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sideshow-cellophane-blog · 2 years

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England has a run-in with something magical. Warnings for tickle torture without plot and some sexual themes.

Flailing limbs. Rapid heartbeat. Wildly incoherent howls and screams that somehow, no matter the volume and pitch, did not shatter glass.

Arthur gripped the cloth of his shirt over his stomach, rolling on the ground in absolute hysterics. His free fist pounded the wooden floor beneath him. Breakfast was threatening to come back up the way it went down. He tugged at and ripped his shirt open, a few buttons popped off, and it still did nothing to stop the ticklish onslaught that had tortured him for hours. A peal of guffaws were forced from his throat as the evil magic used his own opened dress shirt to tickle his sides and ribs, soft material that made him squeal too, and he quickly removed the traitorous clothing and threw it across the room. Tears flowed too heavily for him to even inspect his sensitive skin after as he flopped back to the ground.

All thought had left his mind regardless of his ability to look at anything. He did not know where the ticklish attack came from - voodoo or some evil magical folk, he figured - but it had rendered him such a helpless, squirming mess that he had stopped fighting long ago. Invisible tentacles, feathers, fingers, brushes, all manners of ticklish torment slithered over his body in changing cycles. The tools changed depending on his reactions and possible boredom on the entity's part, if there was in fact an entity.

Now that his shirt was removed on his own accord (and how he berated himself for that), one could possibly see the indents of invisible fingers tapping away at his toned belly. Something slimy slipped its way into his navel, and Arthur screeched. He rolled onto his back and hit his own stomach with his palms, but it did nothing but render the skin pink and ripe for softer tickling that feathery sensations took care of.

He had not been able to touch whatever was torturing him, he couldn't see it, he couldn't hear anything beyond himself, but he sure as shit felt every. Single. Touch. Nothing that he had done, or tried to do, stopped the tickle torture something had forced upon him today - and it had started like any other. The World Meeting was last week (not the European Union of course, but the meeting of the human representations), so perhaps he had caught the attention of something evil then. Or, someone. It was held in New York though, the United States only had voodoo in the south right? He was aware that other nations stayed longer. Arthur had perhaps angered someone who was capable of traveling and discovering the American voodoo rituals to produce…this. He couldn't recall if he had outright angered anyone though, or if it was merely by chance that he happened to be the guinea pig for someone else. Either way, he was here now.

The first tickle came during breakfast. A soft, fine tickle like the strand of a long hair on the back of Arthur's neck was his first sign, but he only assumed that it was time for a haircut. But it only continued after his attempts at brushing his shoulders off and picked up the teasing pace. The tickle kept circling his neck like a fluffy tail, and he had asked the magical being to stop with a giggle. Or, what he thought was a magical being.

It...did not stop.

Arthur had scrunched his shoulders in a fit of giggles as the fluffy tickles spread around his neck like a scarf. It at least let him put his mug down before the feeling changed, and a swarm of fingers scurried down his spine. He had stood up with a yelp and did the ticklish dance, reaching around and trying to grab the ungrabbable in a series of hopping circles, before he realized that this was more than a trickster fae. Up and down the fingers wiggled, tapping, poking, swiping, and never before had Arthur received such a ferocious back tickling. Or, knew that he was so ticklish there. It sent him into his first uncontrollable fit of giggles for the day ahead.

And then, well, suddenly it was one giant electric ticklish jolt directly on his spine that had caused the first shriek. His arms snapped to his back and under his shirt to stop the torture, but the entirety of the tickling changed again. The invisible tentacles made their first appearance in spreading from his spine, wrapping and wiggling their way over his ribs. Then sides.

When they wriggled in his armpits, Arthur had screamed with laughter and stumbled towards his bedroom to find a way to protect himself. He was extremely thankful for the lack of servants in the cottage house, and even more so for the privacy. If he had neighbors they would have surely called the police for his delirium.

Whatever magic had a hold of him, it did not allow it's newest victim to protect himself. As soon as Arthur stepped foot in his bedroom the tentacles spread further from his spine like a pair of wings, wriggling all over his most terribly ticklish spots on his upper body. He was hysterical within moments and crumpled like a paper doll to the floor. The magical entity toyed with him from there, tickling in its odd patterns that somehow kept Arthur awake and suffering without his lungs hurting too badly.

It had been this way for what felt like hours. He had moved beyond begging, beyond bargaining, beyond words and actions, because nothing stopped the tickling.

Arthur screamed and clawed at the ground as something - a hand? Vine? - wrapped around his ankle and dragged his body so it stretched out, and a vicious scribbling over his socked sole broke him into screechy giggles. He kicked his other foot out and it too was caught in the grasp, subject to toe pulling and scratching at random. This was the first time it had held him, compared to letting him thrash every which way earlier. Now that his ankles were being held, he was trapped on his belly.

Feathery sensations brushed over the edge of his ears on top of the foot torture, and he pushed against his left ear as the feather went inside of it. This was light compared to earlier, all part of the pattern. Something wet slithered up his leg next, drilling into the back of Arthur's exposed knee and thigh.

"PLEHAHAHAHA! NAHA, AHAHA, WAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! CANAAAAHAHAHAHA! C-CAHAHAHAHAN'T!"

It showed mercy in slowing down, allowing his hysterics to die down into breathless giggles. His throat felt raw. He was exhausted.

Arthur was allowed this softer tickle break for a few more minutes before it let go of his ankles fully so he could curl into a ball. His ears and legs both were left alone. The cycle then restarted: his spine was alight with the electric tickles again, and he arched it on the ground with a desperate plea for mercy.

"No, no NO NOT AGAIN PLEHEHEASE! GAHAHAAAAA!"

And like before, it did not listen. He was filled with a renewed energy and was no longer tired. His body did not ache, even though he had been laughing and crying for...well, however long it had been by now. His skin was still insanely sensitive from the torture though, and something akin to a hand pulled his left arm out to the side in a half T-pose. His fingers were forcefully opened from a balled fist and spread, and Arthur squeaked and squirmed as feathers tickled his palm.

At the same time, his right leg was again pulled downwards and held there, limiting his movements further. It began to play with his toes again, this time with what felt like a very wet tongue, licking between and biting the undersides of the ticklish joints. Arthur could not stop giggling, nor had power of thought returned. He could only stare up at the ceiling and breathe while he could. His left leg and right arm thumped the ground uselessly, trying to move his stretched body every which way to protect himself somehow. He knew that it would get worse, and it did:

The familiar vibrations of a raspberry blew into the very center of his exposed left armpit, and his giggles turned into a squealing scream. But the raspberry did not stop, like it's cause could blow forever, and he threw his head back in desperate guffaws. His right arm shot into the attacked pit to protect it, but that did not stop anything. In fact, whatever was controlling this onslaught chose to attack his other one as well. Both arms were held down, and both armpits attacked with changing vibrations of raspberries or something akin to them.

Arthur's most ticklish spot was right there, where it was not letting up, and it seemed to know that.

He howled with insane laughter and tossed his head back in ticklish agony as the raspberries were replaced with thumbs. They dug in deep into his pits, sending jolt after ticklish jolt deep into Arthur's nervous system and overriding his every thought. Unlike the times it would move on before, the harsh tickling stayed in this area and added a new level of desperation.

"GOH-HAAAAA! AAAHAHAHAHA! KTH, AHA, PLEHEHAHAHA! NAHAHAHA!"

Arthur had never before been tickled for so long at one go. It was entirely unbearable and he could only take it until it stopped or he was rescued. Perhaps, if he escaped this hell, he would call up his beloved partner to be held. At least his brothers knew when to stop when they were ganging up on him.

But for now, he hollered until he was hoarse. The fingers were now padding over every part of his body. Every. Fucking. Inch. Soft taps up his ribs. Lobster claws grabbing his thighs and ass. Tip-toeing fingers walking their way around his armpits and biceps. Index fingers flicking over his nipples in a ticklish way. Swirling nails were going over his belly, delving in and out of his navel, tapping all around it and up and down his sides and simply everywhere.

Arthur's wildly kicking feet were again locked in place, and something scratchy tickled their way from his heels to his toes and back down again. His arms were still raised above his head. He was on his bedroom floor, being killed with tickle torture while eagle spread. The Englishman could simply not laugh hard or loud enough to make up for the new attack, so intense it was actually tickling him to death.

Then, finally, it stopped at once when Arthur's wheezes were becoming weak. It allowed him to openly sob with mad laughter, ghost tickles torturing his skin and fogging his mind. They were still everywhere. His arms and legs were released, and he curled into a tight ball and massaged his aching sides. Being tickled to insanity had its effect.

He waited, but nothing came after. Without the renewing energy of his torturer, Arthur wasn't strong enough to stand, move, or even comprehend what just happened. Not wanting it to start again if he moved, the englishman simply stayed on the floor and fell asleep.

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