Tickled Pink Ch. 01

"Good boy," she cooed, nodding encouragingly. Her praise made his knees quake. No, no, he wasn't a good boy—that was to say, he needed to—needed—"See, silly boy, how easy it is to obey?" He could hear the smirk, even though he couldn't look away from her bouncing, jiggling, fragrant... "That's right! It's sooooo easy, Bryan! Just like you!"

Her fingers flitted over his chest as he felt his leather vest falling away, felt his shirt steadily coming undone, and he realized with a racing heart that he was about to be bare-chested for those delicate, dainty, playful fingers...

He tried to rally himself with that realization, even though it sent a fluttering thrill through his whole body. What might she do... when his trousers were off?

He had to resist. Had to look away. He bit his lip.

"Silly boy!" She bounced with excitement, the crop top rising up and down, and he could do was stare, practically drooling over them, so barely contained within their tight, scandalous crop top. He was about to be wearing less than her, he dimly realized, his cheeks burning in shame. "Horny boy!" Her breasts held him like magnets. He felt so soft, so obedient and squishy and submissive... "Aren't you excited to have something a little softer touching you than all this coarse leather?"

Her voice, a mere girlish whisper, sent his knees trembling. His lips parted as the breasts bounced, and bounced, and bounced. He was so horny. So silly.

He couldn't quite remember what he'd been thinking about. It was so easy to stare. So easy to obey the pretty lady. It was always easier to... to obey, pretty girls, wasn't it? He was pretty sure he'd heard that somewhere. And it felt so good now.

Distantly, Bryan knew he was standing before her, a grown man twice her size, practically drooling over her tits while her fingers danced over his half-naked body—stroking his chest, stroking him through his pants with the daintiest of fingertips, toying with him. His cheeks burned as she giggled, hearing that playful, delighted smugness at how easy he was falling for her.

But the humiliation didn't snap him out of it.

To his embarrassment, it just made his cock throb beneath her fingertips, drawing from her a coo, more praise, more teasing.

"Poor boy," she whispered sympathetically, leaning in even closer as his shirt slipped away, leaving his chest bare. Her fingertips grazed over his neck, and he realized that at some point, she must have changed gloves—the new glove felt fluffier, woolier, almost... scratchier?

No, not scratchy. He gulped.

Ticklish. Like a thousand fairies were caressing him, tickling his chest, running their fingers over his nipple, toward his underarm, and he'd never felt so sensitive.

"He just needs," she cooed, as her fluffy fingertips started to tickle over his underarms, along his sides, and her bouncing bosom came closer, closer, "a nice, fluffy hug!"

As her fingers tickled his underarm, a tiny giggle slipped past his lips, and he flinched.

She paused.

The flinch drew him from her touch. And just for a moment, he was free again.

In an instant, it all came rushing back. His contract. His work. The consequences of failure. His eyes widened and he tore his gaze from her tits, lunged for his belt, drew his daggers and lashed out warningly.

She squeaked and leaped backwards. The fleece sprite suddenly looked wary. Bryan cut a wide arc in the air in front of him, his head spinning with equal parts fading trance and panic. And... something else. A sweet smell.

But she was keeping her distance. Relief and fear filled him in even measure as he realized how close he'd come to just giving in. He cautiously avoided her gaze as a smile slipped across her face. "Ticklish, are we?" she cooed.

And giggled. That same damnable, adorable giggle that seemed to echo from all around.

He glared at the spot above her head. "I'll be leaving, now. Thanks."

She pouted.

Not letting her quite outside his field of vision, Bryan took a step back.

And as his foot found leafy vines that broke away with barely any resistance, he remembered, too late, the pit trap.

His last sight of the surface was the gorgeous sheepgirl's smug smile widening, her eyes shining with pure, unconcealed glee. Her hand darted forward, grasping the end of his scarf.

Bryan Graves tumbled down, head over heels in midair, down to the bottom of a deep glen. The scarf slipped away from him like thread from a falling spool. The light was dimmer here, and as his eyes adjusted, he braced for impact.

And landed in a cloud of softness.

The wind left him briefly as he lay there, flat on his back, half-immersed in whatever he'd fallen into.

When his eyes opened, it was snowing. Fluff rained down on him, fluff he'd sent up in the air from his tumble.

He stared up, past the falling fluff, up at the hole he'd made in the vine covering for this... den. His head was spinning. When he tried to rise, everything swam, and he fell back down into the cloud of fluff almost immediately. His legs felt like they were made of rubber.

He felt so weak. Dazed. Not... sleepy, exactly. The fluff tickled, bothered him, but it also seemed to drain him of the will to stand. It was like he was drifting in a cloud, being gently spun, made dizzier and dizzier...

Bryan took a deep breath of sweet air, realizing his scarf was gone. His head swam. His thoughts felt airy, silly, weightless. Like his mind had been stuffed with cotton.

Or cotton candy. He felt nice. Dizzy. Sweet.

Knowing that the fleece sprite could start pursuing any moment, he mustered his will against the pleasurable feeling and climbed to his knees.

Instantly, he felt much, much clearer. Taking a deep breath of the sweet, perfumed air, he started to rise to his feet.

He heard a giggle from behind him.

A fluffy, gloved hand settled on his bare shoulder—his skin buzzed and tingled at the delicate contact—and gently pushed him right back down. Right back down to his knees.

His heart filling with dread, Bryan looked up.

Six fleece sprites almost identical to the first beamed at him, leaning over him. Hanging above him, six pairs of breasts bounced. Jiggled. Swayed. Barely contained within their tight, scandalous crop tops.

Bryan had fallen into a den of fluffy, sensitizing temptresses.

And as his captress—a gorgeous, busty redhead—kept him kneeling with one gentle, casual hand on his shoulder, they all started giggling in glee, and he saw the original fleece sprite appearing in the 'ceiling' up above, beaming down at him. Her eyes shone with pure delight. Pure triumph. His heart plummeted in humiliation as he realized he'd stumbled right where she wanted him.

And now she knew how ticklish he could be.

And as she started to descend, bouncing her tits for his captivated gaze once more, and he felt fingers starting to stroke and tickle all over his upper body, he struggled to rise, to settle his thoughts, to fight the fluffy cloud.

"What's the hurry?" he heard the sheepgirls cooing in his ears, fingers dancing over his sides, down towards his hardening cock. "Silly boy."

Bryan bit his lip.

Their lips tickled as they brushed against his ears, and he felt them trying to force him to lie back in the bed they had made for him, back in his fluff cloud, where he would be helpless to escape.

The first sprite descended, and with a smirk and a single fingertip on his chest, shoved him back into bed. "You'd better save your strength," she teased. Her voice echoed in his ears as he fell into soft, tickly fog, and he started to squirm, thrash, gasping as the sheepgirls' stroking started to get more deliberate. "Ooh, silly boy... we're gonna have so. Much. Fun!"

TO BE CONTINUED.