Deal with the Devil (TK, CBT, Sounding)

This story was based on an RP I did with someone on Discord who wishes to remain anonymous. Not much else to say other than that we both had way more fun with it than we thought we would. Hope you enjoy, and more stories to come here soon! :)

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Deal with the Devil

by Skaea

Contains: M/M and */M tickling, concentrating on foot tickling; */M ballbusting; M/M urethral play. NSFW with sexual elements, but no permanent trauma.

Word Count: 3,808

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The demon spawned out of your magical circle exactly as planned: his handsome head, his magnificent size 16 feet, and his sizable privates being the only things visible, as though growing from the floor. This was his first time he had been summoned by a person into the mortal realm, and now he was well and truly stuck. Exactly as planned.

You smiled as you looked down at the crimson-skinned figure, or rather the bits of him sticking out of the circle. “Hello, Amon~” you cooed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“W-What?” Amon tried to pick himself up, but he felt himself be paralyzed… except for his head, feet, cock, and balls. He shook his head about a little, his black mohawk quivering, his coiling, addax-like horns waving about, but to no avail.

Satisfied with the setup, you smiled and sat in front of his massive feet. “How are you, Amon? Are you willing to help a pal out right about now…?”

“W-What is the meaning of this?!” Amon tried to make himself sound more sophisticated than he actually was. And yet, his toes instinctively curled when you sat in front of them.

Undeterred by the failed attempt at intimidation, you reached out and then let your fingertips rest on his arches. “Oh, you’d like for you to be a toy of mine for tonight~ Nothing too serious, just a little fun!”

Max Gluteus and the Eye of the White Tiger (Hotbuns)

And here it is, the other completed Max Gluteus story I've written! This one was done with the help of a friend of mine who heard about Max and LOVED the concept and execution, so when I asked for their help they were glad to contribute! This is the story so far featuring the poor guy that I'm most proud of. :)

As previously noted, the third Max Gluteus tale is almost complete, but I've struggling so much with the climax and conclusion that I can't really release it yet. Once it's complete, though, you readers will be the first to know. In the meantime, please enjoy this little tale and laugh at Max's (and Nile's) suffering! I hope I delivered well enough. :D

Part 1 on DeviantArt

Part 2 on DeviantArt
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Max Gluteus and the Eye of the White Tiger

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer
 
Contains: */M and some */F Hotbuns. Mildly NSFW.

Word Count: 13,861
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The work of an archaeologist is never done. That I can say for certain. You can never get any rest on the job, be it due to a new assignment in some foreign country, a new artifact in need of cataloguing… or in my case, a flea-infested seat cushion.

A month or so after my first adventure in Central America, I was given a lead by my supervisor regarding a monastic temple in the mountains of northern Tibet, on the border of south China. A mysterious object known as the Eye of the White Tiger, an object of unknown and no doubt plot-relevant mystical power, had recently been discovered, but for some reason, the people who had found it had fled in terror from whatever was in there before they could investigate its nature in full. It was decided quite quickly that I was the one for the job, given my success at my previous endeavor — though it was to the surprise of the department that Tlacotl decided to come.

Of course, one thing led to another, and we’d soon found ourselves in a dingy rickshaw winding its way up some third-world town, its destination being the village at the foothills of the Himalayas.

“Is everything okay, Max?” asked Tlacotl, curling her arms close to her body; she was not used to cold climates, so she had insisted on dressing in as many mountaineer jackets as she could, along with several pairs of khakis and fur-lined hiking boots. “You look… uneasy.”

“It’s nothing — ow! — Just these — ouch! — fleas in the seat cushion — owie! — They’re biting my bottom almost constantly — aaagh! — and making it difficult — yeeoww! — to concentrate…”

She shook her head in mild distaste. “Seems like your curse is just as busy as you. Not to mention extremely possessive.”

I snorted at that remark, pulling my own dark brown parka a little tighter around me. We had tried to keep up a romantic relationship as much as we could since we’d met back in the Mesoamerican jungle, but it was not to be, because of course. The curse always maimed my ass every single time we tried to even kiss. Tlacotl had been devastated when I finally told her that we had to break up, but we’d eventually conceded that in hindsight, we should’ve seen that coming a long way away, and at least our friendship remained unbroken in spite of everything.

“Well, it’s — yowch! — not my fault that every time we — aiiieee! — tried to seriously commit — gaah! — the curse made sure that I — oowwch! — could never get even a moment’s happiness — aack! — without getting my poor bottom getting hurt to compensate!”

The tribal woman nodded sagely. “It’d make sense that it wouldn’t work out. Your curse was, after all, brought about by you getting horny with someone when neither she nor her relations wanted it.”

“I still think — aaah! — it’s a little — owiieee! — excessive…”

“I could almost agree with that, but then again, you do put your priorities over those of others sometimes, too. Not exactly ideal for relationship building, isn’t it?”

“Fair point. Aaargh! Damn fleas! My ass is gonna itch for days…”

“Count yourself lucky. Ah, here we are!”

We disembarked from the rickshaw at our designated stop, with me exiting a lot faster than normal. I instantly started scratching my bottom with extreme fervor, earning a look of pity from my companion in spite of herself.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you some anti-itch cream as soon as we get to the village,” said Tlacotl, deciding to follow my lead to the place in question. “So… I take it you’re aware that the Monastery of the White Tiger is square in the middle of tiger country? Which is a rhetorical question, by the by.”

“T-Tigers?” I shivered uncomfortably.

“You know… Panthera tigris? Largest member of the cat family? Basically like a jaguar, but bigger, stripier, and meaner—”

“I know what a tiger is, dammit! It’s just… After that one time with that jaguar…”

“Oh, right. You’re probably gonna get mauled, huh?”

“Took the words right outta my mouth, there. So, would it be too much to ask to help me out in case of, well… you know?”

“Why do you think I decided to come? You need help, regardless of the status of our no-longer-existent relationship. I can’t imagine striking it out on your own without getting yourself killed.”

I scoffed at that last bit. “Tch, I should be so lucky.”

Max Gluteus and the Hummingbird Headdress (Hotbuns)

I'm still alive! Just been busy with Real Life shenanigans, that's all. I've therefore decided I'd pad this blog out with some backlog stuff to keep things from gathering dust around here. Anyhow, this is the first of a series of butt abuse stories I am currently working on involving a recurring character of mine, a very unlucky Indiana Jones-style explorer who may or may not be based on myself because I get such a kick out of self-deprecation lol. Max is actually the persona I use for my DeviantArt account catering to CBT and butt pain, and he's a character I've had vaguely conceived in my head for YEARS, so I figured it'd be worth writing about him proper after all this time. Hence, this! :P

I won't go into the full details about the whole thing, but it is divided into two parts on DeviantArt, and you can find specific notes about each section in their respective posts. I have another story up as well and a third still being worked upon (well, once I get a MASSIVE case of writer's block out of the way first lol), and as soon as those are uploaded I will cross-post them here as well. For now, though, enjoy, y'all!

Part 1 on DeviantArt

Part 2 on DeviantArt
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Max Gluteus and the Hummingbird Headdress

by Skaea
 
Contains: */M and some */F Hotbuns. Mildly NSFW.

Word Count: 15,996
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This was, without a doubt, the worst day of my life.

At just twenty-five years of age, I’d been the talk of the town for almost half a decade now — short, curly dark hair, equally dark eyes, flawless beige skin, and perfectly toned, athletic body, the works. By all rights, I should’ve been one of the brightest and most brilliant archaeologists the world had ever seen.

As it turned out, I was indeed one of the brightest and most brilliant archaeologists the world had ever seen… and also one of the most unlucky.

It’s not every day that you end up deep in the heart of the Amazon jungle, tangled up in several thin, ivy-like lianas, eight feet off the ground. The vines had tied my knees against my sides and my arms over my head, and my accursed assets exposed below me — my pants and underwear had even been loosened and pulled down, so that my lower cheeks were fully exposed, and spread so widely that I could almost feel the tropical steam against my hole.

What was far more concerning, though, was that I was dangling just a foot above a very sharp spear, held by a beautiful tribal girl with skin the color of milk chocolate, long black hair that went down to her lower back, a mischievous expression upon her painted face, a cluster of macaw feathers in her hair, and a loincloth and bra that looked like they could easily have been made from a single peccary tail.

“Fancy to see you around here, white man,” she said cheerily. “So, what made you decide to do your business onto our land?”

“It’s not what it looks like, trust me,” I grumbled. “And technically, I’m Asian. Now, do me a favor and get me down? That spear looks like it’s getting closer by the second.”

“Closer, huh?” She chuckled with trollish intent, and then thrust it sharply upwards.

“YEEOWWWW!!!” I howled in pain, having felt the needle-pointed flint spearhead jabbing into the tender flesh of my taint. “N-NOT THAT CLOSE!!”

“Serves you right for intruding upon our sacred grounds.” She laughed with scorn. “You’re with him, are you?!”

“W-wait, who?! GYAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

She’d jabbed me a second time, this time nailing my helpless left buttock. “That evil white man who wants to steal the sacred relic we call the Hummingbird Headdress!”

“Ah, I see you’ve met my nemesis, Agent Nile. Well, I’m here to get the Crown back, so if you could put your spear away and get me down, I’ll be happy to help you, miss… uh…”

“It’s Tlacotl. And no, I won’t.”

I recognized that name as meaning “long slender stick” in the Nahuatl tribe language. I wisely decided not to ask about what kind of stick her name referred to, though, and simply replied, “Won’t what?”

“Put my spear away.”

“Why?”

“The vines are loosening.”

I started, looking up in a panic, and realized that she was right. The vines were now loosening thanks to my struggles, and while that would normally be a good thing, the fact that she was now planting the butt of her spear into the soil directly under me made it very much not so.

“N-no, please! You’ve already—” I protested, but she cut me off.

“I’ll have to take you to the tribe chieftain, because I’m sure he’ll have questions about why you came so soon after this ‘Dr. Nile’. And since it seems like you’ll fight back once you get loose…”

The vines slipped, dropping me two inches. I whimpered in terror, realizing what was coming.

Then they slipped again.

And again.

And finally, after only enough time for me to cry “Oh, f—!”, the vines finally released me… dropping me six inches onto a very sharp flint-tipped spear that sank deep into the intimate flesh between my buttocks, a mere inch from my tightened hole.

There was one brief pause, where my eyes widened until they were as round as gumballs. And then…

“YIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWWWCCCHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

My scream of total agony sent birds scattering into the air for miles around.

Prince Sterling and Captain Sarissa in: Woodland Woes

It's been a while since I've posted here, and I've been busy with Real Life and such, but just to show that I haven't abandoned this blog, I've decided to post a story I uploaded on dA a while back. This is another combination of butt abuse and fantasy/fairy tale settings, but a little less plot-driven than that epic tale I posted last winter; still, I've wanted to write several of the scenarios featured as well as with a story involving the lovely albeit luckless character of Prince Sterling, so here it is anyway!

Sterling, his kingdom of Altaira (spelling slightly changed to avoid confusion with Altaria, the Pokemon), and the rest of the characters featured are the creations of my author's anonymous co-writer, who has graciously helped me get this story completed. The first story with Sterling was written by FraggsterFly, who was gracious enough to route us to our co-writer in the first place! Both parts can be accessed here:

• Misadventure of Prince Sterling Pt 1
• Prince Sterling's Misadventure Pt2

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Prince Sterling and Captain Sarissa in:

"Woodland Woes"

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer
 
Contains: */M and */F hotbuns with some ballbusting. NSFW.
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It was a quiet day in the kingdom of Altaira. The castle town was bustling, the market was alive with shoppers, and overall there was nothing particularly interesting going on in Castle Town. In the lavish palace at the center of the kingdom, as per usual at this hour, all was peaceful. The servants were preparing lunch for the royals while others were cleaning. And the royal residents… well, they were supposed to be down in the dining room for lunch, but as usual they were late.

Princess Annabelle, a five-foot six-inch tall and slender twenty year old girl with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, was a typical spoiled princess. She preferred to be waited on hand and foot, as she was bossy and only cared about herself and her happiness. The servants were happy to serve her, however, especially the males. They always enjoyed going to Annabelle’s room, just to see their beautiful princess. They especially enjoyed the princess’s rather large assets. Annabelle loved the attention that everyone was constantly giving her.

Twenty-four year old Prince Sterling, on the other hand, was quite gentle and kind. He always put everyone before himself, even if that meant that he was going to be hurt. Sterling was also tall, about five-foot-eleven, and slender but he also had a well-toned body with short, silver hair and bright blue eyes. His face was a handsome one that all of the girls would fall in love with. Sterling was the Crown Prince of this kingdom, though most people wondered if he was up for the task. Sterling was quite clumsy and made a lot of mistakes, though he always meant well. The townspeople and the palace staff were sometimes afraid to be around him due to his clumsiness. Some thought that their prince had been cursed by an evil sorcerer when he was a young child. Sterling, though extremely clumsy, was also extremely brave, though he was not that strong, even though he tried to pass himself off as a strong man and usually ended up humiliating himself instead.

The day was mostly peaceful, except for the screaming coming from a room in the palace. It was late morning, and Annabelle was in the throne room with her brother. They were currently having an argument about whether unicorns were real or not… which was quite ridiculous if one were to ponder it, since Sterling had, a while back, encountered a real, live dragon, which was supposedly just as mythical.

“I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: I want a unicorn and I want one NOW!” Annabelle could be heard yelling. The wooden floor shook from how hard she was stomping her feet.

“Unicorns aren’t real, Annabelle.” Sterling replied, exasperated. “Not the kind you had in mind, anyway. I have been in those woods a million times and not once have I ever seen such a unicorn. Therefore, they are not real.”

“They are! They are real, you idiot! I’ve seen one! I want it captured so that I can have it as my royal steed!” Annabelle screamed and jumped up and down. “GET ME THAT UNICORN! GET IT! GET IT! GET IT!”

Sterling sighed and facepalmed. “If I send some troops out to find this ‘unicorn’, will you stop whining and throwing a temper tantrum about this?”

Annabelle’s eyes lit up. “Only if you come back with it! You have to go get it! Only you!”

Sterling groaned. “Fine! I’ll go after that stupid so-called unicorn. That way I can prove to you that unicorns don’t exist. Not here in Altaira, anyway.”

“THEY DO EXIST HERE IN ALTAIRA! THEY DO! THEY DO! THEY DO!” Annabelle yelled and jumped up and down, throwing yet another fit.

Sterling pinched the bridge of his nose and moaned in frustration. It was no secret that Annabelle was obsessed with unicorns, such wondrous and beautiful things. She was so adamant about wanting to keep one to ride on every day that she bought it up in almost every conversation these days. The locals dismissed her desires as nonsense, and wondered if she would ever consider a different choice of exotic pet, for no one had seen any unicorns around Altaira for decades. Not the variety she was describing, anyway.

Lord Rollington had at least tried to console the petulant princess, promising to find the money to charter a trip to India someday. There was a species of unicorn there, though not the kind she would have desired: a donkey-sized animal like a goat or antelope, with a white, black, and rust-colored coat and a straight conical horn that was colored similarly. This so-called ‘Indian Ass’ was fabulous enough, he had hoped, but her preference was clear: the unicorn she wanted would be like those from the manuscripts and tapestries of old, pure white in color with the body and cloven hooves of a deer, the tail of a lion, the head and mane of a horse, the beard of a goat, and a spiral horn on the forehead like a narwhal tusk that could purify water and heal even mortal wounds. The catch was that nobody had seen any such unicorn anywhere in the world, at least not that anyone knew in the kingdom. Plus, it was said that they were far too difficult to catch, never mind that she had no idea how to actually keep one. If they existed at all.

Why, Sterling thought bitterly, couldn’t Annabelle just stick to loving ponies?

Ten Tickles, or How To Make A Squid Laugh (TK)

Haven't posted here very much lately, but here's something I had in my backlog and decided to publish. This was an RP I did with a Discord friend, and really, it was only a matter of time before I did anything Splatoon-related. The Inklings featured are Cobalt, who belongs to said Discord friend - SquidSisterFan12 on DeviantArt, if you want to know - and Boldt, who is mine. I liked how this story turned out both before and after editing, though I did make a few edits so it'd be easier to read. I do hope to use Boldt again someday regardless.

Hope you readers enjoy!

Splatoon (c) Nintendo
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Ten Tickles, or How To Make A Squid Laugh

by Skaea

Contains: M/M tickling, focused on feet. SFW.

Word Count: 3,153

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It was a cool summer’s day in the colorful city of Inkopolis. In other words, a perfect day for the resident squid-kids to engage in a turf war almost every other minute, or snag the latest articles of cool clothing if they weren’t in the mood for a fight. There were some Inklings however who would prefer to stay indoors, though, and simply relax and watch the world go by from the relatively safety of their living spaces… assuming they didn’t get any unexpected visitors.

In one of the apartments, a blue-tentacled Inkling by the name of Cobalt was currently hanging in his apartment alone and playing video games. His partner Violet had business elsewhere, but he was currently free to do absolutely nothing else, and what more could he ask for?

“Ahh, nothing like kicking back and relaxing after countless missions with Violet,” he mused aloud. “Especially when there is absolutely nothing that’ll keep me occupied…”

Of course, it was only a second after he’d spoken before there was a knock on the door, and a voice. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Cobalt groaned in dismay. So much for peace and quiet. “Yes, someone is home,” he called back.

Beat. “This isn’t the home of my teammate, is it?” the voice asked. “…shoot, I musta gotten the wrong address…”

“Maybe not,” Colbat replied. “It’s okay, everyone gets the wrong address every now and then.”

“…you wanna let me in at least?” asked the newcomer. “I could use a lil’ R-and-R, especially after coming all this way…”

Cobalt wasn’t sure what to think for a few minutes, but ultimately he decided that there was no point in being rude. “I dunno… Hmm… Okay. I guess it’s only fair.” So it was that the blue Inkling went to his door and unlocked it and opened it. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

Treasure Punt (Butt Abuse)

Illustration: "Fish Feud" by Marmotap

This might quite possibly be our wordiest story yet, especially for a one-off - I had to trim down quite a bit of text to fit the DeviantArt file size limit and make room for the accompanying illustration - but we had a lot of fun while writing it. The original idea came from a picture I saw in a children's book once, which I incidentally sent as inspiration material to the person I commissioned the picture from. Things only escalated from there, especially because sea life offers a lot of opportunities for hot-buns situations even if few people look past fish-bites, crab pinching, and the occasional sea urchin. It was also nice to write a story with just one character getting his comeuppance due to a lot of external non-human factors for once, rather than more complex interactions between multiple people.

You haven't seen the last of this hapless fish-boy, either - we've already named him in a private discussion and are planning on working him into one of my existing series. We just need to develop the actual story where he'll be bought in, of course, but that's an issue for another day...

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Treasure Punt

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer
 
Contains: */M Butt abuse. NSFW.

Word Count: 5,245
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The old wreck sat among others of its kind in the depths of the crystal-blue sea, surrounded by corals of every shape and color. It was an old pirate ship, sunken several hundred years, or so it was thought. It was rumored that this particular shipwreck contained a mysterious collection of lost artifacts, left unspent by its captain and crew. More than a few interested parties, including the Navy, wanted to know more about the lore, and thus intended to bring the shipwreck in for experiments and tests. For some reason, however, the local sailors and fishermen regarded these waters with fear and suspicion. Not a single boat would dare venture here — but that wasn’t to say that people could sail there.

So it was quite a surprise that on this day, a sleek, lithe figure cut through the water, scattering fish and sending shrimp and crabs diving for cover. It was a human male, no older than twenty-four and apparently of Filipino descent. He had dark tan skin, bluish-silver hair, and striking white-gold eyes, as well as a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. Silvery spiny fins grew from the sides of his forearms and shins, which had small silvery fish scales, and if one looked closely they could see a gill slit on either side of his neck, which was also scaled. The young man wore a latex jumpsuit, silver on the chest and belly and dark blue elsewhere; it was short, only coming to his thighs and upper arms, as though he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, so the fins on his arms and legs were unobstructed. His feet were clad with a pair of short flippers, and his hands were likewise clad in webbed gloves, both blue in color. He had no goggles on — with eyes able to function underwater, he didn’t need any.

Slicing through the water like a knife, the finned man had only one objective in mind: the very wreck that the locals were so determined to avoid.

They said that not a single human being dared to trespass upon this mysterious place. But they hadn’t figured on a genetically engineered super-soldier, a hybrid combining the cunning of a human and the undersea prowess of a barracuda. And anyway, no old rumor was going to keep him away from a break this big!

Cecil Gets Crabs (CBT, Butt Abuse)

 

Here's a little something I had on my backlog for a while; I figured now was as a good time as any to post it, so it's now public! The artwork that inspired it is shown above, and was commissioned from someone who wishes to remain anonymous; the luckless soul featured is their character. If you wish to see more of their work, you'll have to talk it up via Discord PM I'm afraid because they're very secretive, but a link to the server they're on is available upon request.

I hope you enjoy this! Stay tuned for more to come (and more to cum)!

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Cecil Gets Crabs

by Skaea
Contains: */M ballbusting and butt abuse. NSFW.

Word Count: 5,245

 
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It was a beautiful and rather busy day at the beach, with waves of sparkling blue and white seawater lapping against soft, golden sand. Tourists, bodybuilders, and any typical beach clique that one could think of was enjoying the day. College kids were playing beach volleyball, strongmen (and strongwomen!) were showing off by lifting weights, children were playing in the rolling surf, and the tourists were enjoying the water while many a hot young lady sunbathed on a towel under an umbrella.

One rather large and muscular young man in particular was having a high old time showing off his strength to other bodybuilders. This particular young man was tall, proud, and sculpted like a professional wrestler — his day job, mind — with blond hair in a short ponytail on the back of his head as well as a quite boyish face and sparkling turquoise eyes, which stood out well compared to his gorgeously tanned skin. He was wearing a blue speedo that could barely contain his “package”, impressively sized and reaching down to his knees.

He was currently lifting the largest weights he could find as he stared at some rather sexy college girls, whom he was hoping to impress. It seemed though that he wasn’t having that much luck as of late, since they weren’t giving him much more than passing glances. There were so many studs to choose from, after all.

After a few minutes of this, the blond lowered his weights to the ground with a sigh of disappointment. “Ugh… what, still no volunteers? Darn, and I was hoping they’d be flocking to me all day.”

Cecil glowered as he stared enviously at the loving couples that were walking together or cuddling on the beach. They got someone all to themselves and he turned up empty? It just wasn’t fair!

A Succubus and a Hero (TK)

A little late in the month, but here's an old story I co-wrote with a friend a few years ago. The characters involved are Link from the Zelda franchise and a succubus OC of mine named Eve (whom I've featured in a previous story, but this is the first tickle fic with her), and they've just dealt with another character named Atom who has since become retconned. So if you don't understand a lot of the context, well... it's probably best not to figure it out lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess belongs to Nintendo. All OCs discussed are mine.

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A Succubus And a Hero

by Skaea

Contains: */M tickling, feet and all over. SFW.

Word Count: 3,777

 

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Link Toarumura - En Route to New Transylvania, Northwest Animus, Occasus, Yonder - Monday, October 2, 2005, 9:25 PM Eastern Time

Who was Tiamat, anyway? Why was she here? And how much did she really know about the conflict between Atom and ******?

My mind was full of questions as I sat at the foot of the bed we’d rented in one of the hotels en route, leaning forward a bit as my mind swelled to contain all that had just happened. I’d thought of it as a normal sidequest, helping Atom cope with his problems and taking on the ***** ****** ** ***** by his side, but boy was I wrong. Then bam, the next thing I knew, I’d been charged with taking Eve to New Transylvania, where all monsters belonged - and where my charge was due to make good on a very important appointment. I had already made the proper arrangements in the way of provisions and whatnot, but regardless, this was a lot to take in.

I didn’t really know what to think, even though I’d started by going over the various thing we would need for the trip. I tried to wrap my mind around all of this, and I knew there were problems brewing. But now I had so many questions bouncing around in my head, so I decided to get some answers.

Ninja's Soft Weakness (TK)

"Ninja's Soft Weakness (by twomario)" by Shadow-Aspect

Okay, storytime: A very long while ago I contacted twomario on Tumblr (he's on Pixiv now, URL available on request) about the above pic, which he posted years back, and specifically regarding the possibility of writing a story for it, with the character in question being kinda sorta adopted by me. He approved of that idea and as such I was planning to create a story, but didn't really get very far and thus left it in development hell for literal years. Ultimately, after a few more talks later on, we ended up designing the character in question for my use in my own works, and I even commissioned a pic featuring him! That one's got a story of its own I may tidy up and post here as well, but for now, here's the first one, with the original ficlet I wrote as the preface prior to the cut. :)

The other two characters mainly featured here belong to DocHasegawa, and we actually co-wrote the main part of this story together! It was a lot of fun to write these three, and I offer only my best wishes with regards to his use of his characters in future works. I hope I get the chance to work with these two, or any other OCs of Doc's creation, again sometime soon - and the same goes with my own ninja boy as well. ;)

Raiju (c) me, originally created by twomario

Kenji Tosai and Shizuka Kochou (c) DocHasegawa

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Ninja’s Soft Weakness

by Skaea

Contains: FM/M and MM/F tickling, with a brief moment of accidental butt abuse. SFW.

Word Count: 6,004

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He had always been considered a troublemaker among the Typhoon Clan. Distracting those concentrating on their training, startling the timid, relentlessly teasing the strong, baiting rivals into sight of each other, and goading fights into damaging public property. Wherever he went, there was always trouble. But there were those who said that all things considered, he was the lesser of two evils…

The people of the Typhoon Clan had whispered the name of an ancient beast from a time before man. They called him Raiju, the Beast of Thunder. A capricious and meddlesome creature, it darted here and there like a living lightning bolt, for that was exactly what it was, tearing through trees and buildings and leaving not but scorching claw marks as a sign of his presence. His baying howls were like the thunder preceding a terrible storm, the swift footfalls of his taloned paws like flashes of lightning. Folktales spoke of the beast possessing a cruel intellect that craved stimulation, and that its essence slept in the navels of those who rested out in stormy weather. If it were to enter the belly of a pregnant woman, the child would bear its power and its penchant for troublemaking. Perhaps this is how the young man called Raiju, the Thunder Hound, came to be… or perhaps he was simply a talented boy who figured that messing with people was a great way to cure his perpetual boredom. Either way, the Typhoon Clan soon decided that they’d had enough, and sought to teach him a lesson in respect and humility.

Conspiring to lure him out where they could catch him, the people of the clan feigned an unexpected side-effect of one of his tricks, a terrible plague that swept through the village and turned them all into mindless savages. Deceived by the ruse, Raiju fled for his life, but everywhere he turned he could find only more obstacles, ferrying him towards his destination. Ultimately he reached it… and found numerous cloth-clad hands binding him and stripping him of his clothing. His dojo master, Tenome the Palm Gazer, whose classes he had long since graduated from with excellent grades, had found a means to punish him for his antics without hurting him, for he still recognized his worth and feared that any physical harm would waste it. He had spoken of this to the Clan, and they were eager to see the outcome. And so his constructs closed in, and the punishment began.

The wriggling fingers of his master’s floating gloves swiftly dug into his tender flesh, unprotected by the linens he had worn mere minutes before. Lacking in scratching nails, the touch of their fabric texture was just as maddening. His armpits saw dexterous fingers playing in their sensitive hollows, his ribs and flanks felt the dancing movement of too many digits to count. But it was his feet that suffered the most, for they were larger than those of most of the others of his clan, and far more sensitive. The undersides of his toes and the spaces between, the smooth heels and rough-textured balls, the hyper-sensitive arches, even the tops and sides of those feet that had swiftly carried him across rooftop and road alike… Not a single ticklish spot was spared. His shrieking laughter and tears of forced mirth were met with chiding and amusement from the villagers, justice served and revenge as sweet as honey. Tenome himself delighted in tickling his youthful charge, for he had done so many times before as punishment for his pranks while he was still studying the ninja arts under the handsome sensei. And so the torment went on and on and on…

Ultimately, through his hysteria came apologies for his pranks, and an admiration for the lengths the villagers had gone to get even. While it was unlikely that he would stop making mischief anytime soon, he promised that he would be more considerate with regards to his shenanigans and that he would respect those who would do without them. With a nod of appreciation and a statement of assent, Tenome released him at last, and he did not flee even though he worried the villagers would continue his ticklish torture, for he was too exhausted to fight back. But they respected his wish to rest, rest and think about his actions. For even though he was a troublemaker… he still had a home in the Typhoon Clan, and he and his fellow ninjas were the reason they were safe from greater threats. And so he stayed, in part out of admiration for the villagers’ fortitude and their accomplishment as a group.

Although he considers this experience a humbling one, the prank war between Raiju and his peers continues, and always will - and it seems he won’t have it any other way. Perhaps it is because his craving for stimulation has remained even after such tickly torture - or perhaps he hopes that sooner or later, the village could "punish" him again…

Fanart: Electro-Sound Therapy

 

One of the great things about Prometheus' incredible regeneration is that Copycat can afford to get extremely creative when torturing his private parts. Even when his cock and balls are cut off completely, they'll grow back within a day, ready for more! In light of this, the no-nonsense hero considers her sadistic streak more of an annoyance than anything else, and could do without her employing it on innocent lives - so he is perhaps thankful that his nemesis vastly prefers mutilating HIS testicles to those of others who probably won't be able to have them restored without medical assistance. So much so, in fact, that she's taken to capturing him on a weekly basis, and using him as a surprisingly tolerant test subject for practicing her more depraved urges.

This is the second fanart of Tristan and Chihiro by Pressingsomebuttons, who was formerly on Tumblr but sadly got cordoned off by the site's moronic new NSFW filtering policy. They're most active now on Discord, which is how they sent me the pic, and a server of their own for femdom castration - it isn't my thing exactly, but hey, it's genital torture! A server invite is available on request if you wish to check it out.

While my previous project was the most fun I've had in years regarding my hot buns/butt abuse fetish, it sadly ended up drawing my attention away from "Prometheus Busted", so after I take care of a few tickle stories, my plan is to return to this story in full force, especially since I ended the previous chapter on quite the cliffhanger. I have general plot established for at least the next two chapters, with the specific details being the main things to sort out. Hopefully I'll be able to give Prometheus and Copycat some much-needed TLC this year (and perhaps get the former's hero uniform finally designed), because for my taste, there's way too much unexplored potential with respect to the dynamic of these two! ;)

Patreon!

Just popping in here to announce that I have a Patreon set up as of, oh, a couple of weeks ago. If you want to see exclusive previews of my art and writing, check it out and support me on said Patreon. See you there!

https://www.patreon.com/skaeadaimonion

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Epilogue (Hotbuns)

And here's the conclusion to this epic tale. I hope you readers have enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! I may use Erland and company in a future story, but for now I believe I'm done visiting Wyrmwood for a while - there are, after all, a few other stories I intend to update and/or post now that this is out of the way.

Oh, and because I probably won't be able to do much writing for the rest of the month due to work and visiting family... Merry (early) Christmas! And here's to a fun and very kink-filled 2019!

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 2,302

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Epilogue

One month had passed since Osmond’s fall from power. It was not known where the former prince had gone; all anyone knew was that after a chase lasting the better part of two hours, he had vanished into the enchanted forest where even the angry mob that had run him out of the kingdom couldn’t follow. For over a week since, locals would swear that faint screams could be heard coming from the depths of the woods. Despite rumors that he’d tried to seek refuge in Oili’s gingerbread house within that lonely little clearing, however, she had not reported any sign of the deposed tyrant, not even after sending Thought and Memory out to check the forest itself. One thing was for sure, however: he was not going to be and should not ever be missed.

As for Oili herself, her shop in the town square could never be opened again, but her cottage was expanded upon to compensate, the job completed just two weeks after Osmond’s departure. It was Erland’s announcement that Oili herself had engineered Osmond’s fall, thanks to the curse she’d placed on him, that led the public to finally reintegrate her into their society. Of course, she was more comfortable at her woodland cottage, but promises were made to set up a path leading to it so people could visit her for advice and to purchase goods from her. It had taken quite a bit of negotiation with the forest, and multiple dignitaries had complained about the birds and animals attacking their bottoms for the first couple of days, but Oili managed to smooth things over and allow the road to be built, as long as no other routes penetrated the woods and nobody strayed off of it. With luck, the agreement would be honored for a long time to come, but what was certain was that Oili would never again be seen as a pariah, such was the kingdom’s gratitude for her aid… even if it was at least partly accidental.

The positions of all the castle staff who had been unfairly mistreated and imprisoned by Osmond were reinstated, with a few minor changes. Jorunn the stablehand being placed in charge of Erika’s horses, who appreciated this new arrangement; Atgeir the unicorn, meanwhile, would come to terms with Ingrid and eventually, with Jorunn’s encouragement, serve as her own carriage-puller, though the future princess always took care not to stand directly in front of her for obvious reasons. Jacob, as the head of the royal night guard, would uncover several other nocturnal prowlers hoping to find acceptance, and put in a good word for the furred and fanged supernatural beings; his guard would grow in the coming seasons, and with hope they too would find acceptance in the kingdom at the minimum. Destin, of course, remained as the majordomo, but with Osmond no longer terrorizing him, he was free to take charge of the rest of the staff, his kind and understanding heart earning him many new friends among the maids and officials. Perhaps he and his family would continue to serve the royals of Wyrmwood for a long time to come.

Colden and Turid, who were welcomed as members of the royal family, were given a rural estate measuring at five or six figures in currency; they didn’t divulge how much exactly to others. But what was true was that Colden no longer had to worry about venturing into the kingdom for supplies and groceries, for the kingdom always welcomed him and his wife, who remained as the head of the palace maids. Ingrid, of course, would visit Colden every weekend with her mother and fiance in tow, and the two families would only grow closer together as allies in the coming years.

Erika would remain queen for the time being, but being less fit than her son, she allowed Erland to manage as much of the kingdom as possible as long as he turned to her for advice and approval. Once her time came, he and Ingrid would have the thrones and rule as equals, but for now they had her blessing in marriage as well as that of Ingrid’s parents.

The castle itself, meanwhile, had been repaired with Oili’s aid along with the refurbishment crew. The walls were rebuilt, the secret tunnels cleaned of filth (with the help of the rats that had aided in the dungeon breakout, no less; Ingrid’s Song of All Living Things truly never ceased to amaze), and the decorations were fixed and put back in their proper places. The real tragedy was the records room — Osmond in his rage had set it on fire when he’d burned his plans and evidence to ash. Many priceless books and documents were lost to history, and even Oili’s magic couldn’t repair them all. Scholars everywhere would refer to the loss as one of the greatest calamities in Wyrmwood’s history, condemning Osmond even further. But in time, new treasures would fill the archives as the old ones had.

Finally, the big day arrived. The wedding took place in the ballroom, and the raised podium where the orchestra usually performed was cleared out to make room for the wedding altar. The whole place had been decorated with golden ornamentation and glittering jewels, making it look like the hoard of a dragon. And there was good reason for the theming.

Erland the Lindworm Prince stood tall and proud, his crown sitting on his head (though it still threatened to slip off because nobody had bothered to have it fixed; oh well, sådan er livet). He had decided, for good reason, to wear a standard pair of breech pants, but everything else about him looked resplendent; his own shed dragon-skins had been converted into the cloth for a resplendent ruby-colored jacket that looked like it was made of gleaming scales, along with golden dragon-claw shoulder epaulettes, over a white shirt with a prominent neck ruff, while he also sported glittering silver gloves and polished black riding boots. His best man was Destin, who stood next to him with a newfound confidence, while his mother, with Sormr the zaltys snake draped around her shoulders like a feather boa, sat at the front of the crowd, which was milling about in anticipation.

A trumpet blast echoed throughout the room, and the herald spoke the announcement. “Presenting the bride and pending Crown Princess of Wyrmwood, Ingrid!”

The orchestra, currently at the sides of the room, played the classic wedding tune as Ingrid and Colden entered. The shepherd was carefully groomed and dressed in a silken suit provided by the royal family, but Ingrid was even more beautiful still. Her wedding gown, shimmering gold in color and inlaid with rhinestones of every color, was complimented by a tiara in her bun-tied hair that was studded with rubies, the picture of a classic princess whose love had tamed even the wildest. It was almost ironic, though nonetheless fitting, that her knight in shining armor and the dragon who had held her captive in his lair were one and the same.

The shepherd and his daughter stepped onto the dais, and Ingrid moved to stand in front of the once-draconic groom. She looked up at the officiant and smiled prettily.

And Oili, with Thought and Memory the ravens perched on her shoulders, smiled back.

“On this day,” the witch spoke in her ancient, crackling voice of great experience and wisdom, “we come to celebrate the union of two historic figures, who found love and courage in a dark time which was bought about, not by malice, but by the misunderstandings of those who differed from each other. Today, it is time for us to put these misunderstandings behind us, and let the magic of love prevail, as it did a month ago in the face of tyranny.”

The crowd applauded, and Erika wiped a tear from her eye.

“This castle was once host to a terrible monster with a heart and soul as black as night,” said Thought. “He used his authority as a disguise for his hatred of all who differed from him, as a cover to exercise his petty desires. But a noble beast, once native to the wild forests, bought hope to all within the walls of this kingdom.”

“His hope was bought about by the love of one who knew him for who he was: a kind and brave spirit with the strength, patience, and cunning of the fiercest of all the reptiles of the world,” added Memory. “At heart he is a dragon still, but it his his choices, not his nature, that define his right to rule all of Wyrmwood and protect it against evil.”

Cheers and congratulations rose up from the crowd.

“So, with that in mind… Let us not dwell on long-winded preludes,” said Oili. “Prince Erland, do you take this maiden to be your beloved princess, to protect and treasure, to covet and provide for, as long as you shall live?”

A clip-clopping sound from the entrance of the room drew the attention of more than a few guests. Jorunn, the ring-bearer, was riding into the ballroom on the back of Atgeir the unicorn. The gold-and-ruby sea serpent ring, of course, was on the tip of the resplendent creature’s golden horn.

“I do,” said Erland, grinning.

“Ingrid of the shepherd’s pastures,” continued Oili, “will you take this proud and noble apex predator to be your knight in shining armor, to assist and savor, to advise and comfort, as long as you shall live?”

The unicorn stopped in front of the dais, and bowed her head a little. That long sharp horn made Erland shiver and cover his rump, but it kept perfectly still as it held the ring within arm’s reach.

“I do!” replied Ingrid, smiling cheerfully.

Erland slid the ring off Atgeir’s horn, and Jorunn steered the unicorn away from the dais (the aisle had enough room for her to turn), before she turned her around again to watch the big moment.

“Then it is settled.” The spore hag smiled warmly, wafting a green mist that smelled of gingerbread from her gill-lined mushroom-cap hat. “By the powers vested upon us by the spirits and gods of yore,” she and her familiars spoke in unison, “we, as the emissaries of the primordial forces of magic, shall pronounce you two united as dragon and damsel.” There was a pause, and Oili added, “And in your traditional parlance, you may now kiss the bride.”

Erland couldn’t help himself; after slipping the ring onto Ingrid’s finger, he picked her up and spun her around in a beautiful display of color, the two of them laughing joyfully as the crowd applauded.

Then two things happened in rapid succession. The first was that Erland’s ill-fitting crown slipped off his head and clattered to the floor, and the second was that he lost his balance, causing the two of them to slip off the dais…

WHOAA-CRNCH-BMP-POINK!

“YYYYYYIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!”

Everyone present roared with laughter, Ingrid pushing herself off her husband, who leapt to his feet and started hopping about and yelling in agony with the very sharp horn-like points of his crown embedded in his bottom. “OUCH OW OWIE OWWW! GET IT OFF MEEEEEE!!”

It took a lot of tugging from Ingrid and a panicking Destin, but in the end they finally managed to get the crown free…

SHRRRIPPPPPP!

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUCCCHH!!!”

Erland felt like his ass had erupted into flame, and also become rather drafty. He turned his head to see that the seat of his trousers had been torn off along with the crown, revealing the backside of his polka-dotted undershorts for all to see.

Cackles erupted among the crowd, and at least one chant of “I see London, I see France…” could be heard as well. The crown prince blushed furiously — but, being Erland, he wasn’t about to just stand there and take it.

“If it’s any consolation,” he said with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “at least my royal britches are not actually expensive!”

And everyone in the room erupted into a gale of hysterics loud enough for the walls to tremble. Yes, including Oili, Thought, Memory, Erika and Sormr, Ingrid, and Erland himself.

The royal couple, swept up in the high spirits, finally gazed at each other lovingly, and next moment, the two of them had embraced and locked lips in a passionate kiss.

The crowd cheered, an eruption of jubilation that swept from the castle outwards to eventually include all of the kingdom. Fireworks-like magical sparks cast by Oili and some of the other mages in the backdrop lit up the ballroom as Erland and Ingrid cemented their bond of love. And deep within Erland’s soul, a serpentine reptile with ruby-colored scales and a crown of magnificent horns roared a triumphant, heart-shaped fireball.

Prince Erland and Princess Ingrid couldn’t be happier. Now that they had taken their rightful place as the future rulers of their realm, and now that its sources of corruption had been removed from power, a new era of peace and prosperity was well on its way. Erland’s natural clumsiness would never go away, but his kind heart and caring soul, be it sheathed in skin or scales, would be remembered just as fondly if not more so. There was still a lot of cleaning up to do around the kingdom, of course, but with the populace welcoming the two of them with open arms and thankful hearts, there was no doubt that their royal duties would be fulfilled in due time and for a long time to come.

This was what it truly meant to live happily ever after. Not because the Lindworm Prince fit right in with the kingdom of Wyrmwood, but because the kingdom fit right in with him.

✨ ~ The (very sore) End ~ ✨

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 7 (Hotbuns)

Here it is, the penultimate chapter of the Lindworm Prince's tale, where everything comes together. Just the epilogue to go now!

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 8,082

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Chapter 7: The Final Straw

Poor Ingrid. Poor, poor Ingrid.

She had awoken that day in the hopes that her husband would be next to her, and hopefully willing enough to accept that they were well on their way to saving the kingdom. What she’d gotten, however, was her husband going missing. She’d searched all over the castle for him, but come up empty.

Her mother had been there on this day, and she had told her that he’d apparently gone out for the night, but nobody else had seen him, aside of course from Krak. And then Osmond burst into the castle with his soldiers behind him, carrying a nailed-shut coffin and a chained lindworm. The cruel prince had announced that for their crimes, Erland and Evangeline (the assassin who had been sent by Osmond himself after his own brother, and then thrown under the cart when he’d heard of her seemingly plotting with Erland) would be executed at dawn tomorrow.

The entire castle had erupted into chaos. People of all ages had attempted to swarm a smug, triumphant Osmond, only to be siezed and dragged off to the dungeon for the crime of “resisting authority”. The soldiers, forced by Osmond’s lash, had scoured the whole castle in search of conspirators, and Turid had given her daughter just enough time to hide in one of the secret tunnels before she (Turid) was caught too.

And to salt the wound, Osmond had jailed the soldiers themselves in person, for their own “mistreatment” of him during that disastrous training day.

So it was that the castle was now horribly understaffed, bereft of anyone to defend it from the horde of angry villagers about to storm its gates, and host to one very lonely and inconsolable bride to be, who was in her jammies and stuck in a cramped underground passageway.

In short, it wasn’t a good day.

In hindsight, perhaps Ingrid should’ve paid more attention to her fiance’s concerns rather than dismissing them as everyone else did. She didn’t want him to worry, but then again his worries had proven to be very much true. All the couple had had were a bunch of scullery maids and stablehands, compared to Osmond’s entire army, who obeyed him out of sheer abject terror.

Perhaps she should just remain seated here forever, with only the lit candle in front of her for company…

Something scaly brushed against her rump, and she yelped, jumping badly enough to bonk her head against the ceiling (it was a rather narrow passageway). Rubbing her scalp, she looked down, and covered her mouth to keep herself screaming. There was a snake next to her. A snake with… a collection of papers wound about its tail?

“Relax, it’s me,” the zaltys whispered.

“Oh, thank God, I was hoping for someone to talk to,” Ingrid sighed. “How did it all go wrong?”

“I was wondering that myself, but then I found these,” Sormr replied. She passed the papers over to Ingrid, who unfurled them and laid them in front of the candle to read.

Her expression became more and more horrified with every word and chart she took in. She would swear her skin was turning slightly green.

“Oh my God. No. NO. He can’t. He wouldn’t.”

“Either he did, or he’s planning to,” replied Sormr.

“Where is Erland?” Ingrid’s dark eyes were wide with pure horror.

“In the deepest pit in the dungeon. I was planning to go down and get him, but I’m not big enough—”

“You were small enough to slip through the ventilation and bring these documents to me,” replied Ingrid. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Your Highness, but we have to hurry! As soon as the sun rises tomorrow, Osmond plans to have Erland executed, which gives us just six hours to—”

The shriek of utter despair stopped Sormr’s rambling. She looked at Ingrid expectantly — and was surprised to see her distraught expression transition into a death glare of tranquil fury. Calm as the sea without wind on the outside, but burning deep down with a rage as hot as a thousand suns.

“Lead me to the dungeons at once.” Her voice sounded like ice cracking apart. “I have to stop Prince Osmond. I have to stop him NOW.”

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 6 (Hotbuns)

Another favorite chapter of mine is complete! I once again owe my thanks to HBunsArchive on DeviantArt, whose story, "Princess of Darkness", was the main inspiration for what poor Evangeline goes through here, though there's enough elements that differ from that wonderful story to make it a work of its own. Evangeline is actually a character I've used multiple times before in other stories, but since she's got a vampire theme to her I figured it'd be fun to give her a go in a hot buns story. I might reuse her again in a future tale, who knows?

While there's plenty of butt abuse in this chapter, I like the idea of combining it with plot rather than having it be one comedic accident after another, so the story actually works as a story if you take out just enough slapstick for it to pass as something non-fetishy. There's one more chapter where everything comes to a head before the epilogue, and it's almost done, so be on the lookout for that by the end of this week! :)

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 7,316

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Chapter 6: Packing Heat

In the days following the rebellion of the royal army, public approval of Prince Erland started rising at a measured but steady pace, especially with the announcement of his engagement with Ingrid and their plans to host the wedding a month from now. The afternoon escapade involving over two-thirds of the castle staff, several swarms of angry bees, an even angrier unicorn, a dozen jilted archers, and a shoal of interested pike was making the rounds throughout the kingdom at an astonishing pace, and while many couldn’t believe it at first, those who weren’t too afraid of Osmond’s anger to speak their minds unanimously agreed that the bastard deserved everything that had happened to him, seeing as he’d mistreated pretty much everyone for almost a decade. And since his selfish behavior had continued even in the thick of his curse, removing his air of invulnerability seemed to have exposed his despicable nature for all to see.

Even those who held all of dragon kind in contempt for burning down villages, carrying off maidens, and so on agreed: Osmond was worse than any beast of the sort. It was in a dragon’s nature to go on destructive rampages and battle knights on white horses, but perhaps just this once, they could at least choose to be wild and savage away from humanity, or use their ferocity to protect the innocent as Erland did. Osmond, on the other hand, acted savage because he could. And what was more disturbing was that his family had neither abused nor spoiled him – and he’d turned into a heartless despot regardless.

No wonder all of Wyrmwood preferred to be ruled by the Lindworm Prince.

Despite basking in his newfound fame, however, Erland couldn’t help but notice that every time Osmond looked at him now, the elder brother got a chill running down his spine. By all accounts, Erland should’ve been in far higher standing thanks to a single day of escalating artifice, successfully proving to the kingdom that he was willing to take a stand against Osmond, and more than that, willing to provide for the people at a far greater capacity than Osmond cared to reach.

But why, at least from his perspective, didn’t it feel like a victory?

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 5 (Hotbuns)

Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 8,347
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Chapter 5: Case in Point

 

For the first time that day, Osmond was laughing. The antics of his soldiers were too much fun, even if he was supposed to shape them into the perfect soldiers; if anything they made better play pieces for him, like a child with a set of dolls. He’d long since given up on getting the trainees not to scream when slashed and poked by each others’ swords, since that was very much inevitable, but the practice of whipping them each time they cried out was still kept because it was fun to get someone to make someone else suffer. Cowards and naysayers, the whole lot of them. He’d make true heroes out some of them before long, he just knew it, but the rest he kept around simply because he liked to mess with them.

What he didn’t know was that at this exact point in time, a brown-haired nobleman clad in only his undershorts was making his way through the apiary. One advantage of the curse was that Osmond had learned the hard way to keep a very safe distance from the royal beehives, since after the incident with the cactus this morning, he certainly didn’t want a swarm of angry bees assaulting his assets. He was already sore enough having to deal with Oili forcibly removing all those spines. Erland, however, was faced with a problem: how could he transform without being noticed? His dragon form was massive, and if he were to set off any of the beehives, he’d be instantly spotted, and with the element of surprise ruined he wouldn’t be able to give Osmond the scare of his life. His skin, being extremely sensitive, would stand no chance against thorns and bee stings, and he was quite sure he’d get a fair share of at least one type of pain before long.

About his only option, then, was to climb one of the trees the hives were attached to, which looked if anything like woven egg-shaped structures made of straw, similar to skeps used elsewhere, suspended from the sturdier branches of almost every tree he passed by. They WOULD have been placed on the ground if only the trees weren’t packed so close together, so room had to be made for the footpaths through the area, but transforming on the ground would scare the bees into attacking. If he could just get up above where the hives were, he’d be relatively safe.

Erland gulped. His last attempt at climbing something had ended with a jousting lance somewhere uncomfortable. But it was the only safe way to get clear of any potential hazards that could ruin his little scheme.

“Well,” he said with a sigh of defeat, “here goes nothing.”

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 4 (Hotbuns)

Finally finished with this next chapter! Of course it'd be similar to the previous one, being so long that I had to split it into two... Oh well. I'll try not to do that with the remaining ones. These next two chapters together were my favorite to write thus far, and though the first one's got less butt abuse content than usual the next will more than make up for it, I can assure you. ;)

Enjoy, and expect the next chapter up shortly!

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 5,164

 
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Chapter 4: Plan Of Attack

The rising sun heralded the start of another week in the kingdom of Wyrmwood. For most of the people it was as uneventful as ever, with those in need wandering the streets and generally trying to scrape a living. Perhaps it would be appropriate to bring up the old saying: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride”. It was a common expression the townspeople used to try and keep the envy of their peers for the nobility from overtaking them, but all the same, if wishes really were horses then there would have been a veritable stampede of mounted equines advancing upon the castle, their angry riders bearing torches and pitchforks aimed at one person in particular. The divide between the rich and the poor couldn’t have been more stark, and it was clear that this was the doing of a certain spoiled prince, one who had ruled over everyone, even his own mother, by virtue of his rage and authority alone.

For all who lived within the borders of the kingdom, that was the status quo, and it seemed that they would all live unhappily ever after — until his brother had been freed from his curse.

Within just a few months, Erland had shown himself to be as kind as Osmond was cruel, never letting his clumsiness and constant self-inflicted humiliation keep him down for long. He had left the kingdom at the mercy of his brother for too long, and he knew he needed to make it up to his own people. And now that Oili the spore hag had provided both a surety and some timely advice, it was up to him to prove that his tyrant of a sibling was not the omnipotent, righteous untouchable he thought himself to be.

The morning after Oili had been told off by Osmond and retaliated as expected, the blond prince exited the treasury room in a state of absolute fury. Someone had relieved the room of a collection of documents he had no intention of showing to anyone, not even his own family. And given that they had presumably removed all evidence of their presence in the room via some sort of magical means, it had to be Oili’s doing. Said expunging of their activity had included placing all the mousetraps back in their original places — as well as leaving them primed, so that almost as soon as he’d entered the room, he’d gotten the toes of one of his bare feet caught in one, stepped in another, lost his balance, and backed straight into his own potted cactus.

The worst part was that the queen of the kingdom had summoned him and his brother to the throne room for a short meeting first thing this morning. He had gotten fully dressed for the occasion save for his boots, but alas, his snow-white, perfectly smoothed breech pants were of no protection against those insidious thorns, at least two dozen of which were now embedded deeply in the flesh of his rump, visible to all who glanced at him as they passed him by.

His staffers were NEVER going to let him live this down.