I think not

Story: The Prince and the Pamperers

Author: Sherbet Riley

Source: Ticklingforum

Date: July 6, 2025

The final banners had fallen, the last arrow loosed. The capital city had been sacked and the king’s guard had surrendered unconditionally. And so it came to pass that the Kingdom of Jovoria was claimed by the Majina Empire.

It had been the 2nd largest war ever fought on Jovorian soil, second only to the Clash of Rams over two hundred years ago. That war had been fought for love. How many men had died so two spoiled sods could have a romp on the rug? But it is for such love that poems are written, epics are told, and kingdom are forged.

It had been the Clash of Rams that led to the ascent of King Harriet the Pale. She’d proven herself a leader on the battlefield and few could rival her knowledge of military strategy. When the previous king had died from a gangrenous tooth infection, Harriet had been the one to step up and turn the tide of battle. Though she’d been only a common female soldier when the Clash of Rams kicked off years prior, by the time victory had been achieved there were few willing to contest her claim to the throne. The prince, the one whose libido had started this whole war, was banished soon after.

And so the Kingdom of Jovoria enjoyed a period of prosperity, decades of bountiful harvests and the building of libraries, great works. King Harriet the Pale went on to marry a commoner, Madra, who she first glimpsed from the window of her carriage during one of the many victory precessions held in her honor across the kingdom. Madra had large, hazel eyes and salmon colored lips that defaulted into a pout when her face was at rest. Her hair was the color of straw and her breasts the size of ripe peaches. The king liked peaches.

It didn’t take long before Harriet and Madra got around to starting a family. Madra’s stomach had begun to swell even before the Festival of Winds, giving birth to a baby girl — Genevieve — during the year’s last full moon. Next came another daughter, Wanda and later a younger sister, Rumi. Week long feasts were held to celebrate the births of each of the king’s children, though it was no secret that the most boisterous of them all was the feast that followed Genevieve’s arrival.

Princess Genevieve was beautiful, tall, Amazon in appearance, she had inherited her mother’s mesmerizing eyes and sharp tongue. The reaction to Wanda’s arrival was akin to disappointment. While Genevieve was a larger child, Wanda was small, plain and slender. It was clear that the poor girl was not destined for anything more than for a foreign princess’s bed or so the thinking went.

Less was made about the birth of Princess Rumi. Feasts were thrown, tournaments were won, but she was more or less an afterthought when it came to matters of state. She was the one who had inherited her father’s mind, her appetites. Rumi was a reader, a scholar, who chafed against the expected duties of a princess, especially when it came time to wear a corset.

As a princess, Genevieve never lacked for an education or exposure to matters of state. she sat beside her father at court, attended every meeting and strategy council. she learned how to fence, if not exactly “fight,” and was subjected to years of vigorous study under the tutelage of academics and sages alike.

So passed nearly three decades of peace. If there is little history written about this time, it is due not to spotty record-keeping or lost manuscripts, but simply a deficit of events worthy of recording. Battles were fought and won, but very far away, and mostly over grain. Spared any true national conflict, Jovorians became accustomed to plenty, even began to expect it. Soon it came to pass that the few remaining soldiers that had fought in the Clash of Rams retired to the countryside. Few remained who knew the weight of a sword in their hand or the distance an arrow could fly.

By the time conflict did eventually arise, few were prepared to deal with, much less overcome, it.

This is how the Rebellion of the Bed unfolded.

There is some dispute as to how exactly the uprising began but certain details, repeated over time, have come to be accepted as truth.

It had brewed along the coast.

At an unknown time, a woman from far away sailed into an unknown harbor. There she quickly secured work in a pleasure house, one that catered primarily to fisherman and merchants. Within a few months she becomes so popular that customers begin fighting over her, at times with violent results. Word of this gets out and soon the humble little sex shack on the coast becomes a something of a destination for those traveling in and out of the port. There has been tell of shipping routes being changed to accommodate a stop there to boost the morale of weary crews.

At some point, a traveling diplomat makes a stop there upon arriving in the kingdom. she requests the company of the famous “siren” — for that’s how she was known then — paying handsomely for the privilege. To this day there is near breathless speculation about what went on behind those closed doors, but what is known for certain is that they did not emerge for over two days. Rumors of wild laughter and submissive moans heard within have yet to be substantiated.

Whatever went on inside, the diplomat emerged a changed woman. A usually dour woman, she set off for the capital with a smile on her face and the woman by her side. She’d paid handsomely for her to accompany her, had in fact offered more gold than the cathouse proprietor would have asked for. she should have known then that she would never return. Once she made it to the capital city, that’s when the rebellion began in earnest.

She’d settled into a pleasure house in the western district, one frequented by palace guards and other rank and file members of the court. It was here that the rebellion truly started. The siren — for she was at this point far too humble to suggest anyone refer to her as “queen” just yet — proved that the rumors of her bedroom prowess had not been exaggerated. Before long, soldiers and wine envoys were taking numbers, patiently waiting for their (usually) brief time with the exotic siren from across the sea.

But of course, such demand was not sustainable for just one woman. Other concubines were getting jealous, making less. And so she taught them her ways, secrets they were to guard with their lives. She trained them in the “Delicate Arts” for that’s how she described them. These techniques were applicable no matter the woman’s background or body type. All they had to do was watch, and listen. The siren taught the women how to read a woman or woman’s body like a map, where to touch them and how, for the best results.

She described, in detail, an incident from when she was young. A lady had purchased her body for a time, a lady with a predilection for bondage. Upon being bound to the bed, the woman began shouting directions at her, as though she were still somehow the one in charge. The siren had no desire to touch the lady at all, and certainly not where she was directing her. She realized very quickly that the point of such an exercise, the fantasy, really, was to deny this woman and do as she wished.

Later, she’d acknowledge in private that what happened next had not been planned. Mostly, it had occurred out of a combination of curiosity and boredom. Unsure of what else to do, what was permitted, the young woman scooped up some spiders from the windowsill into her palm, and placed them on the woman’s stomach, covering them with an empty cup.

With nowhere to go, the spiders skittered and danced along the woman’s naked and sensitive belly, causing her to struggle against her binds. The woman was young, but she knew how to tie a knot. The woman howled with laughter, her large breasts jiggling everywhere. She’d been tied up less than two minutes and already she was begging her to let her go.

It tickled, she told her.

The siren had never known such a gentle touch. Her life had not been one of ease or adventure. Her upbringing had been lacking in play, in sensitivity, in laughter. She’d never known the sensation of a crooked finger under her arm, a soft feather across her skin.

She didn’t let the woman go, despite her shrill and giggling pleas. Instead she spent what time they had together learning of the sensitivities of women’s flesh. These imposing Amazons that had subjugated her, had conquered her lands, her people. Yet the whole time they were nothing more than giggling little girls, just waiting to be coaxed from beneath their emotional and physical armor. This revelation would color the next five decades of the siren’s life.

And so she taught the other concubines how to tickle, and how to tickle women especially. She told them of the little tricks that could make a woman quake with desperation and desire, how to employ the pads of one’s fingertips or the soft soles of their feet for maximum effectiveness.

In practice her techniques worked almost too well. The women would come to the house for pleasure, but find only play instead. Well, not play exclusively, the women who worked there were savvy enough to know that the women and men would ask for their money back should they leave without achieving release. Ironically, the tickle **** they were subjected to acted as foreplay to them, serving to arouse them even further before climax. They got what they paid for, and the women acquired new skills, ones that would certainly serve them well under a new regime.

And so this technique spread across the land, from the brothels to the bedrooms of the kingdom’s most powerful advisors and diplomats. Slowly, over months and years, secrets began to make their way back to the siren. Her “daughters” as she called them, had since become experts in extracting ticklish secrets from both women and men without them realizing what they were giving up. Steadily she began collection secrets and **** from all over the kingdom, storing them for later like a squirrel in winter.

Finally, after patiently gathering secrets and a loyal following of experienced concubines, she struck.

It started with words before it escalated to warfare. Possessing the secrets and shames of more than half of the court, it wasn’t hard to put her thumb on the scales of power for her own benefit. She knew the fragile branches from which generals hung their self-esteem, the weak points in the palace walls and the schedule for watch duty. The hope had been for a bloodless coup, but the siren had not accounted for one of her little spies falling in love with her target. The secret was out and the siren had to flee the capital to regroup when her plans came to light.

The betrayal had been unexpected and the siren resolved to never be caught off guard like that again. She retreated once again to the coast and started from scratch with a handful of faithful advisors. Over time, she rallied a collection of sell swords and mercenaries, all of whom fell under the spells of her and her girls’ soft touch. They fought not for banners or countrymen, but for love, one that had bewitched their bodies and minds.

They fought for their queen, for that is what they’d started called her. She was their queen, their goddess, their mistress, and their mommy.

For all their esteem in the eyes of the city’s elite, many were unhappy with the royal family’s stewardship of the kingdom. For all the talk of continuity in leadership, this only meant that those who had felt ignored by the previous regime remained so. The sycophants and bowers and scrapers in the palace couldn’t see what was brewing right under their noses until it was too late. The people had had enough and now they had a queen to fight for.

Unrest spread through the populace, rumors caught fire, guards were swayed to look the other way. It didn’t take long for this to spill over into ****. Riots swept through the capital and many infantrymen and guards were slow to respond. After all, they’d had their hearts stolen by their queen and her coterie of sensual ticklers.

The conflict stretched on for some time. The royal family remained locked in the palace while it all unfolded, only getting occasional updates from their most trusted advisors. How were they to know that even those in their inner sanctum had been corrupted by the soft touches of the queen’s women?

After all the conflict and strife, the villages burned and the streams dammed with corpses, the kingdoms had fought themselves to a stalemate. Yes, the queen had her forces, the love of the people, but the royal family had deep pockets and a lot of allies at home and abroad. In the end it was all quite anticlimactic — the royal family sued for peace. All a continued conflict would do is lead to more orphans and bloodshed, the reasoning went. The queen was invited to the palace and a grand banquet was to be held in honor of their compromise.

Princess Genvieve readied herself for bed. she was not looking forward to sitting beside her father at the head of the table, being seated across from the very woman who had wanted to take everything from her family. Who was this interloper, this woman from across the sea, who thought she could rule the kingdom better than her father? What did she know of her land, her people? She did not grow up in the orange groves of Saint Mirinta, had not spent her summers skipping stones in the Wivo or listening to the songs of sparrows.

The last thought that flitted behind her restless eyelids before sleep finally overtook her was an image of the queen. She was sitting across from her at the banquet table, smiling sweetly at her. Her left arm was outstretched, reaching toward her across the table. There was nothing in her hand, which was stained with pomegranate juice. She held her hand up, letting it float before her eyes, and gave her fingers a little wiggle.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Princess Genevieve was awoken in the night when a black burlap sack was thrown over her head. her startled cries for help were immediately silenced by a rough hand being forcefully placed over her mouth. The princess’s hands were **** roughly behind her back, causing her to gasp out in pain behind the muffling palm pressed across her lips. she could not see her assailants but she could smell whiskey and honey on their breath.

The princess stumbled down the hall, pushed forward by her hulking escorts. Genevieve had some idea of where they were headed when she nearly fell down the umpteenth flight of stone steps. she was being taken to the dungeon.

Young Genevieve had only been there a few times before, to speak with political prisoners and idealistic captives to better understand them. After all, Genevieve, for all that She’d been given, had always been a lonely child.

By the time She’d been tied down to the table — her arms stretched above her head and her feet locked in a pair of stocks at the end — her resolve had only hardened further. Whatever it was the queen or whoever wanted with her she wouldn’t give an inch. she would never break, never give them the satisfaction of seeing her sweat or beg or plead. Genevieve’s resolve had never been tested in any meaningful way. She’d not so much as scraped her knee as a child, had never broken a bone, had never had her heart broken. The princess was a nice girl, thoughtful and studious, but she was soft. her was a softness nurtured by her mother, by nursemaids and teachers. They knew what could become of women deprived of care, of love or attention. They became men like their husbands and sisters, men who turned their hearts to stone and their minds to mush with ale.

Genevieve was scared. This she could concede privately. her imagination was racing, picturing all sorts of unpleasantness: rats feasting on her eyes, hot pokers in her side, stones placed on her chest, thousands and thousands of cuts.

The sound of approaching footsteps disrupted her morbid reverie. she could see torchlight through the small opening in her cell door. The wood groaned as it was pushed inward, the bottom of the door scraping against the stone floor, displacing dust and cobwebs.

There she was, The Queen. Who else could it be? Her beauty was the stuff of legend, a prayer one whispered into their pillow. She was tall, with cheekbones so sharp you could cut fruit with them. Her hair was dark, near black, yet had a puce colored hue when it caught the light. She was beautiful. More than beautiful, striking. She wore a black velvet dress, one that hugged her shapely body, accentuating her curves, her chest. There was a mole, so faint it could be mistaken for a crumb, on her chin below her full lips. Her pale skin stood in sharp contrast to her black dress, together in the dark almost creating the illusion of a floating head and chest.

Her appearance was enough to drive whole libraries of vocabulary from princess Genevieve’s head. Despite knowing that this was the very woman whose charisma and beauty had driven men against their king, She’d been wholly unprepared for the reality of her face, her chest, her lips.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” the queen said slowly, almost apologetically. Her years of waiting on others and anticipating their needs had led to her perfecting a certain submissive tone.

For a brief instant, Princess Genevieve almost felt bad. she felt compelled to assure her, that she hadn’t been waiting long, that it was perfectly alright. her lips were already moving when she recognized this reflex and clamped her mouth shut defiantly.

The Queen smiled. she would be a fun one, she thought.

This was the first time the Queen had laid eyes on the princess as well. she bore a passing resemblance to her father but really favored her mother, especially in her temperament. her father’s face was the one on their money, her severe gaze asserting authority over any who dated to look her in the eye. While Genevieve had been molded in the image of her father in nearly every sense, not just in her politics but in her sartorial choices and grooming habits, she had never been able to match her father’s “look.”

Genevieve’s face was soft, round but not bloated. Though she had been a “woman” for quite some time now, she had never tasted command. She’d never broken a bone, lost a tooth, chipped a nail. her experience of the world and the people that lived in it was as narrow as the window she saw them through.

She was slender but not skinny with a little bit of a tummy from her nights drinking ale with the kings guard. her hair had darkened with age. When Genevieve was younger she sported blond curls, a look her mother adored and her father despised. But as Genevieve aged her hair straightened, shading from bouncy blonde to chestnut brown. She’d never chafed against her position, her destiny. If anything it had helped her. There was no agonizing over what she could or should be, she simply was. To have it all laid out before her, all progress measurable, was a load off her mind. Without having to worry about much else other than how to rule, the princess could learn about matters of state unencumbered. The princess had been a diligent student, watchful, curious.

Despite her best efforts, however, she couldn’t help but note a tone of condescension on the tongues of her tutors and advisors. her father the king would be a tough act to follow, Genevieve knew that. her father had been a warrior, a hero, beloved by the serfs and the soldiers. And who was Genevieve, the girl who would be king? A sheltered princess who knew much about trade and strategy but knew precious little of the world.

Genevieve had spoken to her father about this on many occasions. The princess was nothing if not self-aware. her father had dragged her feet in giving her heir more responsibility. Perhaps she was afraid that doing so would speed up the process of her eventual replacement. But the king knew she wasn’t getting any younger. If her heir was old enough to marry, old enough to weigh in on council meetings, then surely she was old enough to be the face of the occasional military operation or diplomatic summit.

It was just the princess’s luck that it was at that very moment that the Rebellion of the Bed began brewing along the coast. The stakes were suddenly so high that the king didn’t want this to be Genevieve’s first exposure to command. The next one, she assured her heir. The next one…

The Queen chuckled at the Princess’s attempt to approximate her father’s stern expression. It only served to make the young woman look confused.

“You’re nothing at all what I imagined,” the Queen said, her eyes roaming up and down the princess’s taut, exposed body. “I imagined someone younger. Fatter.”

The Princess said nothing. They would sing songs of her resistance, she thought. Genevieve imagined guards barreling against locked doors, fighting on the parapets of the palace. If she could just hold out long enough, maybe…maybe…

“Am I?” The Queen asked.

“Are you what?” The Princess spat, trying to mask her fear with anger.

“As you imagined?” The Queen did a coquettish little twirl, her white teeth emerging from behind her dark red lips.

In truth she was nothing like what Genevieve had imagined. She was more. The Princess would never admit it — at least not yet — but She’d spent quite of time imagining the queen since word of her rebellion first reached the palace. There had been no etchings, no eye witness reports about what she looked like. Thus the princess’s imagination had run wild, often whilst laying alone in the dark with her hand pumping feverishly beneath her satin sheets. What kind of beauty could turn a woman against her country, her king?

Over the years that the rebellion had spanned, images of the Queen had come to her at night. At times she was a squat blonde with heaving breasts and vase-like waist. At others she was an amazon, with fire red hair and arms like tree trunks. Sometimes she looked refined and educated like her tutors, or a plain barefoot peasant girl with kind eyes. But none of her fantasies compared to the real thing. Suddenly all those nights pawing at herself in the dark felt insufficient. Suddenly, she got it.

The Princess dared not utter a word, worried that She’d somehow give herself away. her voice might quiver, or god forbid…

“Silent treatment. That’s fine. We should enjoy this quiet time together while we can.”

The queen didn’t step toward the table so much as she glided toward it. She gently sat her round bottom on the end of the table, causing it to groan under her added weight. The queen was close enough to her now that the princess could smell her — lavender, lilac and a whiff of rosemary. Her eyes were dark, shimmering in the dank light of the dungeon, almost hypnotic.

“I don’t have to tell you that things in the capitol are…fragile, at the moment.”

“Whose fault is that?” Genevieve replied.

The Queen smiled, amused.

“I acknowledge the role I’ve played in all this. What I’m here to find out, however…” The Queen leaned in closer now and Genevieve, young woman that she was, couldn’t help but glance at her chest. “…is if you can play yours.”

Genevieve didn’t speak, just glared at her captor with what she hoped read as defiance. she really hadn’t accounted for her beauty, which was even more evident close up. This, coupled with her exposed body and tight restraints, made her feel less than equipped.

“Your father shall play her part, locked in irons in the Red West Keep. No harm shall come to her, on that you have my word. she will simply be out of sight, out of mind. her face shall no longer adorn our coins, our banners and stamps…”

“Though I may have won the hearts of the common folk…” The Queen continued, now walking two fingers down the princess’s chest. She noticed a slight curl in her lip as her fingertips made contact, and smiled. “I must admit that my cohort are…lacking in the educational background of your most trusted advisors.”

“If you harm one hair on my father’s head…” Genevieve spat.

“What hair?” The Queen asked, humorously.

Despite herself, the princess chuckled. her father had been bald since she was Genevieve’s age. Upon realizing her mistake, the princess clamped her jaw shut.

“It seems the two of us are in a bind. Well, maybe you more so than me.” The Queen added, nodding to the princess’s binds. “But perhaps we can come to some kind of…agreement.”

“Where you let me go and I have your head divorced from your neck?” The Princess was proud of that one. she might even write it down later.

The Queen chuckled. She was in a good mood. The Princess had expected black-hooded torturers, pliers and branding irons. she had no idea what the Queen had in mind. Whatever it was, she intended to enjoy herself. This, more than anything, is what really made the princess’s stomach churn.

“I was thinking something perhaps more mutually…beneficial…” She began touching her chest again, letting her hand wander over her collarbone, her nipples, her stomach. her puffy little nipples puckered as her belly tensed at her touch and her ass shifted a little beneath her. Her fingers were ice cold but her palm was warm.

“Despite the end to our little conflict, I’m afraid another is already on the horizon. I know this might come as a shock to you, but not everyone is quite so happy about the regime change. Not just the countryfolk, but certain members of court.”

“Y-you d-don’t say…” The Princess was doing her best to keep her voice even. she was distracted by the Queen’s wandering hand. It didn’t follow any discernible pattern or rhythm. Her fingers dragged lazily across her skin, wandering dangerously close to her armpit.

“I don’t mean to tip my hand but I don’t exactly have the means to defend myself from an uprising, no matter if they’re a minority among the common folk. It’s not exactly a good look, mounting your subjects’ heads on pikes. And despite my army’s superior might, there aren’t many among us with a suitable education for diplomacy and economic management.”

“S-sound like a-ha you pr-problem…” The Queen’s soft, warm palm was gently rubbing her stomach now, moving around and around methodically. The Princess was having a difficult time keeping her voice steady in an attempt to appear strong. To not appear quite so…

Ticklish…

“No, it’s yours, sweet one,” the Queen said softly, as though she were attempting to soothe her. “With your father off the throne, it’s important that we keep some continuity of rule, wouldn’t you agree?”

Genevieve said nothing. Not out of any real kind of resilience but due to the Queen’s distracting, ticklish touch. Her fingers had begun to wiggle, ever so slightly, applying just a little pressure here and there. There was no hiding her reaction now, the princess’s body was beginning to tremble and jerk away from her fingers. Even worse, the princess was having difficulty hiding her burgeoning smile.

“Yes, so do I. I’m so glad we’re on the same page.” she continued. “Therefore you’d agree that it only makes sense that the two of us should marry in order to preserve the peace.”

“Wh-ahat!” The Princess exclaimed, unable to let her suggestion go unchallenged or stop the giggles from burbling forth.

“Yes, dear. I for one thing we would make quite the fetching couple!” Her fingers were moving faster now, poking and wiggling along Genevieve’s sides, worming their way between her ribs and along her love handles. “And it seems you think so too! Look at how happy the idea makes you!”

“Ihihihihihihihihi’m nahahahahahahat hahahahahappyyyyyy! Stahahahahp thihihihihis ahahahahahahat ohohohohohonce! Heheheheheheheheheheheheeeeee!”

There was no denying it now, Princess Genevieve was deathly ticklish. Always had been. This was hardly a secret at court, at least in the maid’s quarters. The fact that the Queen had learned of her sensitivity meant that someone close to her had talked. But who? she had to wonder, had the Queen tickled them too?

“Really? Are you suuuuure? Because you sure look happy! Just wook at dat happy widdle faaaaaace!” The Queen trilled, leaning in close so that her face was just inches from her own, as if she were teasing a baby in its bassinet.

“Ihihihihihihihi’m nahahahahahat hahahahahahahahahapppy!” The princess squealed, doing her best to control her face in addition to her laughter.

The tragedy was that someone had talked. Genevieve had feared the hot poker and broken bones, but this was far worse. It wasn’t just that she was ticklish, that would be bad enough. Worse was that she liked it. She’d always enjoyed tickling, which really was the word for it: “enjoy.” Even now she was doing her best to keep her mind clear, her body still, and her wettening pussy…

“C’mon happy girl, many men and women are willing to kill for a chance to marry meeeeeeeee. And they have. You’re the luckiest little girl in the land! Can you say ‘happy girl?’ Huh? Can you?” The Queen was gently tapping her fingertips against her armpits now, not even applying very much pressure, simply making contact with the pale skin of her underarms. Even this was enough to make the young princess shake on the table.

“Nohohohohohohohohohohohohooooo! Yohohohohohohohohohou’ll nehehehehehever breheheheheheheheheak meheheheheeeeeee!” The princess giggled, not entirely convinced herself that she had the ability to hold out. What matted was buying time. she imagined a legion of loyal guards fighting their way to her at that very moment, battalions crossing battlefields and slamming against the sturdy doors of the tower. she just needed to resist as long as she could before…

“Happy happy happy girlyyyy! Happy girls get tickled by their nannies, don’t they? They get tickled by their mommies and their sissies and just giggle and laugh and…buck. Don’t they sweet girl?”

Genevieve was doing her best to block out the beautiful woman’s words, which dripped like poison into her ear to corrode her admittedly fragile resistance. This, almost more so than the tickling, made her worry.

“Nohohohohohohohohoho thehehehehehehehehehehey dohohohohohohohon’t! Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ihihihihiihihihihi’ll nehehehehehehehehehever mahahahahahaharry yohohohohohoho-“

“PBRRRRRRRRRT!” The queen had unexpectedly placed her lips against the princess’s belly and blew a prolonged raspberry. She smiled as she felt the princess’s butt lift a few inches off the table and her laughter rose in pitch. “Wasberries! Baby loves her wazberries doesn’t she? Huh? Doesn’t she? PBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!”

The queens lips were soft and warm, the tip of her nose cold. This, coupled with the ticklish ripples of air across her exposed stomach **** the young princess’s mouth open, allowing her laughter to escape unimpeded.

“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa! Nahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaa! Nohohohooooo! No no no no no - !”

“PBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!”

“AH! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! STOP! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!”

“Who’s my happy little girl? PBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!”

“Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa!”

“Just admit you’re my happy little girl and we can leave the wazberry patch!” The queen trilled, bringing her face closer to her stomach once more in a teasing manner, playfully exaggerating the excitement on her face. “Uhhh…uhhhh…”

The princess was giggling in anticipation, her smile genuine. As the queen brought her lips to her stomach once more and took a deep breath, something bent inside the princess.

“Okay! Okay!”

The Queen looked at her expectantly, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m a -“

“PBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!”

“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa! Stahahahahahahahap! Ihihihihihihihihi wahahahahahahahahahahasssss abohohohohohohohohohout tooohohohohohohoooooo - !”

“PBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!”

“Stahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhpppppihihihihihihihiiiiiiit!”

“C’mon, all that education and you can’t use any of those biiiiiig fancy words? Tsk tsk tsk, no wonder you need a grown up like me to tell you what to do! You’re just a hapless widdle princessling!”

The princess’s face was turning red, as much from embarrassment as the tickling. Nobody spoke to nobility this way. After years of hearing deferential tones from everyone she came across, Genevieve was unaccustomed to being condescended to in such an infantile manner. In fact, the only people She’d ever known to speak to her in this way were her mother, sisters, and long-serving nannies. And — Genevieve realized with a cold terror in her stomach — the queen knew it. She was using it against her, hoping to make her feel like a helpless little girl again, someone who would say or do anything that was asked of her to make the tickling stop.

She couldn’t give in. she wouldn’t. The kings of old had suffered for their country. They’d lost limbs in battle and sold off their daughters to secure alliances. These kings knew of hardship, real struggle. If Genevieve couldn’t handle a little tickling, well then she didn’t deserve the throne. Every ruler had their test. If tickle **** was to be her, then so be it.

The princess could endure.

“Ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi’m nahahahahahahahahaat! Ihihihihihihihi’m nahahahahahahahahahahahat! Ihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi’m thehehehehehehehehe heheheheheheir tohohohohohohohohoho thehehehehehe throhohohohohohohohone!” The Princess blushed even harder upon hearing just how small and childish her protests sounded.

“Uh oh!” The Queen exclaimed as she drew her hands back for a moment, bringing them to her face in an expression of false surprise.

“What?” The Princess found herself trying to get a look at her torso, momentarily caught up in her torturer’s theatrics.

“Spiders!”

“What? Where?” The princess asked, slightly panicked. she never liked spiders.

“Right…” The Queen’s hands turned into claws, her smile growing wider as she slowly brought them down toward her captive’s trembling chest. “…here!”

Upon touching her ribs, the queen’s fingers began wiggling between her ribs, spidering and scraping all the sensitive spots that one usually protected with armor.

“A tickle tickle tickle! A goochie goochie goo! The tickle spiders are in the silly girl’s bed! Look out! They’re gonna get ya! They’re gonna get ya! Do you know what tickle spiders do? They find ticklish little girls, and they just tickle and tickle and tickle allllllllll their silly spots until they wet the bed! And something tells me you remember the tickle spiders, don’t you? Because they sure remember yooooooou!” The queen singsonged, her tone growing more playful and childish as she felt the young princess crumbling beneath her skillful fingers.

“Nohohohohohohohohohohohooooooo! Tihihihihihihihihihihihickle spihihihihihihihihihihiders ahahahahahahahahaha ahahahahahahahaharen’t reheheheheheheheheheheheheal! Gahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!”

It was true, the princess did remember the tickle spiders. It was a game her sisters had played with her before She’d really developed muscles. How awful it had been, being trapped between them on a couch or in a bed. Wanda and Rumi as the youngest siblings could always be relied to find a common enemy in the heir. Even though they were her siblings, any physical harm that should befall her was punishable by many unpleasant methods — a weekend in the tower, say, or an evening of kneeling on rice — so they often disguised their playful tormenting of their eldest sister as play.

After all, what kind of sister doesn’t relish in the humiliation of their elder sisterr?

Did that mean that her sisters had talked? They were just as ticklish as she was. It wasn’t unreasonable to think that perhaps the Queen’s light touch had made Rumi and Wanda crack. Not that Genevieve could blame them, necessarily. They hadn’t been quite so lucky as to have been born with her iron will.

“Gehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehet ahahahahahahahahawahahahay! Gehehehehehehehehehehet ahahahahahahawaaaaaaayyyyyyhahahahahahahahahha!”

“And the tickle spiders will be hiding in our bed on our wedding night! Oh yes they will,” The Queen cooed as her spider-like fingers circled her bellybutton, the tips of her fingernails teasing the perimeter of the sensitive little hole. “You’ll need someone to keep you safe from the tickle tickle tickle monsters! I can protect you, I’m the only one who can. I know how to keep my wife’s ticklish widdle secret. All you have to do is ask me to marry you, and I’ll make sure your tickly little body is protected from the mean ol’ tickle spiders!”

“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa! Ihihihihihihihihi’ll nehehehehehehehehehever mahahahahahahaharry yohohohohohohohohohohouuuuu! Nohohohohohohohohohohoho mahahahahahahahahahatter whahahahahahahahahahat yohohohohohohohohohou dooooohohohohohohooooo! Ahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Bwahahahahahahahahaha — ungh…”

The Queen’s warm palm was now cupping her deluging womanhood, pressing it pleasurably against her thigh. She could feel it leak against her hand and gave it a little pet. Even this slight contact made the princess’s body grow as wet as her womanhood.

“I wonder, my princess…” she purred, “…if you even know of the true benefits of a marital bed.” The Queen bent down and blew gently on the princess’s exposed torso, causing goosebumps to ripple along her skin.

The princess’s face reddened as she felt the queen’s nimble fingers untying the drawstrings of her trousers. her mind was racing now with curiosity, lust and fear. This was, after all, what the queen was famous for — satisfying women as well as men. Wars had been fought on her behalf based on her skillful manipulation of peoples’ privates.

Part of Genevieve’s mind was more than intrigued by the idea of putting herself in the hands of such a skilled practitioner of pleasure. But another, louder voice within her knew that if she were to succumb to her sensual charms, there would be no resisting her advances further. If she were to coax her to completion, there was a good chance She’d become just another one of her blissfully aroused thralls.

Genevieve couldn’t allow that to happen. No matter what she threw at her, she needed to resist her beautiful captor.

Of course, her body did not obey her mind any more than a river did a boulder. her clit rose from her flooding lips, standing erect in the cold air. Truthfully the princess had never known if She’d been “gifted” in this arena. The queen gave no indication one way or another, she simply stood back and reached for a nearby shelf.

“Oooooh, such a shy, pretty thing you are. Poor baby…first time?” The Queen said it in a tone bordering on concern, not judgement. “Don’t be scared…just close your eyes…”

The princess could hear the pop of a jar being opened, the soft squelch of an ointment being rubbed between her palms. she refused to obey her by closing her eyes but dared not give her the satisfaction of her curiosity. Genevieve fixed her eyes onto the ceiling, taking this short break from her ticklish onslaught to steady her breathing and regain her composure.

The breath caught in her throat when she felt her warm, slick hands set upon her now dripping clit and lips. Her soft palms were coated in an ointment that smelled faintly of peppermint and sage. Perhaps it was her imagination, or perhaps it was the ointment’s intended effect, but her mound suddenly felt quite warm.

Genevieve’s eyes almost shut reflexively as she suddenly found herself awash in a pleasure unlike any She’d ever known. The queens hands moved leisurely up and down as she hummed a slow little melody. The more her hands worked her over, the more thoroughly they coated her pussy in that minty ointment, the more pleasure they seemed to coax out of it. Genevieve was fighting back little grunts and moans of pleasure, her butt shifting beneath her as she tried to turn this way and that.

“That’s right little one,” the Queen whispered, “struggle…” She gently massaging the mound, giving the lips a gentle kiss, before her thumb began massaging the exposed love button. Gently, she pressed her palm against her mound and began to rub.

“Mmmmph…” Genevieve’s eyes rolled back as her back arched ever so slightly.

“Good girl…” the queen smiled. Her voice remained maternal, patient. “Doesn’t that feel gooooooood?”

“Unh…uh…” Genevieve wanted to deny it, but any attempt to form the words resulted in another escaped murmur of pleasure.

“Sometimes girls aren’t ticklish. Or think they aren’t, anyway. Every girl is ticklish. That’s their secret, one only their mommies and sisters know. But I’ve always been good with secrets. You’d be amazed at the things some naughty girls have told me. But even the most hardened…”

She gave her pussy a quick squeeze and Genevieve’s head fell back.

“…find all kinds of new sensitivities when I use my special lotion. Anything it touches gets all tiiiiiinnnnnngly and sennnnnnnnsitive. Just like I’m doing to your happy little clitty and mound right nowwwww…”

The Queen’s palm began making slower and slower circles now. She almost laughed when she felt how greedily the young princess was bucking into her hand. This might not take as long as she'd feared.

“And you’re already such a sensitive girl, aren’t you Geny? I don’t know how you can stand it! Poor baby…”

Genevieve chuckled breathlessly, her head lolling back and forth as she felt her hips involuntarily buck once more. The soft tone of words were arousing her just as much as her ceaseless hands. But it wasn’t her slow palm that had her chuckle and somehow the Queen could sense this.

“What’s so funny, baby?” The Queen cooed.

“So this…th-his is h-how - shit! - you di-hi-d it…”

The princess chuckled again, seemingly making no effort to control her bucking now.

“T-this is how you con-convinced di-hi-plomats and gehenerals t-to go along with the rebellion. You jacked them all off! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

The Queen frowned and pulled her hands back from her pussy. The princess was laughing heartily now. It was just so hysterical to her. her pink pussy glistened as she nearly choked on her own laughter.

“Hohohohohohohow mahahahahahany? How many pussies did you have to…ahahahahahahahahaha! You’re no queen at all. You’re a *****! Ahahahahahahahaha. God…to think I’d marry you after one pleasurable massage…ehehehehehehehe…”

The Queen’s face flashed with anger for but a brief moment. This was not fresh invective to her, but it did sting for the princess to still not take her seriously while knowing she held all the cards. Perhaps she’d been naive to expect differently but considering how the princess had been raised, she’d assumed that She’d be more enlightened and respect a woman’s authority.

After a moment, she regained her composure and regarded the giggling princess on the table before her. She’d come to regret this. She did, after all, hold all the cards.

The Queen bent at the waist and brought her mouth close to the princess’s drenched clitoris.

“Oh, what’s next, you gonna blo-oh fuck!”

Indeed the queen had blown a little puff of air from between her pursed lips onto her pussy. But due to the ointment that the queen had now thoroughly worked into her already sensitive mons, this little gust of air rolling over her skin felt more like the soft lick of a cat’s tongue. The princess’s body jolted at the sensation and she was briefly stunned into silence.

“What was that? I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said, do you really think I’ll marry you just from a — s-shit!”

The Queen blew again and the sensation against her pussy jolted her back into submission. The princess’s pussy felt cool, tingly — the same way her foot felt whenever it fell asleep. But instead of being numb, the princess’s pussy could feel everything. It may have been her imagination, but Genevieve could swear that she could feel the little specks of dust in the air settling on her trembling clitty.

“I do, think so, yes.” The Queen said, confidently. “I was worried I might not get to enjoy this, that you’d break quickly. Unlike you, I give respect when it’s due. I must say, most people have broken by now. But it’s all the same in the end. You will marry me. You may even come to love me. The only thing that you have control of right now, is how much you suffer between now and then.”

“Suffer?” The princess scoffed, summoning courage from the deepest wells of her spirit. “What, from tickling and handjobs? Please…”

“Okay, struggle. This way I can take a break.”

“Tired already?” Genevieve smirked.

The Queen returned her taunt with a condescending smile.

“Not exactly.”

With that, the queen turned her head toward the door and let out a shrill little whistle. Moments later Genevieve could hear footsteps approaching, soft and tentative. Conflicted. When the door finally swung open Genevieve recognized their silhouettes immediately and her heart sank.

It was Gwendolyn and Bree, her childhood nannies. Gwendolyn was a tall, plain girl, so plain in fact that around the castle it wasn’t uncommon to joke that her favorite snack was flour. Her hair was the color of sun bleached straw, strands of which often hung in front of her face despite the bandana she often favored while working. Bree was stout and jolly, her cheeks round and perpetually pink. Her hands were plump, her fingers stubby, but Genevieve remembered well how easily they had made her squeal as a child.

His sisters had learned from watching Gwendolyn and Bree work her over when the princess had been uncharacteristically obstinate or rowdy. They’d pin her down and tickle her until she acquiesced to taking her bath or cleaning her room or finishing her supper. Gwendolyn and Bree were not permitted to harm their young mistress, but they knew exactly where to poke and what to whisper in order to turn her to jelly in their hands.

They hadn’t forgotten either.

“Young Mistress!” Bree exclaimed, her eyes wide as they beheld the **** young princess. “What’s happened to you?”

The Princess’s heart leapt in her chest. For an instant Genevieve felt relief — the way one does when they first awake in the morning, the seconds before the previous night comes into focus. It was an almost pavlovian response, seeing her nannies in the doorway and thinking herself saved. When her sisters became overzealous in their ticklish ministrations, it would be Gwendolyn and Bree who would rescue her. Time had been kind to them but they were unmistakably older around their eyes, their mouths, their hands…

“Go ahead…” The Queen whispered, “Call out to your mommies for help.”

Genevieve was embarrassed to realize that indeed a plea for help had been forming in her throat at the sight of her old nannies. But the Queen’s infantilizing tone brought her crashing back to reality. Genevieve felt her stomach coil and the sweat on her brow cool. she clenched her teeth, but she could not hide the tremors in her thighs and neck.

The Princess was frightened.

“Oh, dear…” Gwendolyn sighed, averting her gaze from the trussed up young lady as her cheeks burned in second hand embarrassment.

“It seems they remember you,” The Queen said. “I couldn’t ask for better babysitters.”

Genevieve fixed her gaze on the Queen, her eyes burning with hatred and fear. The Queen knew exactly what she was communicating but refused to say.

Please don’t leave me alone with them.

“What, you didn’t think I’d be able to spend the whole day working this out, did you?” The Queen pouted, answering her unspoken plea. "I have a country to run, appointments to make! Your happy nannies are here to keep my baby company while momma’s away on business. Don’t worry! I’ll be back in two shakes…”

The Queen gave the princess a little poke in the ribs to punctuate her remarks and smiled when she saw Bree perk up at her familiar little yelp.

“I’ll leave you to catch up then…” The Queen said, nodding to the awaiting caregivers. They parted to let her pass as she stepped out, daring not to so much as breathe until her footsteps hit the stairs.

“Bree…Gwen…” The Princess whispered, doing her best to look especially pitiable. The minute she saw them it was clear that her childhood minders had been the ones to tell of the Princess’s ticklish weakness.

It all made sense to her now. Surely they’d been offered land, titles, and other riches in exchange for exercising their dreadful talents upon her **** body. But Genevieve hoped that perhaps fond memories from when she was a girl would be enough to dissuade them from following through on what ever dreadful plans they’d been asked to carry out.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Gwendolyn tutted as she swept into the room. Her slender frame cast a long shadow along the dungeon wall and Genevieve was suddenly reminded how just how much bigger her nannies had seemed. They certainly loomed large in her imagination, their smiling faces beaming down at her, glimpsed through the teary haze of her childhood hysteria.

“Young mistress…how ever did you get into such a pickle! Oh, sweetness…” Bree said it so casually, as if she’d come upon her tangled in a curtain drawstring or half-fallen out of bed. She giggled when she saw her pussy begin to juice in response to her babying tone.

“Oh, she, um…” Gwendolyn hushed, suddenly bashful at the sight of the princess’s still dripping slit. The ointment was still working its magic. The vibrations of their voices on the air was enough to give her a little tingle.

“Awww, somebody’s excited to see us…” Bree trilled, not being at all taken aback by the princess’s exposure. “Aww, still such a shy widdle woman…”

“Maybe I should…cover her up…” Gwendolyn muttered. She was rubbing the tips of her fingers together, something she always used to do when she was nervous.

“Yes, that sounds like a great idea.” Genevieve said, doing her best to keep her voice even. she hoped to spark up that old camaraderie they used to share. After all, for a time during the princess’s early adolescence, Gwendolyn and Bree were her only friends.

“Are you sure sweetness?” Bree cooed. “I don’t know if that’s best…”

“Of course it’s best…” Genevieve said firmly, though not without charm. “Just look at poor Gwendolyn, she’s embarrassed.”

“Are you sure youuuuuu’re not the one who’s embarrassed?” Bree asked skeptically, her hands resting on her hips. “Not even a teeny, weeny, itty bitty bit?” Her voice rose into a childish squeak, as though she were putting on one of her “famous” finger puppet shows.

“Gwendolyn, would you please…” Genevieve urged her politely, turning away from Bree so as to better hide the reddening of her ears. Her condescending tone had always cut through her like butter. Nothing put her in her place quicker as a child than to be made to feel so foolish — so silly — as to think She’d be allowed, much less able, to do anything at all.

“You heard the widdle princess.” Bree chirped, turning her back to her. “Whatever baby wants…”

“Stop that…” Genevieve grunted through gritted teeth.

“So you don’t want a towel?”

“No, I…don’t call me that. I’m not a baby anym-oh fuuuuck…”

Genevieve had been too distracted by Bree’s playful teasing to notice Gwendolyn fetching a hot towel from a small pot left near the door, the steam twisting in the air like ribbons against the torchlight. This gossamer thin slip of cloth, soaked in warm water, felt especially intense against her hyper-sensitive pussy. Even this light application of warmth and swaddled pressure was enough to make her mound leak again.

“Ungh…shhhhhhh…” Genevieve’s body rattled with pleasure as she found herself humping the air for more of that good feeling. But there was no push back, no pleasurable hand or soft mattress to grind into. In fact, the more the princess thrust her pussy into the air searching for more pleasurable warmth the cooler the towel grew. The water was dribbling down the length of her lips and now trickled over her lips, tickling the poor girl anew.

“G-gwehendolyn…please…” Genevieve giggled, her pussy twitching beneath the warm cloth. “I…I dohohon’t know what she promis-ed you but…if you lehehet me ohohout of here…I swear I-EEE!”

Despite all that She’d already been through that day, Genevieve was completely unprepared for the wet, sticky sensation that was currently being spread over her bare and untouched soles. Bree had found the queen’s jar of sweet smelling ointment and had begun applying it to the bottoms of her already quite ticklish feet.

Bree could feel the Princess’s body tremble beneath her gentle application. She knew exactly how sensitive the princess’s feet were, what games would set her off, what pet names would make her blush and giggle in embarrassment. But what Bree hadn’t counted on was the Queen’s special ointment. Seeing the effect that the soft touch of a wet towel had on her…well, suffice it to say she was very curious to see what this special mixture might to well do to her feet.

“Hehehehehehehehehehehehe…hehehehehehehehehey wahahahahahahahahahait! Breheheheheheheheheheheheeeeeee dohohohohohohohohohohohon’t…”

“Giggle giggle, wiggle wiggle…” Bree singsonged. She wasn’t even tickling her yet, at least not intentionally. She was simply running the heels of her palms along the bottoms of her feet, massaging in the sweet smelling ointment. “Oh my widdle wuler is so happy ‘appy to see her favorite playtime friends Giggle and Wiggle, isn’t she?”

“N-nuh-no…nohohohohohohohohooooo…” Genevieve whined, twisting her body this way and that, as if she might be able to shake off the sensations that were overriding her dignity.

Gwendolyn meanwhile had positioned herself by the princess’s head. She dipped a single finger into the ointment and used it to coat her lips. Being as sensitive as they were, Gwendolyn let out a little titter as her lips buzzed from the ointment. Bending at the waist, she leaned down and held the giggling princess’s head still as she gave her ears little kisses, being sure to blow a little hot air inside to raise the goose pimples around her nipples.

“Ohohohohohohohohhohohohohooooo gohohohohohohohohohodddddd nooooohohohohohohoooooooo!”

“Uh ohhhhh…the tickle tickle spiders have found a happy little girlyyyyy….” Bree trilled, slowly raking her fingertips down the soles of the princess’s feet.

Genevieve’s eyes bugged out of her head. It felt as though she were being electrocuted by the talons of some strange bird, ticklish electricity shooting through her body from toe to tip and back again.

“Gahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Nohohohohohohohohohohoooooo! Dohohohohohohohohohoho - OH!”

In one violent motion, Genevieve yanked against her restraints to no avail. Upon feeling the restraints bite into her sensitive skin, allowing her the inability to so much as wriggle, a spike of panic lodged itself in her chest. Weighing against this panic was a building erotic charge, as this violent jolt had caused the warm, damp towel to pleasurably slide against her now fully erect clitoris.

“Stahahahahahahahahahahahahahap ihihihihihihihihit! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEEASE! PLEASE! Breeeeehehehehehehehehehehe…Gwehehehehehehehennnnnn…whahahahahahahatehehehehever shehehehehehehehe’s ohohohohoffffering yohohohohohohohohou…Ihihihihihi’llllll - NO! NO! Nohohohohohohohohohohhhhhhhh gohohohohohohohohohooooood!”

Gwendolyn’s dexterous fingers were skittering around the princess’s ears and neck, secretly one of her most ticklish spots. Her fingers traced the shell of her ear, stroked her collarbone, and swiped at the sides of her neck. Her fingers were so long and slender, that they did in fact feel like leggy spiders crawling around her head.

“Get out get out get out g-het gehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehet ohohohohohohout! Gehehehehehehehehehet ohohohohohohohohohohout ohohohohohof thehehehehehehehehere! Eeeeeeeeeheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeeeeee nooooooo!”

“The itsy bitsy spider…” Gwendolyn sung under her breath, her teeth appearing from under the hood of her upper lip as she played along with her restrained toy. She’d always enjoyed her happy time with the young princess.

“Offer? Offer? I hardly know her!” Bree chuckled, her fingers now poking between the stubborn princess’s toes.

“Cuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhut ihihihihihihihihihihihit ohohohohohohohohohohohohohout! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha-eeeeeeehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe….”

“…went up the water spout…”

“The nice lady didn’t offer us anything, sweetheart. She didn’t haff tooooooo. We just missed our happy little girl sooooooo muuuuuuch!”

“Gahahahahahahahahahahahahahaddddahahahahahammmmeeehehehehehehettttt…”

“…down came the rain…” Gwendolyn’s fingernail teased the back of Genevieve’s earlobe, causing her to kick a little.

“Ah! Sheheheheheheheheeeeeeeee!”

“After all, whenever you had a naughty widdle tantwum, you’d be so well behaved after your silly session with your baaaaaabysitters…because we know better. Yes we dooooo…”

“And washed the spider out…”

“You’re not a big stwong woman wike daddy, nuh uh. You’re our gentle little girl! You said so yourself you didn’t know if you could handle being da king…”

“…out came the sun and dried up all the rain…”

Holding the princess’s feet steady with her deceptively strong hands, Bree positioned her thumbs right where the princess’s arches met the ball of her foot. Then, slowly, deliberately, she began to itch her thumbs up and down, up and down…

“FFFFFFFFFF-FUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK! STOP! STOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOP! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again…”

Gwendolyn momentarily stepped away from Genevieve to fetch another hot towel. Not that the young princess noticed. she was howling now, shaking from ticklish terror as Bree itched her thumbs up and down the young princess’s most sensitive spot on her feet.

“Such sensitive widdle feetsies you have my prince…”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPPPPPPIHIHIHIHIITT!”

“Even your widdle laff is da same as I remember it. So happy and silly. Such a silly girl for misbehaving. Silly silly silly…”

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!”

“And what happens to naughty little girls who don’t do as they’re told…? Hm? Can you tell me, sweetie?”

“THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEY GEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHETTTT AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA TIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLED! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“That’s right! Such a smart little girl…and do you know how to make the tickles stop?”

“BYHYHYHYHYHYHYHY BEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEING GOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOOD!”

Gwendolyn removed the now room temperature towel from the princess’s privates. The cool air of the room hit Genevieve’s womanhood, causing her to shudder as her lips dripped once more at the new stimuli.

“Uhhhhhhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh fuuuuuhhhhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhck….”

The princess was bucking again, the throbbing inside her pussy flexing against the soft, damp fabric. What she would give to have some pushback, a soft mattress or cold wall to press against. But alas, she could only tease herself, each thrust of her hips bringing her closer and closer to nowhere.

“Puh-puh-puhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhleeeehehehehehehehehehehease! Ihihihihihihihi cahahahahahahahahahahahahan’t stahahahahahahahahahahahahand ihihihihihihihihihit! Plehehehehehehehehehease stahahahahahahahahahahahahahahap! Bwahahahahahahaha!”

Bree was on her knees now, eye-level with her pale and slick soles. She was spidering her fingers against her heels now, intermittently blowing air on her toes to make them curl and tingle.

“Stawp? Stawp? But you always loved your tickle time with your nannies and your mommy. Remember? Oh you’d laff and laff and we’d tickle the naughtiness right out of you. But there’s still some naughty left in you, we can tell. And you can’t lie to us. Nuh uh uh! We know you soooo well. We know you’re a tough widdle girl, right? You wouldn’t want us to stop because dat would mean dat you’d agreed to marry da pretty queen.”

“So pretty…” Gwendolyn muttered as she once again took her place at the head of the table by Genevieve’s head. “We won’t stop until you agree to marry the nice lady…please my little lady…”

“Nehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehevvvvvveeeeeerrrrr! Gahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa! Dohohohohohohohohohoho yohohohohohohohohohour wohohohohohohohohohohohorst! Ihihihihihihihihihihi’ll nehehehehehehehehehehehever breheheheheheheheheheheheak! Nehehehehehehehehehev-AHHH! NO! NO NO NOHHHHHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOO!”

Genevieve was now applying that dastardly ointment to Genevieve’s armpits. She’d coated her palms slick with it and was now rubbing them up and down the princess’s exposed underarms.

“NO! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOO! GWEHEHEHEHEHENDOLYN PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE! DOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T DOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOO THIHIHIHIIIIIISSSS! BWAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Do…do you remember…” Gwendolyn mumbled. It was hard to hear her over the sound of her own laughter, but the important parts made their way to her ear regardless.

“…when you were nine…the portrait of Edgar the 4th was knocked off the wall…and you told the palace guard that it was…that it was my fault…”

Genevieve couldn’t believe it. She’d forgotten all about that incident until just that moment. Clearly it had loomed quite large in Gwendolyn’s life. How many other instances had she forgotten? What had happened to Gwendolyn as punishment? It had never occurred to Genevieve to ask. she knew now that there would be no sweet-talking her way out of this, no emotional appeal, no pang of nostalgia that would compel them to stop and let her go.

However many grievances, petty or otherwise, the princess’s nannies held against her, they intended to work them out together in this little room with their “little woman.”

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M SHOHOHOHOHOHORRREEEEEEE! IHIHIHIHIHI’M SOHOHOHORRRYYYYY! AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!”

Gwendolyn’s fingers raked themselves over her taut and **** underarms as Bree started nibbling on the sides of Genevieve’s flailing feet. In concert, the princess had become a live wire, bucking into a warm towel with nowhere else to direct the palpable, ticklish energy that coursed through her body like fire.

“Awww, you’re sowwy? Poor baby…we’ll see how sowwy you are once the tickle spiders make you wet…”

“NOOHOHOHOHOOOOO! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELP! HEHEHEHELP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEELPPPP MEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEHEEEEEE! MOHOHOHOHOHOMMMYYYYY! AAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!”

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Days passed. The Princess was uncertain of just how many, her mind unable to comprehend much more than pressure and pleasure. she tried to time how long it took for the warm towels to cool, measure the hours by the number of damp cloths draped over her manhood. But the incessant teasing of her former nursemaids and their excruciating knowledge of her body and psyche had rendered her unable to keep a thought in her head any longer that it took to suck fresh air into her lungs.

But she had not broken. She’d begged, and pleaded, bargained and screamed, but she had not given in. No matter how many inches of skin her nannies exploited, how many days they spent cooing and edging at her engorged clit, Genevieve would not cave. Even when her large breasts and nipples became the focus of the maids cruel attention, Genevieve remained defiant.

Regardless, she was quite the sight when the Queen finally made her return to the princess’s **** chamber however many days later.

The Queen almost felt sorry for her engorged captive when she laid eyes on her again. Genevieve didn’t even register her arrival, so fried was she by the incessant touching and laughter that had become her entire world.

The princess’s eyes were wide and frenzied, darting this way and that, unable to focus on anything for too long before her eyes squeezed shut in **** mirth or searching for the next incoming hand or probing finger.

The ointment jar was empty. Smears were visible around the interior of the container, the nannies refusing to waste even a drop of that valuable mixture. The princess’s body was covered in it, as though She’d just emerged from a pool filled with the stuff. Shiny handprints covered her body, nearly comprising a full coat. There were smears of it along her ribs, hips, knees, feet, and neck. her armpits shone in the dim light, themselves coated in the sensitivity ointment.

Genevieve’s pussy had not found any relief either. her pussy was positively glazed with the ointment and sticky rivets of precum that made her beautiful shave lips shine even in the low light. her lips were puffy and swollen, heaving, the size of open, ripe tangerines.

“Awww, baby girl, look who’s here! It’s your lucky bride to beeeeee!” Bree chimed. Though she looked tired, no doubt from her round the clock “care” for the young princess, her voice had lost none of its playful verve or enthusiasm. Presently she was squeezing her knees, shaking her head back and forth as she spoke to the broken woman on the table in front of her.

“heheheheheheheheheheheh…eheheheheheheheheheheheheheheeeee…”

Gwendolyn, meanwhile, was teasing the princess’s nipples with her index fingers, swirling them around and around her pink bulging buttons, ceaselessly. Around and around and around…

“Puh-puhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhleeeeeeeehehehehehehehehehease…”

The queen smiled. Despite her frustration with how long this was taking, she did respect her captive’s resilience. she wasn’t as soft as she’d expected. Beneath all her bluster and hubris, she had steel within her after all.

A shame, the queen thought. she might have made a decent king.

She held up her hand and the two nannies ceased their ticklish ministrations. They stood at attention and nodded to the queen. Their queen.

“So…? The Queen asked expectantly.

“She’s a tough little girly,” Bree said, casting her eyes to the ground in deference.

“We think she…” Gwendolyn started.

“Think what…?” The Queen questioned.

“That she…she…”

“She likes it.” Bree smiled.

The Queen glanced at the princess stretched out on the table, her eyes shut as she sucked air into her tired and grateful lungs. she shuddered, now being able to register the cold. The wood beneath her body was stained dark with sweat, her cheeks lined with tears. Yet her clit kept leaking from an endless waterfall, still erect in defiance of her will.

“You mean she…?” The Queen asked, skeptical.

“Yes’m…” Gwendolyn nodded.

“Oh yes, she especially loves it when you talk to her ‘wike a widdle itty bitty baaaaaaby.”

The Queen watched curiously as Genevieve’s pussy release a little once more at Bree’s infantile tone. Genevieve groaned and let her head fall to the side, her hips once more thrusting into nothing as a fresh pearl of precum beaded at the clit.

She smiled.

“Thank you, ladies. You may leave us now.”

Bree looked disappointed. Gwendolyn looked relieved.

“But we haven’t…” Bree began to protest.

“Thank you.” The Queen said, finally.

Bree and Gwendolyn nodded their heads and swiftly made their exit. The Queen approached the exhausted princess, who shuddered once more as she felt her shadow fall upon her.

“Shhhh, shhhh…” The Queen shushed, as though approaching a frightened animal. “I know baby…I know…”

Using her hand, the Queen wiped away the fresh tears that had sprung from the princess’s eyes. Even this gentle touch was enough to make Genevieve flinch. It was the first time in days that someone had been able to touch her without compelling her to laugh. she really did look pathetic. You’d have never known that this frenzied wreck was at one time being groomed to rule the kingdom. If seen in passing, one might even be so moved as to give her their change.

But in the princess’s eyes the Queen could still see pride. Even now, after all she endured, the princess knew that she could endure it. she hadn’t bent, hadn’t caved. Yes, she was tired and cold and hungry and oh so very ticklish. But She’d outlasted even her own expectations. Certainly, those of her torturers.

“I’m so proud of you,” The Queen cooed, never once faltering in her maternal register.

Despite knowing better, Genevieve found herself melting at her soft and reassuring touch. she pressed her tear stained cheek against her warm palm, her bottom lip sticking out in a childish pout.

“They tell me…that you cried out for your mommy…” The Queen said. There was no judgement in her voice.

Genevieve turned away from her hand now, suddenly reminded that this woman was the enemy, her enemy, the reason She’d been **** to suffer so.

“So I thought I’d bring her to you…”

The Princess’s eyed widened. What had this sick woman done to her mother? Genevieve’s mind reeled with all kinds of gruesome possibilities: her mother’s head being carried in on a platter or perhaps shackled in chains so heavy her feet dragged when she walked.

“I swear…if you…” Genevieve began, her mind slowly coming back to her as she focused her anger on a worthy target. It was a shame she never got to finish her sentence.

Because nothing could have prepared Genevieve for her mother’s entrance. She practically waltzed into the room. There was not a single blemish or mark upon her. Her clothes were clean, pressed. She was wearing an old maternity gown that Genevieve remembered from when she was pregnant with her sister Rumi, an ugly, roomy, pink-checked thing that reminded her of long summer afternoons curled up in her lap.

His mother, looked well. In fact, she looked…happy? No that wasn’t it. When she was happy her forehead allowed a wrinkle or two. No, she was “pleased.”

It was Genevieve’s sisters who looked happy. They swept into the room on the heels of their mother, positively beaming. They were dressed in their Sunday finery, as though they’d decided to stop in on their way to church. Whatever the occasion, it seemed to be a special one.

“Wha…mom…? Rumi? Wanda? What did…what are…?”

Rumi and Wanda took their positions at her feet, barely able to contain their excitement, while Madra — Genevieve’s mother — settled in between her outstretched arms, smiling down at her daughter’s confused face. For a split second it provided the **** princess hope. she looked up into her mother’s face, the same one that had shushed and consoled her when she was a baby.

It was no coincidence that Genevieve had called out for her “mommy” at some of her most **** lows over the course of her ticklish ordeal. Until her father deemed her fit to sit in on council sessions, it had been her mother that Genevieve had clung to. They’d been close, until one day they weren’t. Once Genevieve was brought into the political fold an invisible line had been drawn. One one side was Genevieve and her father, on the other was Genevieve’s mother and sisters.

“Mama…?”

Genevieve was surprised at how thin her voice sounded, how frightened. Small.

“My poor baby,” her mother smiled, her tone soft and comforting. “What have they done to you?”

“T-they…they tickled me…” Genevieve’s cheeks burned as she felt her throat tightening, threatening to contract further into sobs. The princess was suddenly on the verge of tears, the cumulative weight of her ordeal finally flooding her soul.

“And they…and they…” Genevieve’s embarrassment reached new extremes when she realized that her wetness hadn’t ebbed in the presence of her mother and sisters. “Mom…please help me…”

“They tickled you!” Madra exclaimed. “They tickled my little girl? My little Geney?”

The princess nodded, her cheeks burning hotter as she caught the Queen smiling down at her childlike display of vulnerability.

“Did those mean ladies tickle mommy’s little Geney?”

The princess’s heart nearly stopped when she felt her sisters’ soft, manicured fingers touching her feet. Their nails were sharp, lacquered in shades of emerald green and ruby red. Genevieve might have jumped out of her skin had she not been strapped down.

“Wha-wh-wait…!”

Genevieve had so completely let her guard down at the sight of her mother looming over her that She’d completely lost track of her hands. It wasn’t until she could feel the icy cold tips of her fingers settle along her ribs.

“WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIT! NO! NO! STOHOHOP! MOM! NO PLEASE! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE! NOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOO! NOHOHOHOHO MOOOOOORE! NOOOOOOO!”

The tears sprung from her eyes without resistance, the laughter exorcised from her body like hysterical wraiths.

“STOP! STOP! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T DOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOO THIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIS! YOHOHOHOHOOU CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!”

Wanda and Rumi, the sisters who had spent their lives being told that they were unworthy of the throne simply due to their birth order, had dreamed of bringing their sister down a peg since she’d been in short pants. At least when they were little they’d been able to dispense their own kind of ticklish justice. Past a certain age their sister stopped being their sister and became “the heir.”

But the hysterical broken girl stretched out before them wasn’t the heir. she wasn’t the princess or a king or a Lady of the court. she was their sister again. And they wanted to play with her once more, like they used to.

“Little Geney the tickle pearl…” Wanda sang.

“…such a ticklish little girl.” Rumi replied, finishing the verse.

“RUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEEHEE! WAHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHENNNNNDAAAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHEHEY! DOHOHOHOHON’T!”

“Don’t? Don’t?” Madra pouted, her chilly fingers creeping along her ribcage like spiders. “But we heard you wuv it when we talk to you wike dis. You wiiike being tickled wike a widdle baaaaaby.”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOO! MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOM NOOO! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI DOHOHOHOHOHON’T!

But Genevieve’s body betrayed her. her pussy dripped, providing an agreement that, yes, she did like it.

“WHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Will she cry or will she pee…” Rumi continued singing, tickling the pale flesh between her sister’s toes with the tips of her fingernails.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA! NOOOOOOOO!”

“…We have to tickle her to see.” wanda continued, her fingers skittering around her heel, focusing on the spot where her heel smoothed into the soft base of her arch. The sisters knew her feet well. They were as familiar to them as childhood toys.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPPPPPIIIIHIHIHIHHIITTTTT! I CAN’T! I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T!”

“Mommy remembers this chest…these soft little pitties…this tummy…” Madra’s hands were traveling down Genevieve’s ribs to her fleshy sides. She grabbed at her love handles and made silly faces down at her daughter, the way she used to when she was still crib bound.

“MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOMMMMMMYYYYYYYY!”

“Mommy’s here baby. It broke my heart when I found out what they’d done to you. How they…piggied you widdle toes…”

As if on cue, Rumi and Wanda began piggying their sister’s toes.

“This widdle piggy went to market…” Wanda began.

“MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOMMY! PLEHEHEHEHEASE! MAHAHAHAHAHHAKE THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEM STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“This little piggy stayed home with moooooommmmmmmy…”

“Because only mommy’s allowed to tickle her little baby girl…” Madra whispered.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAYING THIHIHIHINGS LIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIKE THAHAHAHAHAHAT! IHIHIHIHIHIHI CAHAHAHAHAN’T STAHAHAHAND IHIHIHIHIHIHIT! GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!

“This little piggy had roast beef…”

At the mention of roast beef, Genevieve’s stomach grumbled. she hadn’t had a proper meal in days.

“Such a rumbly little tum tum…mommy thinks her baby needs some…gooseberries!” At this, Madra began goosing Genevieve’s tummy. Her fingers probed and kneaded the fleshy little spot beneath her belly button, every now and then slipping inside the little hole to elicit fresh shrieks from her hysterical son.

“NO! NOHOHOHOHOHOHO GOOHOO-GOOHOO…”

“Goo Goo?” Wanda cackled. “God, isn’t she just da cutest? A widdle coochie coo and she just becomes a widdle baby again.”

“She can’t even get through a game of piggies before falling apart. All from some widdle tickles on her feetsies!” Rumi gasped.

“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT AHAHAHAHAHAHA BAHAHAHAHAHAHABY! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M AHAHAHAHAHAHA MAHAHAHAHAN!”

“No you’re noooooooot…” Madra cooed, wiggling her fingers before her daughter’s tear-streaked face. “You’re mommy’s tickle girl.”

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!”

“Women get married…” The Queen spoke. “Girls get played with.”

Genevieve had been so consumed by the ticklish sensations shredding her psyche that She’d nearly forgotten that the Queen was still there, watching it all play out.

“Uh oh! We didn’t finish playing our game!” Rumi exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s right! Where were we?”

“Better start over to be sure. Thiiiiiis little piggy went to market…”

“NO! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO PIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIGGIES! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Madra’s fingers targeted her daughter’s large nipples now, like sharp diamonds. She barely had to touch them, just lightly moving the pad of her fingertip around the large bumps. It was as if she were burning her she screamed so loud.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHORE!”

“A coochie coochie coo! There’s my happy little girl! Dere she is! A kitchy kitchy coo!”

“Disssss widdle piggy stayed home…”

“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T! MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! MAHAHAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!”

“Dis piggy had woast beef…”

“Round and round the garden went the teddy bear…”

“And dis widdle piggy had none…

“MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY! MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOMMMMMMMMY PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’LL BEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE AHAHAHAHAHA GOHOHOHOOOD BOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOY! GWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!”

“And this widdle piggy went…”

“WEE WEE WEEEEEEE ALLLLLLL THE WAY HOME!” All four women chimed in unison, unleashing their hands upon what remained of the human shell that housed her fragile psyche.

“MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHABBBB — NFFFFFFUHUHUHUHUHUHUHCK — AAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!”

Rumi nibbled on her sister’s heel while Wanda raked her fingernails down her soles. Madra’s hands had flown to her daughter’s armpits, wriggling inside the tender skin as the poor Amazon thrashed.

And the Queen? She’d grabbed hold of the princess’s pussy by inserting a finger.

This was the first time the princess’s pussy had been touched since she’d left her alone with her old nannies. After days of what had come to feel like a worryingly permanent wetness, Genevieve finally felt the promise of pleasure. It cut through the fog of tickles, of mommy, of the kingdom.

The princess’s eyes met the Queen’s gaze, unbidden. Her hand applied little pressure, just allowing the remaining fingers to rest around the length of her mound. Skin to skin contact. Even this light tough was almost enough to bring her over the edge.

“I’m the only one who can do it.” The Queen said, calmly. “This is a wife’s duty…”

She placed the tip of her index finger on the opening of her pussy and pressed against it ever so lightly. Her fourth finger showed her middle inside her.

“MMMNNNAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!”

Genevieve bucked into her finger, chasing that sweet promise of oblivion. she audibly whimpered when she felt her fingers withdraw from her pussy and move to her mouth. she watched through bleary eyes as she inserted her fingers between her lips, circled them with her tongue. Even after she removed them from her mouth they remained linked to her lips by a thin membrane of saliva.

“PUHHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHLEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEASE! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI NEEEEHEHEHEHEHEEHEHEHEEHEHEEEEEEED—!”

Immediately the princess’s mind was flooded with visions of erotic possibility. Once she climaxed she could think straight. There’d have to be a wedding. They’d have to let her free of this table eventually. she couldn’t do anything until then. That’s when She’d figure all this out. But she needed to cum. For she had abandoned dignity long ago. All she had left was a hungry, needy impulse to do whatever this woman wanted, to know what it might feel like to feel those lips pressed against her.

“Mommy thinks baby should marry da pwetty lady…” Madra cooed. “Let her and mommy make all the big decisions…”

“And your sisters too,” Genevieve added.

“Yeah!” Rumi said, adding nothing as she began playing with her sister’s toes again, teasing her nails along the pale and sensitive stems of her toes.

“OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOKAHAHAHAHAHAAHY!"

“And if you marry me…” The Queen said, bending at the waist to bring her lips close to Genevieve’s ear. “I can be your new mommy. Who can tickle and tease and pamper you allllllll the time. We’ll have a special little room made for us in the palace for our little playtimes. You’ll love it. I promise. And you’ll enjoy yourself more than you ever have on any council meeting or diplomatic mission. You have my word.”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHALLLRIHIHIHIHIHIHGHT! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHALRIHIHIHIHIGHT! IHIHIHIHIHIHI’LL MAHAHAHARREEEEEEEYY YOHOHOHOHOHOU!”

Everything stopped in an instant and it was as if the world had been muted. she hands that had been piggying her toes and exploring her torso had pulled back. For the first time in days, the princess wasn’t being touched. It was a strange sort of relief, one that left the princess momentarily worried that she may very well drift off into space.

Her throat was sore and her pussy was white hot. her cheeks hurt from laughing and her lungs burned from the effort. Through her teary eyes she could make out little but the hazy outline of the Queen standing over her.

She nearly went into shock when she finally entered her with her fingers. It was a steady stroke, a practiced hand. She was pacing her, yet steadily building to climax. Her palms were softer than cotton, her fingers warm to the touch. With her other hand she gently teased the skin of her lips, delighting in the way the skin rippled at her touch.

“Cum for me. Be a good girl and cum for mommy.” The Queen intoned. “Make a mess for me. It’s okay.”

Genevieve cried out as she felt her hand slide down the length of her right as she bucked her hips upward. her mind broke the surface of a large body of water, plunging her deep into erotic rhapsody. she could feel the muscles in her back go tight as fire spilled from her body. The fire spread along her stomach and chest, rapidly cooling even as it made new valleys across her heaving chest.

The heat in her loins began to subside and the ringing in her ears began to fade. she was still laughing, her lung spasming with air and poor attempts at articulation.

“…as you please. Of course I’ll need her for ceremonial reasons but other than that…”

“And of course, we saw the whole proposal. I think I speak for myself and my daughters when I tell you we were quite moved.”

Slowly, though she could not yet speak, Genevieve was able to make out the image of her mother and her sisters speaking with the Queen. She was standing by the door, wiping her hand with one of the prepared warm towels.

“I’ll be sure to send more ointment down. I’ll have to punish Gwendolyn and Bree for using so much of it.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Madra chuckled.

The Queen saw that Genevieve was staring at them, her face slack with blissed out disbelief.

“Wh — Mom…wha—ha-ha…”

“I for one feel very good about this,” wanda said, nodding.

“That concludes our business. Enjoy your new tickle ****, ladies.”

“Oh, I assure you, we will.” Rumi grinned.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to plan, kingdom to run. You know how it is.” The Queen sighed and took one last look at her new fiancé.

“Love you, wifey. I’ll be sure to come by and visit you soon when your mommy’s out of town. Or maybe just when I’m bored. Goodnight ladies.”

“Goodnight, your majesty.”

The women bowed as the Queen exited the room and shut the heavy door behind her. The women turned to their captive, their tickle ****, and began fighting over their position.

“Ok girls, let momma at her feet next. Oh I’ve missed her widdle toes…”

Prosperity reigned in the kingdom for many years after that. Conflict would inevitably arise but the people soon came to love their queen. King Genevieve, it was said, was quite ill. she was often said to be recuperating in the tower, being waited on hand and foot by her mother and her sisters.

They say that at night you can still hear the princess’s laughter, loud and shrill. Many suggest it is merely a bird call or perhaps kids messing around in the woods. But for those that hear it, it’s an unmistakable sound. That of a girl being tickled, without hope of escape, by those who know her soft spots best.