Tickle Juice

“Place your wrists against the lift bar,” the fairy said, hovering on rapidly-beating wings that did not disturb the air. She was a holographic projection, the standard icon-image that the methane-breathing Oo’thn used when dealing with humans.

Matt Ramig, the captain and chief bottle-washer of the tramp freighter Busted Straight obeyed wordlessly. He felt the metallic cuffs snap loosely around his wrists, followed by the tighter immaterial grip of the gravitronics built into those cuffs. He might have refused the fairy’s instructions, but then gravitronic fields of much greater power would have slammed him into position. The end result would then have been the same, except for the pain and indignity of having been forced.

As it was, he stood on the small platform, awaiting his punishment. Barefoot - nude, except for a pair of lemon-yellow briefs - he was lean-muscled and sandy-haired. His eyes would have been blue, if they were open. At the moment, though, they were closed, screwed shut as he tried to keep his teeth from clenching.

The Oo’thn used short periods of corporal punishment the way humans used fines: To punish minor infractions of various minor rules. Matt had been through Oo’thn administrative justice before: It was part of the job of being a tramp freighter-captain in this sector. Of course, this was going to be a much longer period than before. Fifteen minutes, instead of the 30 to 90 second times of his previous sessions. He really shouldn’t have accepted that last cargo without asking more questions.

“Lift in three... two... one...” the fairy said. Matt felt the gravity decrease to somewhere around one-quarter standard, felt the platform drop away from his bare feet. He opened his eyes to watch as the lift bar carried him over a vat of roiling liquid. The Oo’thn had an unpronounceable name for it, and human scientists had a long scientific description. Spacers, however, just called it Tickle Juice.

“Lowering,” the fairy said in her synthetic soprano. Matt tried to lift himself up, raising his legs to avoid contact with the liquid for just a few moments longer. He couldn’t help it. Not that it made any difference: The punishment was based on time and percent of skin-area in contact, and if the time started later, it would end later as well.

“Aaah!” Matt cried as his left foot made contact with the tickle juice. A million feathers brushed softly against it. The bar continued to lower him into the vat. Now his right foot was in the juice as well. “Aaah ahahahahahaheehehee!” Matt laughed. He squirmed, resisting the urge to kick down into the vat, but finally had to give in. The sensors lining the vat responded to this penetration, triggering gravitronic grapples that clasped his ankles and pulled his legs gently but irresistibly straight. More immaterial grapples held his toes spread wide, and the tickle juice flowed between them. “Heeheh heeheehahahaha!” Matt laughed helplessly as millions of feathers seemed to seek out every ticklish nerve in each of his feet.

And it wasn’t just the soles of his feet being tormented by the tickle juice. The level of liquid was over his knees, now, and rising as the lift-bar continued to lower him. He thrashed and twisted, laughing wildly, and the thrashing made things worse. The tickling was soft and silky behind his knees and between his toes. Along his insteps it was firmer and more rapid, and overall it was utterly unbearable.

“Oh no,” Matt gasped as his briefs sank into the vat. The tickle juice covered his jewels, and it was agony. Not painful, or even harsh. Just a gentle, delicate agony that left him hard and swollen. And then, with a diabolic mercy, the tickling on the soles of his feet redoubled, distracting him. Matt threw his head back at this sudden burst of activity and tears of laughter ran down his cheeks.

The lift bar continued to lower Matt, and now his belly and sides were exposed to the tickle juice. He tried to hold still, but the tickling wouldn’t let him. It had already been as long as his longest previous session. Twice as long as that session. He thought he would go mad. But it was only tickling, wasn’t it? How could it possibly be so irresistible and merciless?

Matt couldn’t consider the question. He was laughing too hard. Squirming too hard. The tickling roamed over his skin, up to where the liquid surface lapped his armpits. It concentrated on the soles of his feet, behind his knees, in and around his navel, and along the sides of his ribs. But it tickled everywhere.

The lift bar suddenly raised him up above the vat, and the tickle liquid drained from his body as he gasped for breath, whimpering. For a moment the tickling stopped. Mostly. It wasn’t just the chemistry of the tickle juice that made it unbearable. In fact that was only a minor component. Most of the tickle-sensations came from the various energies activating the vat: Microwaves and magnetic fields, gravitronic pulses and electric currents. All certified as being medically safe, of course. The Oo’thn sought to chastise, not damage.

“The legal firm of Hunket and Dowe wishes to extend an offer,” the holographic fairy told Matt in her sweet soprano. “For a sum of 15,000 solar credits, they will represent you on appeal.”

Matt considered the words through his tickle-fogged mind. It took him a few moments to realize what they meant, and when he did he had to fight off temptation. For fifteen thousand credits the tickling would end, at least temporarily and possibly for good. He had represented himself at the short hearing before they sent him here, because good lawyers were too expensive and cheap ones were a waste of money. Still, it was horribly tempting...

“Do you wish to accept this offer?” the fairy asked.

Matt steeled himself as best he could. “No,” he managed to croak. He couldn’t afford 15,000 credits, even if he though it would get him off the hook. He would have to take his medicine. Matt swallowed a whimper and repeated: “No. I do not accept the offer.”

“Very well,” the fairy said dispassionately. “Lowering.”

“Aieee!” Matt cried as he entered the liquid again. Rapidly, this time. The grav-grapples gripped his ankles and spread his toes again, and the tickling resumed. Matt squirmed and thrashed once more, giggling. But this time the tickling was soft and slow. Almost gentle. Almost... enjoyable. But not quite. Matt felt himself grow hard. Harder. He sobbed in frustration between the bursts of laughter, struggling futilely against the irresistible forces that held him and the unbearable tickling that punished him. Soft and slow, it went on and on, mercilessly.

After an eternity, the bar lifted Matt once again. But the ordeal was not yet over. “Sensors indicate a probability that you are enjoying this,” the fairy said sweetly. “Do you wish to register for a regular protocol?”

Matt gasped for breath, looking at the hologram. There were some spacers, he knew, who actually enjoyed this torture. They were nucking futz, but they did exist, and the Oo’thn bureaucracy took them into account. They would give the Oo’thn an account of their lapses and minor misdeeds, and then, no matter how many or few their peccadilloes were, they’d submit to a tickle-juice session of standard length. It was licensed rule-breaking, with regular payments.

“No,” Matt intended to shout, but it came out as a moan. “I’m not... enjoying this. No protocol. No.”

“Very well,” the fairy said. “Lowering.”

Once more the lift bar plunged Matt into the tickle juice. He felt himself grabbed and held helpless once again, despite his sudden, frenzied struggles. This time the tickling was vigorous and enthusiastic. It scrubbed his soles and buffed between his toes. It ran up and down his legs and his torso. He howled with laughter. And now the tickling of his feet grew, impossibly, even more intense. The tickling over the rest of his body faded into a secondary torment that served only to make the foot-tickling impossible to resist. His feet felt huge, and exquisitely sensitive, and the tickle-juice felt out every square millimeter. It was impossibly sweet, like drowning in honey. Rapid wiggles ran over his toes, and between them. Along his insteps. Over the balls of his feet and over his heels. Matt laughed and laughed. The tickling seemed to penetrate his soles all the way up to his waist. He felt himself spasming as the tickling flooded through him.

The bar lifted Matt from the tickle vat one last time, depositing him on the small metallic platform. As it was programmed to do, it supported him as he collapsed in a huddled heap, and then withdrew. The fairy hovered before him. “This ends chastisement UVR583092,” she said sweetly. “You may now shower and dress, and you are free to go. Be sure to pick up your receipt at one of the exit terminals. If you desire to do so, you may also register for a regular protocol at the terminal.” She then winked out of existence.

Matt groaned and whimpered for a minute, then muttered. “Nucking futz. ‘Register for a protocol.’ I’d have to be nucking futz to do that.” He pulled himself to his feet and limped into the showers.

fin