them around the castle before, and she knew most of the guards and servants. The princess thought she’d just been unlucky enough to run into a new guardsman.

Getting out of this is going to be harder than I anticipated, she thought.

Her stomach clenched in concern. It tightened further when the guard took a step toward her and reached out. She flinched, pressing her back into the wall, but his hand went right past her head. He formed a fist and rapped on the brick.

“There’s a ticklish lee here for you, Wally,” the guard announced.

The princess looked around in confusion. She expected this Wally person to step out from behind the wall. Instead, small bumps popped out from the wall itself. The protrusions continued to grow on either side of her shoulders. They were stretching downward.

Are those… hands? Lysia wondered, horrorstruck. She realized she was right a second too late. It was so befuddling that she didn’t have a chance to react. The fingers snagged both her wrists at once, towing them away from her body.

She was surprised they weren’t hard and rigid like the bricks themselves. Although the hands resembled the red-brown wall lined in pale mortar, they felt more like stiff gloves pulled over molding clay. A piece of wall touched her bicep. Then another brushed her calf. A beat later, the hands grabbed her ankles, knees, and shoulders in rapid succession.

“What is this thing?!”

“A ticklish nightmare,” the guard responded in a sinister tone. Then he chuckled. “That’s the best description I ever heard for ole Wally Switchard.”

The wall lifted her a pace off the floor before pulling her close. She squirmed as another hand emerged just under her outstretched arm. It crept toward her like a spider twitching across a web, quick and fidgety but with the grace of a stalking predator.

Her skin crawled. “Don’t touch me!” Princess Lysia yelled at the wall. It may not have ears, but the guard spoke to it, she thought. Whatever this Wally monster is, it must be able to understand.

The hand leapt for her, landing on her tummy. It began tracing around her abdomen, rustling the thin cotton fabric of her dress. She wriggled, but with her limbs secured to the wall, all that moved was her midsection. It only increased the tickly sensation.

“Heeeheee!” she laughed. “Get off me!”

The handsy wall ignored her, the fingers skittering from one side of her belly to the other. Then it moved onto her hip. It was maddeningly gentle. She couldn’t help but shimmy her waist even though that made it tickle more.

The hand crab-walked across her pelvis, gliding gently over the flimsy fabric. She shook with laughter as she watched its progress. Then it gripped her other hip, pressing in and massaging the bone. The ticklish caresses were manageable, up until the hand started to squeeze up her side.

“No-no-no-no-no! Hahaha! Don’t don’t thaaaaat,” she whined as it vellicated with more pressure. “Noooo! Get awwwww-hoff my siiiiiiide! Hahaha!”

The fingers continued prowling slowly up her side, scribbling along the way. She tried to hold back her giggles. They rumbled inside her. Then she felt another hand grip her other side and start tickling. Her lips parted and she screeched in laughter.

Another pair of hands manifested from the wall and gripped a higher point on her sides. Then all twenty fingers started tickling the hell out of her. She begged for it to stop, but it was hopeless. The wall extracted ticklish vengeance upon her as if it were the same one that she’d crashed into when she wrecked that carriage.

Now it was her turn to get wrecked. It wasn’t long before it coaxed out her silly, desperate laugh. That’s when she heard a soft voice near her ear.

“Tickle me,” it whispered in a grinding tone.

“Whhhaaaahaahaa! WHAT?”

“Tickle me,” the voice repeated.

Her head was swimming in a storm of overstimulation, but she tried to push the tingly waves aside to think.

The guard called it Wally Switchard, she recalled. Perhaps there was more to it than just a silly nickname. Lysia twisted her right wrist in the hand’s tight grip and stretched her fingers toward the nearest brick. It was just out of reach.

“Pleeee-heehee-eeez! Ohhhh Gods! Hahaha!” The plea was partly for the wall, partly for the guard, and partly for herself.

She strained harder. Then finally, she managed to scrabble her fingernails on the wall. As soon as they started scratching, the hands instantly released her. Princess Lysia fell to the floor and collapsed as the arms retracted back into the wall.

The guard folded the armored tree-limbs he had for arms. “So, you figured out Wally’s dirty little secret, did you? I’m gonna make sure you regret that, clever girl. Too bad you ain’t clever enough to avoid getting caught sneaking about the castle at night. Oh, and it looks like your little friend ain’t smart enough neither.”

He nodded and she followed his gesture with her eyes. There she saw a guard carrying Ginna like a bride. She kicked her legs so hard that one of her shoes flew off.

“I am…” Lysia huffed, out of breath. “…the princess. She is… my handmaiden.”

“Yeah. Yeah. So you said. I believe it even less now. Princesses got poise. Don’t worry, you’ll tell us who you really are. The tickle torturers like girls who refuse to talk.”

She swallowed as two other guards approached. Oddly enough, they were carrying an unfamiliar older woman between them.

“Who’s that?” the head guard asked.

The other guardsman shrugged. “Found her lurking a few rooms away.”

“Another one? Well, hand her off to Wally Switchard. He’s in’a lee mood again, so make sure and secure her fingers.”

The man gave a salute then half-dragged and half-carried her to the wall. “Gotta lee here for ya, Wally,” he said, shoving her into the bricks.

The wall broke into action and seized the woman in a half-dozen hands. While it stretched her arms up and her legs out, the guard slipped something from his belt. It looked like a pair of woolen mittens but without a spot for the thumb. He slipped the little bags over the woman’s hands as she attempted to fight off him and the handsy wall at the same time.

It was no use. It hoisted her off the floor in no time and began untying her boots. One hand lifted her shirt so a finger could poke her side. She twisted away. Another poked her other side, making her squirm in the opposite direction.

Then two more hands grew from the bricks on either side of her head. They grasped her shoulders and pulled them against the wall, holding her in place.

“Noooo! Let me go!” She struggled futilely.

The two fingers went back to prodding her sides. They became faster and faster as they explored her one-tiny-tickle-at-a-time. It seemed to be mapping out all the visible skin on her upper body as it worked to remove her boots.

“Pleeehehehease don’t do it!” she squealed. “I’m tooooo ticklish!”

Lysia watched the scene with wide eyes until the colossal guard stepped in front of her, blocking her view. He wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her up.

“As for you, you’re going to the rack, little princess.” The last word oozed with sarcasm.

She protested as he carried her toward a pair of large rectangular tables. They’d been set end-to-end with what looked like two giant spools of thread between them. Only instead of sewing thread, a braided rope was wound around the wooden coil. There were two smaller spools on the opposite ends of both tables as well. All of them had hand-cranks.

The guard set her on the table, and she tried to scramble away. He gripped her thigh in one of his meaty hands and yanked her back. The table had been so thoroughly rubbed, she glided across the smooth wood as if it were a slide. She wondered if it had been polished by sandpaper or by decades of struggling prisoners.

Once she was centered on the table, he held her with one hand and grabbed the end of the rope in the other. It was all too easy for him to keep her place.

“No! Stop what you’re doing, guardsman. I command you to release me!”

He entwined the rope around one of her forearms and wrist, leaving plenty of slack. Then he captured her other struggling hand and dragged it over to the first.

Lysia tried to slip her small hand free from his grip. When that didn’t work, she tried freeing the other one from the rope. “Wait! Please!” she cried, desperation setting in.

He paid her no heed as he tied her forearms together. After that, he released her hands, letting them fall onto her belly. They felt heavy bound in all the rope.

The other guard swept by carrying Ginna. He put her on the opposite table and began securing her arms. While he worked, Lysia’s captor tied each of her legs to their own rope spools at the other end of the table.

Ginna’s wild legs received the same treatment. Her guard had far more trouble keeping her under control. She’d been subjected to relentless tickle torture before, back when they’d been sentenced to public tickles on Bratty Lee Lane. Her handmaiden probably wasn’t keen on another round down here in the dungeon.

Looks like neither of us have a choice, she thought, trying to think of a way out. The princess looked around, catching sight of the older woman on the wall.

Her shirt and boots were lying on the floor in front of her and the hands were unlacing her brassiere. The ones on the lower portion were holding her ankles and peeling off her socks.

Wally stripped away the cackling woman’s clothing while tickling her ruthlessly. The fingers never stopped tormenting any of her spots. The wall only manifested more arms to attack each fresh patch of skin as it was exposed.

Lysia was glad she’d freed herself from the wall when she had. The rack was going to be bad, she knew it, but that looked like unimaginably intense tickle torture.

The poor woman was breying like a donkey as dozens of fingers ravaged her, some growing long nails to slip into small spaces, like between her toes and behind her ears. The pointy fingernails emerged to tease the undersides of her nipples and her inner thighs too.

“Well, look what we have here,” a feminine voice said nearby.

Lysia jumped, head swiveling to see the masked woman with the silver hair standing beside the table. She’d been so absorbed by the ticklish prisoner’s predicament, she hadn’t noticed her approaching. The woman seemed to be the overseer. Her belt was gold and free of tickle tools, as if she were above such things. Still, her nails were just as long and deadly looking as the seven ladies flanking her.

“You must be Princess Wanna B. Tortured,” she said. “Since that’s what you’re gonna be until you admit you ain’t no higher than a tavern wench.”

“Yeah. Royals got a certain regality that you… lack,” said another.

“And who are all of you? The Tickle Brigade?” Lysia shot back.

“Close enough,” the overseer replied as the women sniggered. “We’re the Tickle Coven, known for our claws.” She held them up like a tiger about to pounce. The others followed her lead, tittering their fingernails through the concentrated air of the dungeon. “I’m the head tickler in charge. H-T-I-C.”

“Our tickle torture mentor,” a wiry one in a goldleaf mask said. “Tor-mentor.”

Lysia didn’t crack a smile.

“Awww, she didn’t like your joke, Laffa,” said one with long midnight braids.

“Don’t worry. She’ll be laughing in no time,” the head tormentor replied, turning to the tree-of-a-guard. “Go ahead, Guardsman Lieutenant, stretch her out.”

He gave her a salute and took hold of the hand crank over her head. The spool began to turn, slowly tightening the rope. She struggled as her arms were pulled up over her head. Then the guard strode around to the end of the table and used both hands to turn the cranks there.

Her legs were tugged downward until her limbs were fully extended. She thought he would stop then, but he didn’t. He kept turning the two spools, pulling her body more taught while simultaneously spreading her legs further apart.

“Stop! No! I already can’t move!”

“That’s the point, little darling,” he said, walking back around to the top of the table. He tightened her arms even more.

“Come on now! This is just excessive.” Lysia was glad when he finally finished. Any further and it would start to hurt. Her body was stretched tighter than she thought possible. She tried to shift her hips, but they hardly even wobbled.

There’ll be no escaping this. She finally understood the severity of the situation.

The realization seemed to hit Ginna at the same time. She started begging maniacally as the guard tightened her ropes.

Unfortunately, Lysia was distracted as three of the masked women closed in around her. One sat on the table to either side of her while the other sat cross-legged between her spread knees. They all attacked her at once.

“No! No! Get away! Don’t even think about touching me, you loopy-eyed trollops!”

The ones on her sides grabbed the seams of her dress and ripped them open. Then they went for her exposed ribs and sides. The other one wrapped her fingers around her kneecaps and rotated them around in her wriggly grip. Then she started squeezing up the tops of her thighs.

Lysia tried her best to hold back her mirth. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. Laughter tutted from her lips, but she kept it somewhat contained.

Then, in a supremely unfortunate coincidence, the tormentors reached two of her worst spots at the same moment. Her underarms and her inner thighs.

Colors popped in her eyes, and she released a violent stream of laughter.

A curvaceous torturer leaned over her face, getting so close that her feathered mask whispered across her neck. Goosebumps erupted along her shoulders. When she brushed her lips against Lysia’s ear, tingles shot down her spine.

“Care to make a bargain?” the women said in a quiet tone.

All Lysia could think to say was, “YES! YES! YEEHEHEHEEEEES! ANYTHING!”

“Tell us where you’re little sneaking friend is most ticklish, and we’ll give you a break.”

“What?! HAHA! No! I can’t! Teee-hehehe! I won’t!”

“I guess you want us to keep torturing you,” she said, sitting up. Then she attacked her stretched underarms with fresh vigor. Switching between soft fingertips and sharp claws.

“Her feet!” Ginna yelped suddenly. “Tickle her feet!”

“What the?” Lysia shouted at the handmaiden. “Ginna! Yooooou traitor! HAHAHA!”

The trio tickling the lady-in-waiting moved away from her, taking up positions at the end of the table. While one torturer held her feet steady, the other three got to work on her defenseless soles.

“Waaaa-wait!” she cried, voice cracking with strained panic. “You’re already t-t-t. You’re already tickling my worst spots! No more! Can’t haha take more! Please! I’m begging you.”

Some nails glided across the balls of her feet and raked her arches while others spiraled on her heels.

“Oh God! I can’t get away! Hahaha! I can’t get away!” Lysia’s eyes rolled riotously.

“Poor pretty princess!” one of them teased. She was too delirious to tell which.

“Such a ticklish little thing,” said another. “Her soles are like silk. Maybe she is a princess after all.”

“I-EHEEHEHE AAAAAAAAAAAM!” she raved. “GET OFF MY FEEEEEET!”

They didn’t listen. The women only picked up speed. They were delighted by tickling and teasing her senseless.

Why?! She scolded herself inwardly. Why did I sneak down here? Why did Ginna betray me?! And why, oh why, do I lotion my feet twice a day?!

“AHHHHAHAAHAA! NO MORE! HAHAHA! Your NAILS! HAHAHA! They’re too tick-tick-TICKLY! AHHHH-HA-HA-HA! My feet are too sensitive! S-s-s-stop! HAHA!”

One of the girls grazed the wrinkles just over the ball of her foot, making her foot flex. Her toes spread out reflexively. The torturer lightly pinched the stem of her big toe between the pointed tips of her nails.

Lysia screamed. They’d found another one of her worst spots. Her terribly ticklish toes. More fingers moved to take advantage of it.

“Please Nooooo! Not the toes! Paa-leeeeze! It’s torture there! Hahaha! It tickles so much. Oh Gods! Hahaha! Stop-stop-stop! My toes are too ticklish! IT’S TORTURE!” she wailed.

That’s when the tongues came out. They slithered between her toes, licking and sucking her like a bunch of little lollipops. She couldn’t bear it.

“YOU’RE EVIIIIIIIIIL!” she screamed, losing track of everything except the sensations raging through her feet. All she could feel were soft tongues, gentle lips, and sharp nails lightly tracing every scrap of flesh on her soles.

What a name day this turned out to be, she thought, reeling in ticklish agony.

The three women continued to gently twist, tease, and lickle her dainty little toes. There was no end in sight. Every one of her toes were being stimulated in some tickly way. She couldn’t take it, but she had to endure. There was nothing she could say to stop it. Nothing she could do. She belonged to them.

* * * *

Prince Joseff strolled through the palace courtyard. Sneaking in had been much easier this time around. He’d scouted the area a few times by now and had mapped it out. He had even memorized the scheduled rotation of the palace guards.

Somewhere in the distance, a feminine voice intoned a mournful tune. The prince followed the sound, transfixed by the angelic song.

After a few minutes, he spotted the figure in a secluded garden near the palace. The shapely woman was seated on a pristine white bench. She had rich brown hair in an elaborate braid. Firedrops, rubies, and citrine gemstones adorned her neck and fingers. Some were even sewn into the embroidery of her flowing black dress. All the warm colors made her look like a fiery phoenix.

He felt drawn in by her melodic voice. She had a mature beauty about her, like a well-ripened apricot. As Joseff got closer, a glint in her hair caught the moonlight. He climbed through a manicured shrubbery to get a better look. Squinting through the gaps in the foliage, he saw a circlet of gold resting atop the woman’s head.

“By the Hall of Val,” he said, muttering the curse under his breath. “That must be the queen of Knis Kingdom.” He was pretty sure her name was Caressa.

She paused her song, and the prince went still. He tried to fade into the shrub as the silence stretched.

Then a new noise strayed into his ears. It was faint, but it sounded like laughter.

The queen stood from the marble bench and turned her back on his hiding place. She strolled closer to the stone-worked palace wall. As she walked, the prince slipped free from the brush and crept around a pond of lily pads. Then he hid behind the haunches of a centaur statue.

He quietened his breathing, and the faint sound became more audible. Yes, he was quite sure it was laughter. He peeked around the statue’s back leg to bring the queen into view.

The queen leaned against the wall, seeming to take it in. She closed her eyes. As he watched, her face flushed with color. She stayed there for several minutes. It looked as if she were listening to her favorite music.

The longer he listened, the more laughter he heard. The voices seemed different. He could identify several strings of laughter. There had to be multiple people with an unshakeable case of the chuckles.

Eventually, her eyes opened languidly. She looked dazed. He pulled back behind the centaur figure as she stood up straight. Then she headed out of the garden and onto the path in his direction. Sweat trickled down his forehead as her heels clacked closer. He held his breath as she strode past the statue.

Thankfully, the queen didn’t spot him. He remained frozen in place until the sound of her footsteps faded. After that, he scampered out and hurried into the small garden. A chorus of beautiful laughter greeted him.

Now that he was right beside the castle, he could see barred windows peering out from the wall. They weren’t tall enough for a person to squeeze through, even without the bars, but sound escaped without issue.

He knelt down before it and tried to get a peek inside. Unfortunately, all he could see was a slate gray wall of stone ahead. It must have been a hallway.

Slightly crestfallen, he sat down against the wall. Then he basked in the sound of the people laughing inside. Their mirth overlapped with one another like the ocean in a sea storm. His eyes drifted closed and he let the noises lap at him. It filled him with thoughts of what might be happening to them.

More and more, Joseff found himself believing that he belonged in this kingdom. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there listening. After a while, he heard something familiar. His eyes jumped open, and he focused on the musical laughter.

That sounds like Princess Lysia, he thought, listening harder. Yes, that’s definitely her. I’d know those rhythmic titters anywhere.

Suddenly, as if in confirmation, the laughter ceased long enough for her to shout. “Please! Hehehe! I swear! I’m hahaha the princess! I’m Lysia! Please! I’m Hohoholeeeeena!” After that, she fell back into unstoppable laughter.

What’s she doing down in the dungeon? Joseff wondered. She couldn’t have done anything so terrible to warrant such a punishment. It sounds like she may have been taken there by mistake.

Either way, it didn’t matter why she was in there. Not really. He was going to go and rescue her. He would do that even if she were guilty of unspeakable crimes.

The prince wasted no time as he started moving around the castle exterior, searching for a way in. He’d get to her even if it meant getting sent to Bratty Lee Lane himself.

* * * *

Ginna couldn’t believe she’d gotten herself into this mess. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her again. Alcohol always made the princess amorous, and Lysia had far too many refills at her name day celebration. The girl’s naivety made her easy to read. She could tell the princess was planning on misbehaving when she feigned sleep.

When her lady slipped out, Ginna just couldn’t help herself. She had to follow and see where she went.

Why? Why did I have to follow her? Ginna asked herself. Because you’re a voyeur, another part of her mind answered. She stamped down on that particular part, repressing the knowing voice.

Her nosy nature had truly gotten the best of her this time. She was far too ticklish for this. At least back on Bratty Lee Lane, the guards had been there to keep her safe. This Tickle Coven didn’t know her at all. They thought she was a trespasser and had no concern for her well-being. There were no protections for criminals in the palace.

They were going to break her. They were going to turn her into a drooling, mindless tickle toy. She knew it. And she couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

Three masked women with the longest fingernails she’d ever seen moved around her, seeking out her most ticklish spots. The torturers followed the sounds of her high-pitched squeals like they were a map to the most sensitive locations on her body. They had to be the most adept ticklers in the kingdom.

Two were focused on her feet. She was extremely ticklish there, but the one standing above her kept her attention. The torturer crept down her triceps while saying “Tickle, tickle, tickle,” in a sing-song voice.

Ginna’s head swiveled back and forth to try and keep her nimble fingers in view. It was the only thing she could move aside from her fingers and toes. Her red nails were filed to points that curved inward. They looked like talons sneaking into her sleeves. She gently grazed one and then the other. After that, she tickled them both at once, gradually increasing her speed.

The handmaiden’s boisterous laughter told the woman all she needed to know. She grinned evilly. Then she tore open the sleeves of her dress, rending it diagonally all the way across her chest. Finally, she slashed at the shift beneath with her claws.

“No! Oh, no! Don’t! Please don’t,” she begged as the tickler made another rip to reveal her opposite armpit. The woman continued pulling the fabric away in layers like she was peeling an onion.

Once her underarms were exposed and vulnerable, the woman scribble-attacked them. She tickled her there until she was breathless. Her armpits became pink and oversensitive, so the torturer focused her attention on only one of them again. Her nails were so maddeningly slow and methodical. It was a ticklish hell unlike Ginna had ever felt.

She traced the lines in a zig-zag pattern, drawing out barks of laughter. Then she scritched at the ultra-tender divot right in the center of her stretched underarm. It made her entire body jolt as if she were being shocked by electricity.

“Ohhh! I found a death spot,” she said, sounding giddy. She made tiny, quick spirals around the ticklish divots, tormenting them with the tips of her curved nails.

The immodest sounds that prattled from Ginna were ones she didn’t know she could make. Her mouth hung wide as the tickling went on and on.

Fingers tapped past her armpits, exploring further down into her dress. After sneaking into the sides of her brassiere, her fingertips burrowed into the spot between her breast and rib bone. Then she rubbed it mercilessly.

“Ohhh Fuhuhu! Gods nooooohohoho! Get out of there! GET OOOOOUT! HAHAHA!”

“Another one?” the tickler teased, continuing to knead.

“No! It’s not one,” she lied. “It’s nooooooot! Get outta’ there!” Her back arched off the table. Arms suddenly snaked around her sides. They slipped beneath her and unclasped her brassiere. Then the woman tugged it upward, making her full breasts spill out the bottom.

“Noooo! Don’t touch them!”

The torturer slipped the straps up her arms, leaving her pale breasts bare and helpless. She looked down at them and licked her ruby-stained lips. “These look like a double scoop of vanilla ice cream with ripe cherries on top.” Her nails whispered just under her breasts as she leaned down. Then her lips just barely brushed the flesh of her side-boob.

“YOU CAN’T! AHHHH! NO! YOU CAN’T DO THAT! HAHA! NO LIPS!” Ginna roared desperately, losing her mind to the overwhelming sensations.

The tickler paused long enough to say, “Mmmmm. Delicious.” Then she started nibbling the meat of her underboob.

“NOT THE TEETH! HAHAHA! ANYTHING BUT THAT! HAHAHAHA!”

One of the foot teasers prowled around her so silently that Ginna didn’t notice her until she climbed up onto the table. The woman straddled her hips and sat down, restricting her even more. Then she went straight for her ticklish tummy.

Ginna’s freckled breasts jiggled as she shook with shrieking laughter. Both women destroyed her upper body with relentlessly teasing torture while the other worked over her feet. The one over her head trailed her terrible nails from her breasts to her armpit hollows and back, following the same squiggly path again and again.

The other one’s fingernails frolicked across her quivering stomach, making a few circles around her navel. She repeated the journey several times in quick succession. All the while, the torturer at the end of the table was absolutely savaging her soles.

There’s no escape, she raved within. I’m going to die here in this tickle dungeon. Ginna became desperate for mercy. She pleaded, offering them anything they wanted, but it only seemed to fuel their hunger. All they wanted was her wild, frantic laughter. And they got it.

The brutal tickle torture seemed to go on endlessly. Eventually, her vision went black. Though her eyes were open, she couldn’t see a thing. Unluckily, she could still feel every pressed finger and scrabbling nail.

When the one above her started gently gnawing on her neck, she thought her head would explode. Ginna heard a whisper in her ear, but she was too delirious to make out the words.

The Tickle Coven spoke together unintelligibly, and the tickling slowed to a crawl. Thoughts and sight returned sluggishly. She was panting as their nails glided over her sweat-drenched form. They seemed to be slow dancing to the rhythm of her humming laugh.

“I said,” the woman cooed. She drew out the s-sound, blowing on her damp neck and ear. “Tell us where to tickle your little friend, and we’ll stop torturing you. Just for a little while, mind. But the more you say, the nicer we’ll be. And we can be very nice. Very nice, indeed.”

The breathy whisper drifted over her neck, coating her in goosebumps.

“Huh-huh I huh-huh can’t,” she replied hoarsely. “She’s the-huh-huh princess.”

“Oh, don’t play games with me,” she said sternly. “We can be cruel as well.”

“She’s right,” said the one sitting on her pelvis. “You might never get off this tickle rack. If one more lie spills from those pretty, pursed lips, I’ll fill it with your wet panties and tape it shut. Don’t think I didn’t notice how much you love being tickle tortured.”

Ginna gasped. She didn’t want the woman to gag her, but all she’d done was tell the truth.

Tell them to tickle her feet, part of her mind said. It’s one of her worst spots. Save yourself. Her eyes flicked between the masked ticklers. No, another part of her said. Just shut up.

Unfortunately, their hands began to speed up again. The intensity continued to escalate until she was howling once more. She tried to fight it, but desperation overwhelmed her. After that, the secrets came toppling out of her wide, cackling mouth.

“Her feet!” Ginna screeched. “Tickle her feet!”

“What the?” she heard Lysia cry. The princess called her a traitor, but the betrayal paid off. The tickling finally came to a stop.

Relief washed through her as the coven left her alone on the stretching rack. It was great for her, but it was bad for Lysia. Very bad. The number of ticklers torturing her doubled in a matter of seconds. The poor princess went berserk.

She tried to beg, barter, and command, but she couldn’t convince them that she was a princess. When they got to her toes, the incoherent babbling took over. She called the ladies of the Tickle Coven evil and then fell into incessant raucous laughter.

Motion near the doorway drew her attention. She lifted her head as much as she could, twisting in her ropes. Her heart leapt with joy. Prince Joseff was sneaking through the dungeon toward them.

Surely, he’s come to rescue us, she thought. Ginna knew he fancied the princess, but he was fond of her too. He’d been gentle with her when she’d been displayed for public tickles on Bratty Lee Lane.

She noticed one of the ticklers looking in her direction, so she averted her eyes from the prowling prince. No need to draw attention to the man.

Suddenly, the princess’s incoherent rambling began to resemble recognizable speech patterns. Icy dread seemed to weigh her down to the table as she realized what Lysia was saying. She was trying to tell them Ginna’s most ticklish spots!

When she finally managed to sputter out the words “back” and “butt”, fear paralyzed Ginna. Before she could speak, the Tickle Coven had her surrounded. She felt a moment of relief when they untied the ropes, but then they flipped her over.

Her body went into panic mode. She tried to fight them off, thrashing and squirming. Some of them held her down while the others distracted her with lower back squeezes.

In the chaos of them retying her to the rack, they didn’t notice the prince crouched down on the far side of Lysia’s table. He was freeing the princess of her restraints.

Ginna struggled harder, trying to keep their attention fixed on her. Once the princess was released, they’d come rescue her next. They stretched her out facedown, and her taught body went still. She couldn’t move an inch.

That’s when the tickling started again. Dozens of nails caressed her back. Fingers clamped down on her hearty butt cheeks. It was a tickly torment the likes of which she’d never known. Her brain went haywire, eyes rolling toward the other table.

The princess was gone. She scanned the room, trying to locate her or the prince, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“Noooooo!” she wailed in denial. They left me, she thought, panic-stricken. They left me! Every fiber of her hypersensitive being wanted to rat them out. If I tell them the princess is escaping, surly they’ll give me another respite, Ginna thought. She tried to form the words.

Alas, all that came out were lonely, elongated syllables and laughter broken by gasps for breath. She should have known better. Exposing the princess’s secrets had been a massive error in judgement. One she knew these women would make her pay for.

She was in for a very long night.

You can read more tickle stories from Knis Kingdom here:

The Ticklish Chronicles of Knis Kingdom

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