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heliotrope-tickles · 10 days

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A Ticklish Loophole : Chapter 2

As Lia's rescuers follow her kidnapper's trail, she meets another interrogator who is keen on making her talk...

Previous chapters in this story: 1 Pairing(s): NB/F Content warnings: noncon, interrogation, gag Word count: 6196

Maryanne continually ensured her hood was still up, tugging at its bottom close to her chin. Her life may depend on it. She looked around her – her comrades were doing the exact same, under her orders. Hiding their ears.

She had done her part as a commander, of course. Nowan and Mirna had been sent back to report Lia’s capture to Fellenrie. The others had stayed with her, many of them wounded. Her capture had been a violent affair, though exquisite care was taken not to harm Lia herself. Of course the bastards would adhere to protocol while kidnapping a diplomat.

Not just a diplomat. A friend. One who had grown up with her.

After being fought off and managing to run, it took them some time to even find the soldiers’ trail again. This was made both easier and harder by the fact that they were not traveling by any major roads. Lia’s captivity was somewhere new, somewhere secret, maybe even somewhere that didn’t officially exist in any records. Maryanne knew the maps like the back of her hand. If they wanted to keep Lia in the palace dungeons, or anywhere obvious, they would have made an official statement to Fellenrie by now.

She knew the maps because her duty was to protect Lia, and so she had to be prepared for anything.

A duty she had thoroughly failed at.

“Whatever you do, don’t let them see your ears. Work on your Brimese accents. Lia’s life may depend on this.”

“We know, commander,” Haro said. He was one of her best men, and the tone of his voice was of gentle concern. “You’ve said it. We’re with you.”

“I don’t want my friend to end up dead because of me,” Maryanne said, somber. She adjusted her curly hair under her hood, trying unsuccessfully to keep it out of her face. They saw only the occasional trader or traveler using the same road, and so they trudged along.

Within the major cities, the human population of Brimenland was too exposed to political propaganda to be pro-war on Fellenrie. Maybe they would be safer traveling along minor roads, resting in small towns. People like that may not like strangers, but most of them just wanted peace.

“The trail is fresh,” Maryanne said. “I can see where they went, but we’ll have to stop. I don’t want to be ambushed at night, and I won’t force you to walk any longer on your wounds.” She looked at Haro. Despite the wounds on his arm and leg during the skirmish, he’d been following her. The kid deserved so much better.

“Are you sure, commander?”

Maryanne sighed. “No. But I know they won’t harm her. They didn’t during the ambush, and if she’s in their hands, she’s a prisoner of war. Causing her any harm would break the Skyward Council’s contract, and none of them are insane enough to try that.” Let me be right. Gods above, let me be right. “We stop and rest. We keep our hoods up and try to negotiate for rooms. If there’s some sort of herbalist nearby, we patch up our wounds, otherwise, we head onwards at sunrise for Lia. Understood?”

“Yes, lady,” the few soldiers she had left responded in unison.

I’m coming for you, dear friend.

Lia sat cross-legged in her cell, on what could generously be considered a bed. Mask had led her there after untying her, and she’d had the last few hours in solitude. A guard came by once to provide her with water and bread. She’d only accepted the water.

Her breath was no longer shaking, but her mind still reeled from the experience. She did her best to focus on her thoughts, and not on reliving how Mask had tickled her. She had to figure out who he was. This line of reasoning was what kept her mind stable.

The first and most obvious thought was that Mask was obviously hiding his identity. Still, Lia had a great ear for voices, and she did not recognize his. She was Crown Princess and a skilled, respected diplomat. She had been in a room with everyone who was anyone in Brimenland, but not him.

So why would he hide himself from her?

It seemed extremely unlikely that a rogue Brimese mission would capture her without approval from their King. The detachment of guards that accompanied Mask were in full Brimese livery. He had referred to himself as “the mastermind,” but even if he had orchestrated her capture and torture, his actions had a seal of approval.

And he was well-connected enough to have ties to one of her servants.

Rumors, then. There had long been rumors that the King of Brimenland had many bastard children and kept them around for covert functions. Those had been dismissed as a lie by many who were entrenched in Brimese politics, even Lia herself.

Well then, Lia, you underestimated them twice.

A series of noises came from down the hall, from the room where Mask had interrogated her. It sounded like something heavy was being dragged. More than likely, furniture was being moved in – just as she suspected it would, based on the layout of the room. The associate, then?

As if to confirm her suspicions, one of the guards walked down the hall and stuck a package through the hole in the door of her cell. “Highness, you are kindly requested to change into these garments. By order of our lord.”

Here we go again, then. She did not answer, simply took the package and unfurled it on her bed. She would not physically resist anything they did – it was unbecoming of someone of her station. She would comply, and she would be tortured, and every single time she would come back the same. She would show them that they could not break her.

The new garments were of the same color as her current tunic. It still didn’t mesh well with her skin. Warm copper and ochre were not a good mix. Did she have to teach the Brimese about fashion while in captivity?

It was a two-piece set: a sleeveless, low-cut top that she might have worn for daily exercise on a hot day, if she were entirely colorblind and lacked any sense of style, and thin underpants that she might generously classify as a thong. Wearing this outfit would leave her stomach, underarms and thighs exposed, where they previously hadn’t been.

It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant.

Lia breathed in deeply, overcoming the anxious shaky breath that threatened to take hold. They would not break her. Yes, she was ticklish. Her feet were not the only spot on her body that was ticklish, that was also true. And everything pointed towards a second interrogation session in the same day, when she had just finished recovering from the first. Before this wave of thoughts could wash over her, Lia steadied her breath.

I will endure, for Fellenrie, she repeated in her mind as the guard went out of eyesight and she changed clothes.

Not but a minute later, he came back. “Your presence is requested, Highness. Allow me to accompany you.”

She was out of the room as soon as the door was opened, again not saying one word to the guard. She would comply gracefully with them. Her biting speech was reserved for Mask, whomever this associate was, and whomever else conspired to do this to her.

Lia was led down the hall while repeating a stabilizing breathing exercise. It was taught to her by her brother, Lannis, who had to learn to deal with panic attacks when he was younger. “Use this if you’re in danger,” he’d said. “It helps me. It will help you. Stay contained and you won’t let the pride of Fellenrie bow down to anyone.”

I love you, Lan. See you soon.

Another masked figure stood at the entrance of the same room. The mask was identical to – well, Mask’s – though the rest of the outfit was different. Mask had referred to his associate as “they.” Fair enough, then: they were a person of fair skin, small frame, short and lithe, with correspondingly short, spiky blond hair. Again, not a chin or hairstyle Lia had ever seen at any Brimese meeting.

“I already refer to one of you as Mask. Don’t confuse me.”

The associate smiled wide – a smile that would have been beautiful if the occasion had been any different. “Highness. While this makes me quite curious what characteristic you’d name me after – and really, I hope it would be Nails – I have no issue with introducing myself to you. Call me Rani.”

A name, then. Lia wasn’t familiar with it, but it was a start.

“Hello, Rani,” she said, in a dry tone.

“And hello to you, Highness. I must sincerely apologize for the delay in meeting you today. How excited I was! But my equipment simply wasn’t ready, and then I had to make the finishing touches, transport it, prepare it… a nightmare of a day, if you’d ask.” They stepped back, gesturing for Lia to come into the room, and turned their gaze to the guards. “You are dismissed for now. Leave me with the princess.”

Lia carefully kept her expression neutral, though Rani’s cheery tone was already starting to grate at her. She stepped into the room, and what she saw occupying the previously empty spot made her stop dead in her tracks.

Like the lounge chair contraption, which still stood at the other corner of the room, this one was full of straps. Unlike it, this looked more like the padded mattresses that Lia would lie in to receive a massage from her maidservants. It was clear that she was meant to lie down on it. She could identify straps that were meant for the length of her legs and arms – and a familiar setup at one end, where she was to place her feet.

Rani proudly stood next to the contraption. “You really are quite tall, Highness! I honestly questioned the measurements I was given, but oh, this looks like it will fit you perfectly. Shall we get started?”

“You’re awfully cheery for a torturer,” Lia said, glaring at them.

“Don’t you take joy in your work, Highness? Life must be awfully dull for you if you don’t. If you’d be so kind as to lie down, I promise you the straps were measured to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Lia complied, though slowly. Do what they want, she thought. Antagonizing them gives you nothing and might get you tickled worse. This is all on them. They’re wasting their efforts, they’re torturing you, and you’re the hero in this.

“Being unaffected by inflicting suffering is a trait you share with your associate,” Lia said. “Or should I say your brother?”

Rani was moving to tie her, but paused. They smirked, shooting Lia a curious look from behind their mask. “What makes you think that the man you refer to as Mask is my brother?”

“Half-brother, then?” Lia didn’t break eye contact. “The lost children of Brimenland have been a legend in Fellenrie for years. So gracious of you to reveal yourselves to me when it came to this.”

Rani giggled. “Wait, you believe in that? And you think we’re the lost children?” They tightened the straps around Lia’s legs. The first set went over her thighs, the second right below her knees. “You’re amusing, princess. I like you.”

“I’ve never seen either of you, and you must be doing this with royal approval,” Lia said, trying not to flinch as Rani closed the new stocks over her ankles. Instead of a single wooden board, these stocks closed from either side, one half over each foot.

“Seven gods above, I wish I could be the king’s child,” Rani said, gesturing for Lia to stretch her arms over her head. She complied. “My life would be much easier than it is.”

Lia had made her bluff. There was no concrete proof that she was correct, but for now, she would assume these two were at least half-siblings, and that Rani was lying. She would also assume the other man was named Mask all along. All in the name of sanity.

One set of upper straps held Lia’s biceps firmly in place, with the second one pinning her forearms, close to her elbows. Finally, cuffs were tightened around her wrists. Lia was completely immobile, and Rani hadn’t even bothered to remove the slippers from her feet yet.

And, of course, Lia fit perfectly into the contraption. She was not in pain.

“Comfy, isn’t it, Highness?” Rani asked. Lia didn’t answer, so they continued. “I have to say, you look amazing tied like that.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for the compliment?”

Rani shrugged, plucking something from the shelf to their side, and then bringing it into Lia’s field of view. They held two long, colorful feathers. Finally, Rani climbed on top of her, straddling Lia’s hips, and took one feather on each hand.

“Well, princess, I think you know how the story goes, don’t you? You’re going to tell me about Fellenrie’s crystal anchors today.”

“And you know from this afternoon’s results that I cannot tell you that,” Lia said. She was actually telling the truth. The compulsion spell on her was still active, even though any other magic was prevented from reaching her from the outside. “And when Fellenrie hears about this, you will suffer consequences, from us if not from the Council.”

Rani scoffed. “Consequences for what, princess? When this ends, there will be not a single physical mark left on you. We are not violating any of the terms of the Skyward Council. What, are you going to go back to your family and tell them two mean people were tickling you? Do you think anyone will take it seriously?”

Lia felt a chill. It was only compounded by the sensation of Rani running each of the feathers along her armpits.

She clenched her hands tight and breathed deeply. That was a ticklish spot. Mask had thoroughly proven how ticklish her feet were, and if her memory did not fail her, the rest of her body was not far behind. Still, she wouldn’t give Rani the satisfaction of laughing immediately.

If you want my laughter, work for it.

Rani had an absentminded smile as they traced the tips of their feathers all over Lia’s upper body. They went over and over her armpits, along her neck, down her ribs. One feather swirled into Lia’s belly button while another was dragged back and forth up her side. Lia grunted, gritted her teeth, and didn’t give in to the laughter. Every single spot was sensitive, but the tickling was still soft enough for her to resist.

Rani lowered their body closer to Lia’s. They dragged the feathers along the length of Lia’s ears, prompting a squeal. Lia’s head shot from side to side. That was the most annoyingly sensitive touch she’d felt in a while.

“Long, ticklish elven ears,” Rani mused. “I always wondered!”

Through closed teeth, Lia let out a long, frustrated grunt. She would never have guessed that her ears were ticklish, but here she was, with a tickler that seemed decided to tease her endlessly. The feathers were twirled softly over her ears, teasing along her neck, up and down. Now would be a damn good time for Maryanne to save me.

“Quite an impressive upper body test, princess,” Rani said with a smile. “It seems like your ears, armpits and belly button are your ticklish hotspots.”

“I don’t understand you,” Lia said, now that Rani had stopped and she could talk.

Rani cocked their head to the side. “How so?”

“You’re here to extract information out of me, and you’re tickling me with these. That wouldn’t give you anything even if I had anything to say to you.”

“One thing you’ll learn about me is that I play with my food, princess,” Rani said. “Do you think this is all I have in store for you? I’m analyzing you. I’m figuring out exactly what kinds of tickling will have you calling for every god you’ve ever heard of.”

Without giving her time to respond, Rani climbed down from the massage table turned torture rack. They seemed to flip a latch, and Lia felt a function of her new bonds that she had not noticed: the bottom half was divided into two. Suddenly, the way her feet were restrained made sense. With the turn of a crank, Rani forced Lia’s legs to separate, the bondage forcing her to open her legs to the maximum that was comfortable. Her thin undergarments were the only pitiful bit of protection she had, and her thighs were now exposed to the world.

This is a big problem. She couldn’t stop that thought even if she’d tried.

“Legs are often forgotten in tickling,” Rani said, positioning themself right in between Lia’s. “Feet are a delight, armpits are a sure bet for sensitivity… but let’s see how you feel about this.” With that, the feathers were being dragged softly and aimlessly over Lia’s inner thighs.

Lia rested her head on its side, giggling in soft puffs of air, making no sound. She wouldn’t make a sound. That was more ticklish than what Rani had done to her upper body, and she could only hope her reactions went unnoticed.

They did not. “You confirm my theory, princess,” Rani said. “By the end of the day, I will know everything about your sensitivity.”

As Lia struggled not to laugh, Rani dragged the feathers down her legs. They slid over her knees, and Rani pulled her legs up to attempt to tickle behind her knees. Lia felt this, but stopped giggling. Her thighs were the big problem.

That, and what she knew would come next.

“Test of your legs, done,” Rani said, in a tone that let Lia hear the smile on their face. “Not a big reaction from your knees, at least with the feathers, but your thighs are a spot I need to explore further. And now it’s time for your feet, of course. Do you have a more ticklish foot, Highness?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Lia said dryly. She hadn’t noticed a difference while Mask had been toying with her sanity.

“That agrees with what my associate said,” Rani said. “Very well, but I’m more thorough than him. I’ll want to confirm that for myself. Which foot do you think I should start with, princess?”

Lia did not respond. She focused on breathing. They’re just tickling you. You can do this for Fellenrie. You can handle being tickled. You’ll make them pay.

“No? I guess then it’s up to me. Very well, left foot it is.”

Rani pulled the slipper off her foot, and forced it back with their hand. Exactly as Mask had done, they pulled a rope over Lia’s big toe – but did not stop there. Four other ropes were pulled over her other toes and, by the time Rani was done, Lia could not even attempt to move her foot. The ties along her toes made sure her soles were stretched out in place, and even forced her toes slightly apart. She was even more helpless than Mask had made her.

Lia’s breath got shaky. She was breathing louder, trying to calm herself, and Rani noticed that.

“Gods, you really are ticklish. You’re reacting like that and I haven’t even started. I suppose the feet are truly the easiest bet for someone’s most ticklish spot.”

The two feathers started teasing her foot at the same time, one sliding up her arch, while the other caressed her big toe. Lia breathed. She could maybe hold this in, the same way she had done with Mask’s initial torture, but her anxiety wasn’t helping. This was worse. She was tied tighter and she had already been tickled for an hour earlier. Lia grunted and squealed in protest, and soon succumbed to quiet, but noticeable, giggling.

Rani then took a single feather to meticulously tickle all over Lia’s left foot. First it teased her heel, then the arch, then the ball of the foot, then each side. Lastly, the feather hit the underside of her toes, followed by soft scratches up and down each individual toe, held back by the bondage. I must be losing my sanity, she managed to think between the tickling, failing to hold back her bursts of giggles.

The tickling stopped, and Lia breathed. None of that had been nearly as intense as what Mask had done, but the individual thorough assessment of her foot had amounted to minutes of nonstop torture.

“So, conclusions: arch and ball of the foot are the most sensitive. Big toe and second toe give the best laughs, though really you’re quite ticklish around that whole area. Shall we get to the other foot, princess?”

“If you insist,” was what Lia managed to say. She wasn’t broken. She had to show Rani that she wouldn’t be broken.

Lia’s right foot was relieved of its slipper and tied back in the exact same way the other had been. Rani wasted no time in exploring every inch of her foot with their feather, driving Lia to very similar – at least to her – reactions. Lia tried to squirm, and grunted, and squealed, and lightly giggled, for several minutes until Rani finally stopped.

And it was only the beginning.

“They really are similar in ticklishness,” Rani said, “and quite big, really. I suppose you needed more space to store all that sensitivity. I could swear the right one is ever-so-slightly more ticklish… and your pinky toe here is adorably sensitive.” Rani pinched Lia’s right pinky toe with their nails. This shot a shock of ticklishness up her leg, and Lia squealed. “Alright, big girl. Crystal anchors, now.”

“You’re just as much of a fool as Mask is,” Lia said. “What point do you think you’re proving? Yes, I am ticklish. This means that, if there had been anything to extract from me at this point, he would have gotten it already.”

“In an hour? Maybe not. I know you’re devoted to Fellenrie’s safety.” Rani went back, turning the crank to bring Lia’s legs closer together than they were, and climbed onto the rack to straddle her again. “Last chance, princess. Talk, or I use all my newfound knowledge to tickle you out of your mind.”

Lia closed her eyes. “I can’t tell you about that.”

“Fair. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

They made a clawing motion with their hands, showing Lia their sharp nails. Lia only had a second to process before those nails were tickling her armpits, ten points of ticklishness wandering in and around the hollows, and she was howling with laughter.

“That’s what I wanted to see,” Rani said, their joy evident. Lia could barely pay attention. I can’t move my arms, I can’t move my arms, was all her mind could focus on, as her outstretched armpits were the focus of Rani’s attention. Their nails expertly skittered around, occasionally stopping to do slow dragging motions from her biceps all the way to the sides of her ribs.

There was a pause. Not out of mercy, Lia quickly realized – Rani was grabbing something else from their shelf, and when she saw it, she barely suppressed a scream. It was an artist’s paintbrush and a vial of lotion.

“Ready for me to paint a masterpiece?” Rani said, smiling ear to ear. “As if your body weren’t already a ticklish masterpiece on its own right.”

“How,” Lia said between heavy breaths, “are you so fucking joyful?”

“I’m tickling you, Highness!” As if that sufficed for an explanation, Rani drove the paintbrush into spiraling motions, covering Lia’s left armpit in lotion, then the right. The bristles tickled. They tickled so badly that Lia wanted to scream.

Rani leaned in close, too close, and whispered in Lia’s ear. “Tickle, tickle, princess,” they said, and skittered their sharp nails all over her lotioned armpits.

Lia exploded into her silent laughter, which had become intimately familiar to her during her last minutes with Mask. It tickled so much that she could barely be forced to make a sound. I can’t move my arms please let me move my arms, she thought frantically, as it would be barely possible to form words in this state.

“Enjoying yourself, princess?” Rani asked, not stopping.

“Nohohoho!” was all Lia managed to say. Maryanne you need to come save me, her mind raced. She couldn’t take this. She couldn’t, she would find a way to give them the information they wanted, compulsion spell be damned, she-

Rani stopped. It must have been several minutes.

“Wow, I wonder if your feet will be more ticklish than this,” Rani said. “That was a great run. Are you feeling any better about the crystal anchors, princess?”

“I told you,” Lia said, still catching her breath. “I can’t tell you anything.”

“You’re lying,” Rani said, in a sing-songy tone. “I know you’re lying. Our informants know that you’ve been to meetings about the crystal anchors. But that’s fine. If you don’t want to talk, I won’t let you.”

Lia was given a few seconds to wonder what that meant, as Rani climbed off the rack to grab yet another tool.

“Stay still for me, princess,” Rani said. Lia, despite her condition, complied. What else could she do? Whether it was proper of a diplomat or not, she had no alternative in that moment. “And open your mouth.”

Lia hesitated.

“Do it, princess, you’re the one who refuses to talk, aren’t you?”

What could Rani possibly be planning? Knowing that she’d be tickled regardless, Lia opened her mouth. Rani carefully slotted a round object into her mouth, one that had straps to either side. They nudged Lia’s head away from the headboard so they could tighten the clasp behind her. Lia was gagged.

Don’t you want information? is what she tried to say. What came out was barely comprehensible, and Lia knew that. Rani smirked.

“I’ll just let you sit there like that, alright? If you don’t want to talk, fine. Then you won’t even have a chance to talk for the next however long I want to. Maybe when I let you talk you’ll be more willing.”

Rani grabbed their paintbrush again, this time dipping it into Lia’s belly button. She squealed, and Rani paid no mind, twirling the tool freely. This was far more ticklish than the feather had been, and Lia laughed through her forced-open mouth. The paintbrush had some lotion on it, and it was making everything worse.

“I’ll keep doing this the entire time, what do you think?” Rani asked. They kept on twirling the paintbrush within Lia’s belly button, while their other hand went on to tickle her side with clawing motions. Lia’s laughter grew louder and more erratic. I fucking hate you, she tried to yell, but with the gag and her laughter, she knew Rani would have no idea what was said.

Rani giggled. “Less talking, princess, more laughing.”

They switched the hand that was using the paintbrush to tickle Lia’s other side, clawing from her hip to her ribs. I can’t get away I can’t do anything I can’t even beg were the thoughts running through her mind, whenever they could be perceived over the myriad tickling sensations overwhelming her nerves. Lia could hear her own laughter, sometimes – this was making her switch between loud hysterics and her characteristic frantic silent laughter.

Whatever else Rani did, the paintbrush did not stop.

“Stohohohop!” she cried, knowing that at least this word would be recognized.

“What, princess? Tickling your belly button? No, I told you I’d stay here the whole time, and I meant it.” Rani came closer, teasing Lia’s neck and ears with their nails. “Are you too ticklish for this, huh? Too bad you didn’t want to talk.”

The thought of for Fellenrie grew weaker by the minute. If this was what she had to endure, what would she even be like by the end of things? Maryanne, get here already, her thoughts begged, as her body surrendered to the ticklish sensations.

When Rani finally stopped and removed her gag, Lia was still giggling. There were phantom sensations in her belly button as she recovered from her torment. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream, and curse at Rani, and invoke the names of the gods in all their might.

But what would any of that do to help her?

“There we go, little princess,” Rani said.

Lia drew slow, long breaths. “I think you might be worse.”

“Worse than him? I’d hope so. What I also hope is that this little experience was enough to convince you to talk. You really don’t want me to gag you again and start all over, do you?”

“No,” Lia said, more alarmed than she meant to. “I don’t, but I promise you, I really can’t talk about the anchors. There’s nothing you could get from me other than their existence, which you already know.” Even this was hard to say, with the spell pushing back against her.

Rani looked at her, expression unreadable. “You can just ask me to tickle you if that’s what you want, you know.”

For part of the initial interrogation session, Lia had managed to keep Mask talking long enough to delay her torment. Maybe his potential half-sibling worked in a similar way. “Who even got the idea to tickle me in the first place? Were you so desperate to gain the upper hand on Fellenrie that you figured out a way to circumvent the Council?”

“Tickling is perfect, princess. Our laws are so focused on pain, our punishments are so focused on beating and cutting… tickle someone, and you did nothing wrong. You get what you want, and you’re free. I’d have no fun cutting you.”

“I have no fun with this,” Lia said, gathering enough energy to glare at them.

“You have ten seconds to talk, sweet princess.”

Not again. She couldn’t handle any of that. “Please, believe me. I can’t tell you anything, I truly can’t. I…”

“Five seconds, princess.”

“Rani, I can’t. Truly. Please. You have to-”

They placed the gag in Lia’s open mouth as she was trying to speak. She half-groaned, half-screamed, as Rani strapped the gag back in. They climbed down again, to the side of the rack, and turned the crank. Lia’s legs were forced open, her feet on each end still tied back by the toes, and she knew she was doomed.

“Gods, you’re a resilient one. Where does all that power come from, is it the white hair? Well, no matter, I was hoping I’d get a chance to tickle your thighs and feet anyway. I’ll let you think about how unbearably ticklish you are for about half an hour before I let you talk again, deal?”

Lia whined. Half an hour of tickling on her thighs and feet. That was similar to how Mask had ended his part of the interrogation. You’ve gone through it once, you can go through it twice, she said to herself, attempting to stave off the panic. But she wasn’t sure. Now she was more tired, more tightly restrained, and under the mercy of a better tickler.

“Here first?” Rani asked, full of joy, standing in between Lia’s legs.

Lia closed her eyes and braced for the inevitable.

It started as gentle scratching, Rani’s nails tracing aimless paths on Lia’s inner thighs. That alone made her start laughing, and her laughter only grew in volume and pitch as Rani’s hands went faster. The gag barely helped – her mouth would have been wide open anyway, pried open by her hysterical laughter. Rani had deadly weapons for hands.

Please let me close my legs please let me close my legs, her thoughts looped, with no one to hear them. Lia finally fell back into silent laughter, wheezing harder the higher Rani’s nails went on her thighs.

“Tickle, tickle, little princess,” Rani said. “So funny of me to call you little, isn’t it, when I’m so much shorter than you?”

The teasing barely entered Lia’s mind. She ran through the possible information she could give again. All three anchors are far from major cities, she thought, but the spell prevented her mouth from articulating the words even if the gag had permitted it.

Rani stopped, and Lia whined. She knew what came next.

“It’s time for your favorite spot, princess.” Rani went over to Lia’s left foot, still totally restrained. Whistling a tune, Rani grabbed their paintbrush and vial of lotion again. “You know what, I just want to get to the point.” Lia felt Rani’s hands rubbing the lotion all over her sole, and just like that, the tickling began.

Two hands on one foot was torture. Two hands with those nails, on her lotioned foot, sliding up and down her arch and in between her toes, was far more than Lia could handle.

Lia surrendered to the sensation, not even trying to form thoughts. Her laughter was silent, but constant, her head thrashing to either side simply because it was the only part of her body that she could move. Maryanne, she whined in her mind, and could not even tell how long it had been going for.

“You love it, don’t you, princess? Now let’s try the other one.” Rani slathered lotion all over her right foot with their hands.

This is my life now, Lia thought in the precious seconds of relief afforded to her by the lotioning of her foot. I’ll never get away from being tickled.

“You see this, princess?” Rani asked. Lia opened her eyes. They were showing her a bristled brush of fine make. This was something she might have used to brush her own hair back home, with bristles sturdy enough to handle it and soft enough to glide smoothly down her head.

Please, no, she attempted to say through her gag, weakly. She wasn’t even sure if she had been understood, and at that point, she was too exhausted to care.

That exhaustion didn’t stop her from what felt like minutes of continued hysteria, as she thrashed her head hard enough to practically bang it against the headboard, in response to Rani brushing her right foot. Rani’s nails were horrible. This was a barrage of ticklish sensation that rapidly ran from her heel to her toes and back again. Whenever her laugh wasn’t silent, it was a shrill plea for mercy – if not from Rani, from the gods, from whomever.

When Rani finally stopped, Lia had tears of laughter streaming down her face. She barely felt Rani removing her gag and pulling her hair off of her face with surprising gentleness.

“It’s been a while since I last did something like that,” Rani said. “Gods, I almost feel bad for you, poor thing. But it was really your own choice. Don’t make me do it again.”

“Rani,” Lia begged, close to tearing up again. “I am not lying to you. I can’t say it. I can’t tell you anything. I can’t say it, I can’t say it, I can’t say it…”

Rani stood still. “Wait.”

Lia looked at them with pleading eyes, and said nothing more.

“You can’t… you really can’t, can you? There’s no way you still have any willpower left after what I just did to you. You’re under a spell.”

Lia just breathed in deep. She wasn’t sure if the spell would even allow her to say it existed, and she was too afraid of the answer to try.

“That has to be the most elaborate compulsion spell I’ve ever seen,” Rani said, a tone of marvel in their voice. “You couldn’t say anything. I would have expected you to say random things just to throw me off.”

“I tried to tell you,” Lia said, slumping back. The exhaustion of the last however-long-that-had-been was catching up with her.

“Well,” Rani said, “that’s a change of plans. We’ll have to try to break that.”

Lia actually managed to laugh – not from tickling, this time. “Oh, so now you have easy access to a court mage?” This all but confirmed her theory, as far as her tired mind was concerned.

“We have contacts. Someone as smart as you has figured that out already, I’m sure.”

Rani smiled. They began untying her, starting from the ties around her toes, to the stocks, then to the straps along her legs and arms. Lia breathed, barely gathering the energy to stretch and flex her limbs. She could fall asleep right then and there.

“Come on, Highness. If you wish to wash yourself, I will talk with our guards. Otherwise, you can have a meal, and water, and sleep. I think you’ll need it, considering what we have in store for you tomorrow.”

Begrudgingly, Lia allowed Rani to help her stand up, and half-walked, half-wobbled back to her cell.

#heliotrope-tickles #heliotrope: a ticklish loophole #tickling #tickling community #tickling fiction #cw feet tickling #cw heavy bondage #cw noncon #cw lotion #cw interrogation #cw gag

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heliotrope-tickles · 18 days

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A Ticklish Loophole : Chapter 1

Elven princess Lia Silvercrown has been captured in enemy lands. A recent accord prohibits inflicting pain on prisoners of war, but her enemies may have found a loophole...

Previous chapters in this story: none Pairing(s): M/F Content warnings: noncon, interrogation Word count: 3556

Princess Lia Silvercrown – the eldest royal daughter of mighty Fellenrie, she would add – held her head up as she walked down the hall, escorted by guards in the livery of Brimenland, a kingdom long at war with her own.

The princess was dressed in prisoner’s garments that seemed designed to annoy her specifically. Even for dressing their captives, human sense of fashion was atrocious. The tunic she was given was of a lifeless ochre, unflattering in juxtaposition with the warm copper tone of her skin. The manacles binding her wrists together in front of her were iron – what a dull color palette! And the slippers on her feet were only barely worthy of mention. How flattering of the Brimese to give her the luxury of not walking barefoot on the stone floor.

Elven treatment of prisoners usually did not involve offending them. Especially if the prisoner in question was a diplomat – a royal one at that. As if relations between the two kingdoms weren’t strained enough. To further drive the point home, Lia was sure that some sort of magical dampener had been set up around her place of captivity. She should have received telepathic communication from a Fellenrie mage by now.

Head up, Lia. This was not her first time being detained. It wasn’t even the second.

They came into a room where a masked man awaited them. The guards stopped at the end of the hallway, motioning for Lia to press onward. The man smiled. The mask was an elaborate one, covering his eyes and nose, but not his mouth. His clothes were casual, but comfortable, a dark color palette that fit well with his light, soft features. Humans did have decency, then – just not for her.

“Siilahra,” he began, using her elvish title. She interrupted him.

“I am perfectly capable of speaking your tongue.” Lia analyzed him. His brown hair fell in a cascade down his shoulders. More importantly, she did not know who he was. That was not a chin she had seen, or a voice she had heard, in any of her diplomatic visits to Brimenland. Maybe Maryanne and the other soldiers in her escort would know more, which would be extremely convenient if Lia had any idea where they were.

The man’s smile did not waver. “As you wish, Highness.”

Lia looked around. The room was strangely bereft of furniture, though there was a wide, closed door that presumably led to an area she had not been allowed to see. To the corner of the room, where the man stood, was what looked like a lounge chair equipped with restraints. A handful of cabinets and shelves were placed by the adjacent walls. The other side of the room was suspiciously empty, as if it awaited additional pieces of furniture to be moved in.

Torture implements? After their agreement at the Skyward Council?

“I’d like an explanation. First you separate me from my escort, who are, I assume, looking to free me at this very moment. Then you take me to a torture room? What could you ever want so badly that you would risk breaking a magically-enforced agreement from the Council?”

The man gestured towards the lounge chair to his right. “Take a seat, Highness, and I shall explain. I would prefer it if you came of your own volition, instead of being dragged by my men.”

Lia glared at him. Her external demeanor was contained, but a knot was starting to form in her stomach. The Brimese man could not torture her without devastating consequences to his kingdom. If he did so, Fellenrie would emerge victorious no matter what. While this conclusion satisfied her, the prospect of being in acute pain for hours was not an appealing one.

“Tell your men to stay.” She walked over to the chair, and sat on it, extending her legs as it had clearly been designed for. There were two half-circular divots at the foot of the chair, into which her ankles could fit suspiciously well.

The masked man then came up to her and undid the manacles on her wrists, choosing instead to use the straps built into the chair to restrain her arms next to her torso. She did not offer physical resistance. It was unbecoming of a diplomat.

“Now, Highness, tell me why you suspect me of intending to violate the Council?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Shall I quote the agreement to you, which I wrote with my own hands? ‘Prisoners of war taken from Fellenrie to Brimenland, or equivalently from Brimenland to Fellenrie, shall not undergo intentionally painful treatment in their captivity.’ There are many other clauses on how a prisoner is to be properly treated in these times. I may recite them all to you, if you wish.”

The masked man smiled again, walking over to restrain her legs. “Highness, you misunderstand. I have no intention of inflicting any pain on you.”

Physical restraint, then? Captivity for ransom? That would make this not a self-destructive choice by the Brimese, but she was already held captive in her cell. There was no need for additional restraints. Instead of straps, her ankles were held into place when a latch was pulled over and closed over them. The divots which held her ankles were now complete with their other half, creating a sturdy wooden board with her feet sticking out of two holes.

The man stood by her side. “You’re quite tall, Princess. For a moment, I was afraid the bonds would not hold you comfortably, but I’m grateful we got the proper measurements." He moved closer to her. She did not flinch. “And you have the beautiful white hair that is so notorious in the Silvercrown line. I’ve always been curious to see it for myself.”

Lia was very well secured in place. To the masked man’s credit, she truly wasn’t in pain. The seat seemed designed to hold her – almost particularly so. His line about measurements confirmed to her that this had been a betrayal from the inside.

The princess’ seamsters and chambermaids knew her physical measurements for the purposes of clothing.

“I have never seen you in any Brimese political functions. I do not know your name. What is it that you hope to achieve by capturing me?”

The masked man wandered away from her, moving to the base of the chair. He pulled the slippers off of Lia’s feet as he talked. “Fellenrie has three crystal anchors fueling its border defenses. I know that you know where they are, because our spies have seen you walking into halls where the meetings about them were held. It is quite unfortunate that we were unable to penetrate the discussions.”

Lia briefly wiggled her now bare feet, confused at the gesture. There were chambermaids that she took with her when the meetings were held in other cities. She was going through the mental list of which people knew her measurements but never attended a meeting long enough to spy – when her train of thought was interrupted by the masked man pulling two thin ropes over each of her big toes.

Her bare feet were held in place. Now that seemed excessive. She was not a mage, and even if she were, mages did not use their feet to cast spells. Her main concern, though, was another one: within the Royal Palace of Fellenrie, the court’s mages had placed a compulsion spell on her, preventing her from revealing the locations of the crystal anchors. If she tried to speak it, the spell would always stop her.

She would have to endure whatever happened on her own, until Maryanne came along to rescue her.

Head up, Lia, she recited again. She would not allow herself to be bullied into submission by this man. Even if he were to torture her, against the explicit design of the accord at the Council, he would be signing his own death warrant. “You have not told me your name,” she shot back as her only response.

“You do not need it, Highness. I’m merely the mastermind, not the expert interrogator who will be with you for most of the time. Unfortunately, they are delayed – you see, we were not expecting to take you so early.” His mouth was a thin, satisfied line. “I took the opportunity to get to know you first.”

Mask, then. If he would not deign to give her his name, she could call him Mask in her mind. If that is how he wished it.

“I hope our conversation has been as enlightening to you as my appearance,” she said in a bitter tone. “You waste your time. I oversaw military discussions that had political relevance, and these do not fit that category. And it is clear to me that you do intend to torture me in restraints like these, so you spell your own end.”

The claim that she did not know the locations of the anchors might as well be true. She was magically compelled not to divulge them.

And so it seemed that, this time, the fate of Fellenrie would rest upon her. Princess Lia Silvercrown, kept in agony in enemy lands, by a man in search of secrets she could not provide. She knew how Brimenland’s treatment of subjugated lands went. She knew the civil devastation on a large scale that would occur if the anchors were deactivated, allowing the Brimese to smash through their borders.

If she had to suffer to prevent that from happening, then so be it.

“Highness, if you did not hear me the first time – I have no intention of inflicting any pain on you. The Council will find no wrongdoing with my actions here.”

Liar. Do it already. She gritted her teeth.

And she felt his finger gently trace a line on her left foot, from the base of her toes down to her heel.

She blinked in surprise, hoping her flinch over the unexpected sensation had gone unnoticed. What…? Mask’s finger trailed back up her sole, and then another finger did the same on her right foot. Up and down. Up and down.

Tickling.

“Is this your idea?” Lia asked through gritted teeth. She breathed in deeply. The sensation at her feet was hard to ignore, but her shame at her mistake overwhelmed it. They had managed to find a loophole.

“No pain,” Mask said, his smile blossoming into a full grin. His fingers still traced slowly up and down Lia’s soles. “Conceal your reactions if you wish. I saw you flinch from my touch. How fascinating – the ticklish feet of elven royalty.”

Lia forced herself to remain silent. Breathe in, breathe out. If she synchronized her breathing with the single-finger strokes going up and down her soles, she could get used to it. Get used to the pattern. Fight it, keep her dignity.

Mask’s touch changed. Now four fingers on each hand were tracing slow, aimless paths on her soles. She could not fight a grunt. Even at that slow speed, his touch on her soles sent a sequence of shocks up her legs. She kept on with her breathing. Don’t panic. Don’t panic, Lia. Breathe in, breathe out. He’s just tickling you.

“Just” tickling. She, and some close to her, knew it was no trivial matter.

“You seem quieter now than before, Highness.” Mask did not hide his enjoyment of the situation. “What is the matter? Is speaking harder for you, now that you are focused intently on containing your laughter?”

Lia kept breathing. She consciously stopped her legs from shaking from the effort of keeping her reactions in. She waited until his fingers traced over slightly less ticklish spots – like the sides and heels of her feet – until she dared to speak.

“Your torture has no effect on me,” she said, as firm as she could manage. “If you,” she paused as he tickled over the ball of her foot, “wish to contact my family for ransom,” she hissed, growing weak from the teases at the base of her toes, “we cahan!”

His fingers suddenly switched to a much higher speed. An accidental giggle only minutes into the interrogation – how embarrassing. But she barely had the mental capacity to focus on her emotions. His ticklish touch wandered unpredictably to every sensitive spot on her soles.

Lia squirmed from side to side on her seat, eyes closed, grunting through clenched teeth. Don’t laugh. That is what she repeated to herself – she would not give him her laughter. But it was getting harder to keep it in. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Lia kept her outward reactions to grunts and squeals, while her occasional giggles were mere exhales, though she knew it was hopeless to think Mask had not heard them.

He stopped. She breathed in hard through her mouth. She was sweating.

“We will contact your family after you have given me the information I want. This was just the start, Highness. Crystal anchors, now.”

“You are a fool,” Lia said, regaining her breath. “Shall I repeat to you what I said a moment ago? I cannot tell you where they are.” And if she could, five minutes of torment were not nearly enough to break her.

You’re going to be tickled a long time, Lia, she spoke to herself in her mind as she was fond of doing. It’s for Fellenrie. You’re wasting their time. They’ll waste all their efforts on tormenting you and then they’ll get nothing.

Mask massaged her soles with his thumbs. “Do you prefer to have your feet tickled again, is it? That is what will happen if you do not talk.”

“The Council will not stand for this,” she said. It was a bluff, of course. None of the clauses specifically forbade tickling prisoners. They had given her a meal earlier. There had been what passed for a bed in her cell, and she had means of relieving herself. Mask was being incredibly careful not to break the letter of the accord.

“I believe it will.” The tickling resumed, with soft, continuous scratches on and around the balls of her feet.

Lia groaned in anger, squirming again. Then his fingers were digging into her arches, with a deeper touch than his previous attempt. “The Council will nohohot!” And then it was too late, and her laughter flowed from her in an endless stream. Mask’s fingers raked up and down her arches, the sensation shooting all the way up her legs and to her chest. She thrashed wildly in her seat, trying to stop the sensations that were far, far stronger than her.

I can’t move my feet. Lia could sway from side to side in her seat, but the ropes around her big toes barely allowed any movement. As the minutes passed, panic kicked in. She couldn’t escape. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything, and she was just too damn ticklish to sit there and take it.

Mask stopped again. It took Lia several seconds to catch her breath, and she knew it was a matter of time before the tickling continued. I won’t laugh next time. I won’t, no matter what he does. But this promise to herself was empty, of course. This was like being pinned to the bed and tickled by her brother when they were younger – only far worse.

“I wondered if tickling royal feet would be different,” Mask said, massaging her arches again. “If yours would be so pampered and pristine that they’d be soft as a plume. But I suppose you walk often, being a diplomat.”

Lia glared at him. “What, do you torture people by tickling their feet often?”

Mask smiled. “Most of them want me to.”

To each their own.

He continued, “You have quite normal feet, Highness. Longer than most I’ve toyed with, though. I quite enjoy having more space to work.”

Lia scoffed. “Of course you’re enjoying it. Why wouldn’t you? Many say that those who inflict pain are deeply affected by it – why wouldn’t you avoid that rule too, and thoroughly enjoy wasting your time tickling the eldest royal daughter of Fellenrie?”

“It is not wasted time if it is productive, enjoyable time,” Mask said, reaching over to brush Lia’s hair off of her face. “And yes, you are the eldest daughter, and the one with the most knowledge of the inner circles of Fellenrie. While I believe it would be quite enjoyable to tickle one of your brothers, or your little sister, none of them are here. And you are a valuable target.”

Lia sighed. At the very least, she could keep him talking. “I will be Queen. Antagonizing me is political suicide.”

Mask reached over to one of the shelves, and Lia twisted her body to be able to see what he was doing. He had in his hands what looked like an artist’s paintbrush, as well as a jar filled with a liquid she could not identify.

“Well, Lia Silvercrown, then you’ll be a very ticklish Queen, won’t you?” He dipped the paintbrush into the liquid, and began to spread it on her left sole – starting in between and under her toes.

Lia squealed. The first strokes of the brush were not so bad, but every subsequent one tickled more and more. Soon she was reduced to helpless giggling, eyes closed, while Mask applied the liquid over her sole with careful brush strokes, covering her entire left foot in it.

“A trade secret, if you must know,” Mask said, “is that your feet become much more ticklish when they are smooth and slippery.”

He dragged his fingers down the length of her right foot, without the liquid. She squirmed – that was just as ticklish as it had been before. But when he did the same to her left foot, his fingers slid over her sole with ease. Lia squealed before she could help herself.

The princess breathed in deeply. It couldn’t have been thirty minutes since her interrogation had started, and she was already even more ticklish than usual.

This was a problem. Maryanne needed to come save her as soon as possible.

“What did you do?” she asked, in a quiet tone.

“Lotion,” he replied simply, and used both hands to tickle her lotioned left foot.

Lia exploded in laughter, bucking wildly as far as her restraints would allow. Her left sole felt like it was bigger than her entire body. Mask’s fingers explored every possible spot, from the tips of her toes, to the balls of her feet, down her arches, ending at the heels.

She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t take this. For Fellenrie, for Fellenrie, her thoughts raced, nearly drowned out by the unbearable ticklish sensation on her foot. Her eyes were watery from laughter. What could she say? What could she do to get away from this madness? What could…

Mask stopped. “My associate will enjoy meeting you,” he said. “They’ve been preparing additional tools for you with exquisite care. We only expected to be able to take you in the evening – so they will be here in a few hours.”

“I do not want to meet your associate,” Lia said, weakly, and instantly regretted it. She needed her outward image to remain strong. She needed to show that she was unaffected after each round of torture, regardless of how ticklish she was. Maybe this would discourage them. Maybe they’d give her a break.

“Then tell me, right now, all you know about the crystal anchors. It would disappoint them, but it is the easiest route.” He smiled. “Or you can wait for them to show you how ticklish you can truly be. It is your choice.”

The paintbrush touched her right sole.

Lia groaned in protest, her breath becoming shaky. No. One foot like that was already too much. Two, she couldn’t handle. What could she possibly say? The first one is in a clearing north of Riidelwood. The compulsion spell prevented her mouth from moving. All of them are far from major cities. Not even that. The crystal anchors are closely monitored. The guards are on a rotation of three hours. Her lips refused to obey her, both in saying any words with identifiable information, and in keeping from giggling as Mask used his paintbrush to cover her right foot in lotion.

“No?” Mask asked. “I thought so. It would not be fair of me not to let you rest before my associate is here. But I do believe we still have half an hour to play. How does that sound to you?”

Lia instantly became a babbling, laughing, hysterical mess. Mask’s fingers were tormenting every inch of her soles. She couldn’t even move her feet. Her legs shaked and her hips bucked anyway, anything to alleviate the sensations, anything to escape. Nothing worked.

Half an hour to play. Please, no. Please. But even those words she couldn’t form. This time, it was not because of the spell. Instead, it was because her laughter had evolved into silent wheezing. All the previous times that she had been held down and tickled in her life felt like a kindness compared to this.

Lia struggled in her seat until she could no longer fight, and after that she was still in silent laughter, slumped in her chair, overwhelmed by her own ticklishness.

Next chapter in this story: to be published

Thank you for reading my work~ heliotrope-tickles 2024

#heliotrope-tickles #heliotrope: a ticklish loophole #tickling #tickling community #tickling fiction #cw feet tickling #cw heavy bondage #cw noncon #cw lotion #cw interrogation

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