Rullakebu - TickleMeSoft

Mobster's temptations (F/M, tickling, fur fetish)

“Okay, she should be here any minute now,” Vince figured.

He stared at the objective briefing on a note in his hand: “Seduce Savarino’s wife and get the data about their operations.”

The Apolloni crime family had always had a rivalry with the opposing Savarino family. The feud went back to the start of the 1900’s when they had left the old country for new opportunities. The founders had initially been close friends but had a falling out due to disagreements in the code of conduct. It eventually led to a shootout and the two families had been at war with each other ever since. Sabotage, scams and espionage were not uncommon occurrences between them.

Vince, a devoted, yet newly appointed, soldier of the Apolloni family, had received a task from his caporegime. The higher ups had received info that Regina Savarino, the wife of the rival mob boss, frequents the club called “Tears of Joy” after sunset every weekend. The rumor around town was that Regina had not been all that faithful to her husband—a dangerous game.

Vince’s first official mission as a soldier was to seduce Regina for the night and gather info about Savarinos’ next business ventures. No one really knew of Vince yet so he was the perfect pick for the task: seducing a lady with deep connections in the mafia. Easy enough, right? That is if the rumors about Regina’s promiscuity held true.

Vince read the description: She was 36 years old, of Italian American descent, 5 feet and 10 inches tall. The data also notified that Regina had an affinity for high fashion, in particular fur clothing. She could be spotted around town wearing the fluffiest, softest and most luxurious fur coats, stoles, hats. The way an influential mob boss’s wife would dress.

“She wouldn’t be hard to miss. This club is full of chumps,” Vince thought to himself, lighting a cigarette.

He was standing by the entrance of a restaurant opposite of the club across the street. Rain had forced him to take shelter under a small canopy on the restaurant’s premises. The light of the club’s sign was reflected off a small puddle in front of the door.

Vince saw a black Mercedes coming from around the corner. It had custom rims and tinted windows. You could not see who was inside as it pulled up to the club. The chauffeur stepped out. Dressed in a black suit he walked to the right side of the vehicle and opened the passenger door. Out stepped a tall, beautiful brown eyed lady with straight shoulder length brown hair. On her she wore a sleek black dress, dark stockings, black heeled boots and a fluffy beige full length golden island fox fur coat.

“Regina, no doubt about it,” Vince mumbled to himself.

She thanked the driver and ventured inside.

“Time to move,” Vince determined.

He quickly smoked his cigarette and threw it on the ground, stepping on it. Vince came out of the shadows into the light of the lamp posts. He reached into his pocket and put his trusty Colt 1911 pistol on safety. Wearing a classy suit, his dark hair slicked back and green eyes squinted he made his way across the street and opened the club door.

Classy piano music became clearer step by step as he ventured further from the door and into the club. He stayed for a moment scanning the club. The venue was relatively empty that night–perfect. Regina wouldn’t be hard to find. Vince glanced at the bar and there she was, the bar light highlighting her luxurious fur coat.

He gulped and walked graciously towards the bar, towards his mission. He stepped to the bar and leaned against it right next to Regina.

“Excuse me, Miss. I don’t believe we’ve met before. May I buy you a drink?” Vince suggested.

“Of course, thank you. A negroni, please,” Regina smiled.

“One negroni and one whiskey, please! I’m Vince, by the way. Vince Medici. Pleasure to meet you,” he grinned.

“Regina Savarino. And likewise,” her slightly deep voice sounding almost like a purr.

Vince’s heart pumped. He had to succeed in seducing her. Otherwise he’d be in big trouble and his future in the mob was at risk. Knowing how important first impressions are, he could not, under any circumstances, fuck this up.

“Regina,” Vince repeated, grinning warmly.

“So, Regina. What do you make of this place? Do you come here often?” Vince attempted to make conversation.

“Yes, I do. I practically live here,” Regina laughed, sipping her negroni.

“That so?” Vince laughed.

He took a look at her hands, adorned by long red nails. She didn’t wear a ring, hah.

“You said your last name is Savarino as in Don Savarino, the mob boss. However I see you’re not wearing a ring. Aren’t you married to him?” Vince asked.

“Well, I am but he’s barely there. And I like to keep my options open to be quite honest with you,” Regina purred, caressing Vince’s arm.

Jackpot.

Vince's grin widened. Things were going smoother than he expected. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone.

"Smart woman," he murmured, his eyes locking onto hers. "But surely a woman as captivating as you must have suitors lining up at your door."

Regina chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down Vince's spine.

"You could say that," she replied coyly, her gaze holding his with an intensity that made his pulse quicken.

He couldn't afford to lose focus. This was his chance to gain the upper hand, to charm her into revealing valuable information that could give his boss the advantage over her husband's crew.

"Tell me, Regina," Vince whispered, his voice low and husky. "What's a woman like you looking for in a man?"

Regina's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in to match his intensity. "Oh, Vince," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. "I'm looking for someone who can handle a little excitement. Someone who's not afraid to take risks."

Regina's gaze locked onto his, her eyes shimmering with intrigue. "And what about you, Vince? Are you a man who enjoys taking risks?"

Vince flashed a charming smile, feeling the weight of the moment. "Oh, you could say that. I'm always up for a thrill."

“I like that. Taking risks is… sexy,” Regina whispered, her breath tickling Vince’s ear. She caressed his face with the sleeve of her coat, the soft hairs brushing his cheeks, giving him goosebumps.

“So, Vince, what do you do? What’s your story?” she asked suddenly.

He had to come up with something quickly so as to not blow his cover. Luckily she had no idea who he really was.

"Oh, you know," he replied nonchalantly, his mind racing to come up with a convincing cover story. "Just a man trying to make his way in the world. But don’t worry about boring old me. I'm more interested in hearing about your adventures. I bet you have some stories to tell."

Regina raised her eyebrow as she smiled, slightly surprised by his response.

“Tell you what. Why don’t we continue our conversation somewhere else. I’ve got a VIP booth,” she suggested.

“Sounds good,” he replied delightedly. She was making this all too easy. This was going to be a piece of cake.

They made their way across the venue to the lone VIP booth, Regina’s heels clicking loudly. As they settled into the plush seating of the VIP booth, the atmosphere shifted, crackling with anticipation. Regina leaned in closer, her scent intoxicating Vince as she spoke.

"So, Vince, you never really told me more about yourself," she purred, her voice low and seductive.

Vince swallowed hard, realizing the importance of maintaining his facade. He had to keep Regina intrigued, keep her distracted from his true intentions.

"Well, there's not much to tell, really," he began, his words carefully chosen. "Just a guy with a taste for adventure, you know? Always looking for excitement, trying to live life to the fullest."

Regina sighed.

“You seem to have a thing… for women older than you. How old are you anyway, Vince?” she asked, squinting her eyes in curiosity. She caressed her coat up and down, the soft fur yielding to her hand with each stroke.

“I’m 25,” he replied.

Regina's lips curved into a knowing smile as she continued to study Vince, her gaze piercing yet playful.

"Ah, 25," she mused, her voice like velvet. "Such a tender age, full of promise and potential."

Vince shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, acutely aware of the need to maintain his cover.

"Age is just a number, right?" he quipped, attempting to steer the conversation away from his youth.

Regina chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down Vince's spine.

"Indeed it is, Vince. But tell me, what is it about older women that intrigues you?" she pressed, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Vince hesitated for a moment, weighing his words carefully. He couldn't reveal too much, couldn't risk blowing his cover.

"I suppose I've always been drawn to maturity, experience," he replied, his voice steady despite the nerves that churned in his stomach. "There's something captivating about a woman who knows what she wants, who isn't afraid to go after it."

Regina's smile widened, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. She was still caressing her fur coat gently. She looked at her hand teasing the soft fluffiness at the coat’s seams

“What do you think of fur, Vince?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk, a subtle challenge in her tone.

Vince's gaze followed Regina's hand as it glided over the soft fur of her coat, his mind racing with the need to maintain the illusion of charm and intrigue.

"It's... exquisite… elegant," he replied, his voice husky with desire. "There's something undeniably alluring about it."

He couldn’t and wouldn’t hide it. He found women in fur coats incredibly attractive. There was something about the softness, the status it added and the sensuality he admired deeply. Ever since a child he had seen women in fur clothing. He had always wanted to caress them and play with them but he wasn’t allowed.

Regina's smile deepened, a knowing glint in her eyes as she continued to stroke the fur with a delicate touch.

"I'm glad you think so," she purred, her voice a seductive whisper. "Because, you see, Vince, I have a particular fondness for fur. It's a symbol of luxury, of indulgence. And I have a feeling you appreciate the finer things in life, am I right?"

"Absolutely," he replied, his voice filled with conviction. "I believe in embracing pleasure, in seizing every opportunity that comes my way."

“Mm,” she acknowledged, her gaze filled with satisfaction as she tickled Vince’s chin. “Vince, why don’t we head out… and continue this conversation at my place?”

He had done it. He had seduced Regina Savarino. But he was really only half way there. His remaining objective was to have her reveal the confidential information about her husband’s activities. The capo would surely praise Vince for this.

“I like that idea,” he whispered, totally prepared for what was to come, and moreover step 2 of the plan.

Regina smiled slyly as she grabbed Vince’s hand with surprising intensity, her touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through him. Without a word, she began to lead him outside of the club, her movements confident and purposeful. Vince's heart raced with anticipation, unsure of what lay ahead but eager to follow wherever Regina led.

The chauffeur was waiting for her in the Mercedes leaning into the car smoking a cigarette. He saw Regina and Vince exit hastily from the club, the door almost flunging open. The driver swiftly opened the car door for the pair.

“Enzo, take us to my penthouse, pronto!” she commanded, excitement extruding out of her voice, yet there was something mischievous about it.

“Yes, ma’am,” Enzo replied.

As the sleek Mercedes pulled away from the curb, the atmosphere inside the car was charged with a palpable tension. Regina sat close to Vince, her presence a tantalizing blend of allure and mystery. The low hum of the engine filled the silence between them, punctuated only by the occasional sound of tires rolling over pavement.

Vince stole glances at Regina, his pulse quickening with each passing moment. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, a mischievous glint dancing in their depths. He couldn't help but wonder what awaited him at her penthouse, what secrets lay hidden behind its luxurious facade.

As they arrived at the imposing building housing Regina's penthouse, the Mercedes glided to a smooth stop. Vince's heart hammered in his chest as he followed Regina out of the car and into the opulent lobby. The grandeur of the surroundings only added to the sense of anticipation that pulsed through him.

Regina led the way, her steps confident and purposeful as they ascended the marble staircase to the private elevator. Vince couldn't shake the feeling of excitement mixed with apprehension that coursed through him with each passing moment. He was so close to completing his objective.

Finally, the elevator doors opened to reveal the lavish expanse of Regina's penthouse. The space was bathed in soft, golden light, casting a warm glow over everything it touched. Vince's breath caught in his throat at the sight, his senses overwhelmed by the opulence that surrounded him.

Regina turned to him with a smile, her eyes alight with excitement. "Welcome to my humble abode, Vince," she said, her voice a soft murmur that sent shivers down his spine.

As they stepped further into the penthouse, Vince couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration mingled with trepidation. Regina, ready to make Vince’s night, grabbed his hand once more and led him to the bedroom.

The bedroom exuded an air of luxury and intimacy, with plush furnishings and soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Vince's heart raced with anticipation as Regina guided him further into the room, her movements graceful and deliberate. As a contrast to the soft vibe, a white wooden X-frame, decorated with glowing golden accents and a head rest, stood tall at the corner of the bedroom.

Vince turned to Regina. “Regina, I bet as a wife of a mob boss, you harbor a lot of secrets. I’m looking forward to uncovering all of them. It turns me on so much. I love knowing what I’m not supposed to,” he whispered, incredibly aroused, oozing with desire.

“You’ve got no idea, dear Vince,” she whispered, her voice sensual and husky. “But don’t rush so much. I have a surprise for you. Stay right there.”

She strolled seductively behind a dressing screen. A tent was pitching in Vince’s pants and there was no hiding it. He waited with great anticipation what would be revealed from behind the elegant, mysterious dressing screen.

Vince heard heels slowly clicking as he saw a figure taking shape. Behind the screen emerged Regina dressed in black lacy 3 piece lingerie set the impossibly soft golden island fur coat still draped around her. She caressed the seams of the fur up and down slowly and seductively as she approached Vince.

His jaw almost dropped to the floor in pure lust. He couldn’t help but stare at her in total awe of her beauty. He pulled Regina close. “I can’t wait to uncover all of you: all your secrets and desires. I want to know what makes a lady like you tick,” Vince whispered, pulsing with desire.

“All in due time,” she whispered back, taking a hold of Vince’s jacket and unbuttoning it slowly. Next came off the shirt, as Regina admired his lean body. She caressed his midriff and up his chest with the sleeve of her coat, giving Vince shivers. The silky fur tickled slightly but felt pleasant traveling up his body.

Regina giggled as she saw Vince twitch slightly. “Ticklish, Vince?” she purred, blowing into his ear. She reached for his belt and started to unbuckle it. Down came the slacks and with them the underwear that was protecting his undeniable and visible excitement. She looked at his enlarged cock and smiled slyly to herself. “Your cock seems to like it when I touch you with my fur. I think I discovered one of your secrets, Vincy.”

Regina took a gentle hold of his arms and started to push him towards the X-frame looming in the corner of the lush bedroom. “One secret about me, Vince, is that I’m a bit… kinky,” she admitted playfully, acting embarrassed. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’m open to anything. Like I said, I’m always up for a thrill,” he grinned.

“Perfect… spread your limbs for me…” she whispered, taking a gentle nibble out of his ear.

Click, click, click and click. He was tied to the X-frame by his wrists and ankles, with no escape.

“You look so helpless and sexy right now, Vince,” she whispered, caressing his sides with her fluffy cuffs. “I could do anything I’d like to you, Fur boy. Aren’t you nervous?” she asked, continuing her stroking down to his waist and into his inner thighs.

“I like danger, Regina. You know that,” he moaned as the soft fur caressed his body ever so gently.

“Aren’t you afraid it would bite you back? That playing with fire would burn you sooner or later?” she questioned, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her hands wandered back up again closing in on his exposed armpits.

“There’s always a risk, I guess,” he replied.

“You’re right, Vince,” she purred, her voice low and seductive as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. She started gently skittering her long red nails in his wide open armpits. “You’re absolutely right.”

The sudden tickling caught poor Vince off guard. His laughter erupted uncontrollably, mingling with Regina's soft chuckles. He squirmed beneath her touch, trying to evade the ticklish assault, but she persisted, her nails dancing over his skin with expert precision.

Regina leaned back slightly, a wicked grin playing on her lips as she watched Vince wriggle and squirm. "See, Vince? Sometimes, a little risk is exactly what we need to feel alive," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“WHATHEHEHEHEHE FUHUHUHUHUCK? LET ME GOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” he pleaded helplessly, his laughter echoing off the bedroom walls filling the room with ticklish sounds of despair and hopelessness. He bucked, left to right, front to back, trying to evade the spidering nails of his fur clad tickler.

Regina giggled evilly as she tickled his vulnerable flesh. She shifted her focus downwards, towards his sides. Tickling the hopeless Apolloni soldier gave her such immense satisfaction. Her nails moved with lightning speed. It was like millions of tiny tiny feathers caressed his sensitive skin.

Vince’s laughter only intensified when she targeted the new tickle spot. His heart pounding and adrenaline pumping through his veins. His fight or flight triggered, he couldn’t do anything but stay there, exposed and vulnerable. He could buck and plead as much as he liked but he was totally hers. Hers to tease, hers to torment, hers to tickle.

She moved her fingers down to his waist as she came closer to the cackling Vince. “Say, you’re awfully ticklish Vince. I cannot say I was totally surprised. Caressing you with fur made you shiver and twitch,” she said, skittering her nails under his stomach. “You have a bit of a fur fetish, don’t you, Vince?”

He couldn’t answer. He was too busy laughing and bucking. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I- I- I- HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Only ticklish laughter, no words. Regina knew he couldn’t respond but wanted to tease him anyway. She had learned that psychological teasing is almost just as important as physical teasing.

Vince’s cock pulsed and jolted around as he bucked around trapped to the beautiful, white X-frame. Regina took notice of it, letting out a sultry low giggle. She stopped tickling him for a second to caress him with her fur again. “Tickling doesn’t really turn you off, now does it?” she whispered, the soft hairs of fur stroking around his pelvis. He was charged with arousal but he couldn’t say a word. He panted like a dog and tried to catch his breath after the ticklish exploitation he had endured.

Knock knock. Someone was at the door. It opened and in stepped a 60-year-old man with a suit, his gray hair parted in the middle and a cigar in his mouth.

“Hey, honey,” Regina greeted.

Don Savarino. He walked closer into the bedroom taking a puff. “Now would ya look at this? Another little fly caught in the web. What’s your name son?” he asked.

“Vince… pant… Vince Medici…” he replied.

“You with the Apollonis?” Savarino questioned.

“Go… pant… to… pant… Hell…” Vince cursed.

“Heh, guessed as much, son,” Savarino snorted, knowing exactly who Vince was now. “You Apolloni boys never learn… or anyone else for that matter.”

“What do you mean?” Vince asked, puzzled by what Savarino meant.

“Ya hear about my wife and then think to yourselves with ya little monkey brains that wooing her would help ya milk some info outta her. And they always end up in this situation. My wife’s a big tickler but I’m not really a fan of all that so we figured this way she’d have some fun too. I catch some snoopers and she gets to make some poor sucker laugh to death. Win win,” Savarino explained, the scheme now unfolding in Vince’s mind.

“You’ll pay for this, Savarino!” Vince yelled.

“Yeah yeah, keep yapping. Have fun ya two!” the don waved his hand as he made his exit.

“We will!” Regina chimed in as she turned to Vince and wiggled her fingers. She struck at his ribs, wreaking jolts of ticklish havoc instantly on his helpless body. “At least I will. Tickle tickle, Fur boy!” she teased. Her tickle talk made Vince blush even harder than before, not even considering that first he had been tricked so easily into being tickle tortured, he had to endure a personal humiliation from Don Savarino himself and he couldn’t hide his arousal.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUCKING BITCH! LET ME GO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” he laughed and cursed, his face red with defeat.

“Aww, you don’t have to be embarrassed. You aren’t the first chump I’ve tickle tickle tickled to bits. But the fact, Vince, is that I like you. Furs and tickles turn you on, you can’t hide it. So just keep laughing for me like the good Tickle boy you are… and I’ll give you some love too,” she said slowly, caressing his erect sex with her fluffy fur whilst scribbling her fingers on his skin making sure to not pleasure him too much. For a second his laughter mixed with moans as the fur glided on his sensitive skin, eliciting an arousing mixture of softness and tantalizing tickles.

She started tickling up and down his arms, her movements feather-light yet relentless. Vince's laughter grew louder, his attempts to escape her touch becoming more frantic. Regina reveled in the sound, her mischievous grin widening as she enjoyed the playful interaction between them. With each ticklish squirm from Vince, she felt a surge of satisfaction, knowing she had the power to both tease and delight him in equal measure.

“See? You love me and my ticklish touch. You’re not fooling anyone here,” she notified, stopping her tickling and walking over to her wardrobe.

Vince watched, twitching in ticklish ecstasy, as she graciously opened the huge door of the wardrobe and pulled out something fuzzy and long. It was silver in color and glistened in the bedroom light, its soft texture inviting yet mysterious. As Regina approached him with the object in hand, Vince's curiosity piqued, his face warping into eager anticipation.

“What do you think about fur stoles, Vince?” she asked as she set the fluffy silver fox fur stole around her neck, the luxurious material draping elegantly over her shoulders. Vince's eyes widened in admiration at the sight, his gaze lingering on the opulent accessory. She walked closer to Vince, her stole slightly swinging with each step.

“One could say even more elegant than a coat," she mused, a playful glint in her eyes as she adjusted the stole with a graceful motion. "After all, a stole adds a touch of sophistication and allure, don't you think?" Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she awaited Vince's response, already aware of the effect her sartorial choice had on him. “But that’s a matter of taste.”

Regina looked at Vince’s cock. It was begging for attention.

“They are mainly sexy accessories,” she said, taking the long stole off her neck and kneeling down. “But who’s to say that they can’t have other uses… as tools,” she continued, wrapping the stole gently around his manhood. “As tools of pleasure, of soft ecstasy.”

Vince moaned as the fluffy stole entwined around his penis and Regina started pumping the soft accessory up and down, giving him a furjob. The soft tickle of the fur felt relaxing yet tantalizing. Each fluffy caress, sending signals of pleasure and desire to his brain. His pulsating member was totally engulfed in impossibly soft and teasing fur.

“But I’m not done with you yet,” Regina announced, unwrapping the stole so cruelly from Vince and setting it around her neck once more.

“Please continue!” Vince pleaded.

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel my stole again. But for now I have something else for you,” she consoled.

Regina moved over to a big white chest next to the X-frame. She opened it and picked up something. “I hope you like feathers, Vince,” she said, pulling out a massive feather duster. It must’ve been around 3 feet long, adorned with pearl white ostrich feathers on top of a wooden handle.

“I had this custom made… for ticklish men like you,” she said, twirling the huge tickle tool around. “A tease for the eyes, isn’t it? Imagine all these feathers, exploring and engulfing your body in unimaginable ticklish softness. Would you like that?”

“Don’t tickle me, please,” Vince begged.

“Don’t lie to yourself, Tickle boy,” Regina rolled her eyes slightly amused.

The ocean of feathers descended upon Vince’s body, sending soft tingles of ticklishness coursing through his senses. His cock jolted as the pleasurable feathers swayed all over his ticklish form tantalizing his flesh. Up, down, left, right the feathers traveled leaving heavenly tickles in their wake. His mind was scrambled and the only word he could think about was tickle… tickle… tickle….

The feathers covered every inch of where the duster was targeted. His arms, sides, chest and legs. No spot was safe from the ticklish feather cloud of the duster. Vince didn’t know whether to laugh or moan, as his voice became a mixture of both: ticklish despair and pure unadulterated pleasure.

“Please, let me go… hahahaha… I’ll give you all the info you want… pant…” he pleaded

“Don’t you understand, Vince? I don’t care about any of your Apolloni stuff,” she clarified, coming in close whispering. “The only thing I want is to tickle you. And we both know you don’t wanna leave. You want me to keep tickling you. You want me to keep pleasuring you. And that’s exactly what’s gonna happen, Tickle boy.”

Vince was still squirming, trying to evade the feathers, but Regina was having none of it. She set one of her hands behind his back, the fur of her coat softly caressing him, and pulled him closer directly towards the duster. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t pull away, caught in the irresistible grip of her playful coercion, engulfing him in a whirlwind of ticklish sensation. Regina directed her tickle tool to his burning crotch. She wiggled her duster as the ostrich feathers totally enveloped his package filling him with ticklish pleasure.

“That’s it. Let the feathers take hold over you, let them tickle you. Embrace the sensation, coochie coo,” Regina whispered into Vince’s ear.

Vince moaned loudly as she giggled with soft sadism. “My duster’s lovely, isn’t it?” she teased, her voice dripping with playful satisfaction as she watched him squirm under the ticklish assault. The duster's feathers danced tantalizingly over his genitals, eliciting a mixture of pleasure and torment that left him utterly stunned in ticklishness. It’s like an angel of God was sent down to Earth to personally tickle him. It was no angel, however. Rather a tickle demoness.

Regina stopped slowly easing the duster away. “But I miss your laugh,” she informed, setting the duster on the bed next to them.

She walked behind the X-frame and pulled a lever. To Vince’s surprise, the bondage device tilted back 90 degrees and he was now lying down. Regina went back over to where his feet were now exposed. And alas, the ticklish scribbling of her nails met his sensitive soles.

“NO! NOHOHOHOHOHO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Vince begged, laughing hysterically. The tickling before had been unbearable and he wasn’t sure he could take in anymore. Regina was a true sadist. She took pleasure in seeing Vince squirm and scream in ticklish despair. It turned her on.

Regina bowed down slightly, broadening her reach. Her fur stole swang side to side almost touching the floor as she tried to keep up with his wiggling feet. She was having the time of her life tormenting him and so was Vince. His cock was already dripping with precum ready to explode.

Regina’s nails explored his feet thoroughly. She moved to his heels and back to his soles. Her nails ran up and down his ticklish arches, causing him to howl with helpless laughter. The tickler’s fingers rose up to the balls of his feet making him spring and jolt in his restraints.

“That’s it. Laugh for me! Don’t hold anything back! It tickles! It tickles so much! You can’t help it! Laugh!” she urged, so incredibly aroused by his ticklish helplessness.

Vince’s stomach ached from laughing so much, and it worsened every second Regina’s nails glided along his feet, exposing every ticklish weakness. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, his breath coming in short gasps between fits of laughter. Despite the discomfort, there was a strange thrill in surrendering to Regina's torment, each ticklish sensation sending waves of both agony and ecstasy through his body.

Regina ceased her assault and walked between his legs. She leaned forward and continued by targeting her talons to Vince’s ticklish vulnerable armpits once more. The fur of her coat caressed his sides as she scribbled in and around his poor pits. Her stole, moving as she tickled, caressed his inner thighs gently teasing him to bits.

She quickly moved her hands to his hips, deliberately keeping her arms close to his body, ensuring that her soft fur stroked him along with every tickle. Regina reached over to the bed and picked up her duster again, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she prepared to unleash a newfound mixture of ticklish torment upon Vince.

She laughed sadistically as her left hand still spidered along his left side and hip, as she fluttered the huge feathered tickle stick along his defenseless body with her right hand. Regina tickled his face quickly with the duster as she grabbed a tail of her stole and stroked it up and down his cock for a moment, resuming the tickling right after.

The soft and intense hurricane of tickling left Vince breathless and utterly defeated, his body writhing with uncontrollable laughter as Regina's skilled fingers worked their magic. Every nerve ending tingled with sensation, his senses overwhelmed by the dizzying whirlwind of pleasure and torment. Surrendering completely to the ticklish onslaught, Vince found himself lost in a state of euphoric exhaustion, unable to do anything but succumb to the irresistible power of Regina's domination.

“PLEASE LET ME CUM! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I AM ABOUT TO LOSE IT! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” he pleaded.

“Aww, had enough of your tickles?” Regina teased, giggling at his helplessness.

“YES! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I NEED TO CUM! PLEASE!” he screamed.

“Alright, alright, Fur tickle boy,” Regina consoled, as she relented with Vince gasping for air.

She set the duster back on the bed and stroked up and down his legs. Vince tried to twist his body closer to Regina, who was still standing between his legs. Her fox fur stole still hung in his inner thighs looming near his genitals and he was trying to get closer to it.

Regina raised her eyebrow puzzled at his movements until she looked down. “Oooh, you miss my fluffy stole, don’t you? Well, you’re in luck because she missed you too,” she winked, personifying the fur stole, as she lifted the soft accessory from her shoulders.

“She missed coiling around you… and tickling… and pleasuring you,” she whispered in a low, husky and sultry manner as she wrapped the stole around his manhood once more.

“She missed having her fur caress every sensitive inch of you, engulfing you, making you moan as her soft fluff brings you closer and closer to pure heavenly bliss,” she teased, stroking the soft fur on his flesh.

Vince moaned in pure lasciviousness as he looked at Regina smiling gently while stroking the stole up and down his cock. The fur truly felt blissful after the relentless tickling he had endured a few minutes prior. Regina had put him through Tickle Hell and Fur Heaven was the reward for his endurance. Vince stared at Regina as he saw her eyes squint, as if she had just got an idea.

“But Miss Stole isn’t selfish. She likes sharing,” she said as she started to stroke his inner thighs with her golden island fox coat, still pumping the silver fox stole with one hand.

Getting closer and closer to the edge Vince moaned loudly aroused by the double fur treatment. The soft tickle of the fur around his genitals and inner thighs awakened new heights of arousal, desire and lust within him. He wished he could stay like this forever. Pleasured by Regina and her ever-so-soft furs.

“You see, I can be nice to people I like. Sink into the feeling of my fur, Vince. Sink into it. Let it bring you closer to paradise. Let it stroke you. Let it caress you. Let it tickle you. Let it pleasure you until you scream with ecstasy,” Regina teased, taking joy in making him ooze with desire.

As Vince neared his orgasm his whole body was on fire. He was so ready to explode in blissful pleasure. He was so close. The amazingly soft fur felt so good rubbing him all over his most sensitive parts. Each hair, each strand, each piece of fur joined in an ecstatic orchestra aiming to send Vince to Cloud Nine.

“Cum. Cum for me Vince. Let my fur bring you to orgasm, Tickle boy. Cum for your fur goddess,” Regina urged.

Vince had been tickled, pleasured, tickled and pleasured again. His cock felt like it was about to split in half. His senses heightened, he felt every single individual fur caress his sensitive skin. His limbs were tingling and cramping. The stole and the coat felt so good tickling between his legs.

And so he came as he yelled in pure, unfiltered and raw bliss. All of his muscles joined in unison as he sprung up in his restraints. The intense screams of pleasure echoed throughout the bedroom as hot sperm spewed out of Vince’s penis. Every nerve in his body tingled down towards his crotch.

As he blasted the last drop of cum from his cock, Vince was exhausted. He panted heavily, still strapped to the X-frame. His legs shook as cold sweat dripped down his body. Vince felt his eyes become heavy.

Vince heard one last thing as he slowly fell into a slumber, passing out: "That's it, Tickle boy. Go to sleep."

Hello Tumblr!

Hello Tumblr! My name is TickleMeSoft but I also go by the name Rullakebu or IsDax.

I started writing tickling and fur fetish erotica on Deviantart some months ago and decided to share these to Tumblr as well!

Hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Foxey Lady (F/M, tickling, fur, JoJo's)

I finally finished this story based on JoJo's Bizarre Adventure.

I want to thank Goddess Youko for letting me use her for this story. This story is dedicated as a tribute to her.

Some of you might not know what a "Stand" is. They are manifestations of their users' fighting spirits. They can interact with people, but people cannot interact with them. Only other Stand users can see Stands. They are invisible to regular people.

The protagonist is Jean Pierre Polnareff and his Stand Silver Chariot.

This is Youko's Stand. She is called Foxey Lady, as in the Jimi Hendrix song. I am aware the name is already in use in Steel Ball Run, the seventh part of the series. However this name was too perfect to pass up, not to mention this takes place in the original universe. You'll get to learn what she's capable of in the story ;).

Jean Pierre Polnareff, the silver-haired Frenchman, breathed in the warm, tropical air of Singapore. Fresh off his victory against the sinister Devo the Cursed and his treacherous Ebony Devil, the fierce wielder of Silver Chariot felt a rare moment of peace. His tense muscles finally relaxed as the vibrant city buzzed with life around him. The dazzling skyline of Singapore beckoned him to indulge in its nightlife—a well-deserved break after the intensity of battle.

After informing Mr. Joestar of his plans, Polnareff was pleasantly surprised when Noriaki Kakyoin, ever the enigmatic companion, expressed interest in joining him. The two shared a knowing smile. Beneath the calm surface of their friendship lay the shared weight of the journey they'd undertaken not so long ago, but tonight, they intended to let that burden slip away—at least for a little while.

As they made their way through the neon-lit streets, Polnareff’s mind wandered, the sounds and smells of the city creating a welcome distraction from the battles yet to come. “Here, Kakyoin! Look at all these food stalls!” Polnareff beckoned, feeling his hunger grow by the second.

Kakyoin, calm and composed as always, crossed over from the other side of the street with a slight smile. “Singapore is renowned for its food culture, Polnareff,” he explained, a glint of appreciation in his voice. “To Singaporeans, food isn’t just sustenance—it's part of their heritage. A symbol of unity, diversity, and passion.”

Polnareff grinned widely, clearly less focused on the cultural insight and more on the endless variety of dishes before him. “Heritage or not, I’m ready to try everything!” He approached a nearby stall, seeing the food being cooked right in front of his very, famished, eyes. Wiggling his fingers, he reached for an unguarded meat skewer.

Kakyoin, a bit irritated, quickly slapped Polnareff’s hand before he could touch the savory treat. “Excuse him, mister. We’ll take two of those!” He informed the cook, lifting his index and ring finger up, signifying the order.

Polnareff rubbed the back of his hand, pouting slightly. “You didn’t have to hit me, you know. I’m just hungry!”

Kakyoin sighed, shaking his head but unable to suppress a small smirk. “It seems you’re always hungry, Polnareff. But some of us like to show a bit of restraint before digging in.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Polnareff dismissed with a chuckle, brushing off Kakyoin's scolding. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed one of the skewers and took an exaggeratedly large bite, savoring the smoky, grilled flavor with a satisfied hum.

After finishing their meal, Polnareff stretched contentedly. “That was great! But now, I need a drink to wash it all down. How about we find somewhere a bit fancier, Kakyoin?”

Kakyoin smirked. “A change of pace? Fine by me.”

They made their way to a sleek, upscale bar nestled between towering skyscrapers, its polished glass exterior glowing with a soft, amber hue. Inside, the ambiance was refined, the air filled with smooth jazz, and the soft clink of crystal glasses. Polnareff’s eyes sparkled as he took in the luxurious décor—velvet booths, low-lit chandeliers, and bartenders expertly crafting cocktails behind a marble bar.

“Where’s the guy checking IDs?” Kakyoin asked, scratching his head as they entered.

Polnareff waved him off with a grin. “I don’t know. And I don’t care,” he replied, already eyeing the bar. “Don’t worry about pointless things, Kakyoin. This is a night to relax, not to play by the rules.”

Kakyoin shook his head but smiled at Polnareff’s carefree attitude. “Relaxing seems to be your specialty,” he muttered as they made their way inside.

Polnareff patted his friend in the back. “See? You’re getting the hang of it already.”

The duo approached the bar, and Polnareff ordered a whiskey on the rocks while Kakyoin opted for something a bit more refined—a cocktail with an exotic name neither of them could pronounce. The drinks arrived with a flourish, and Polnareff raised his glass in a toast.

“To battles won, and drinks well-earned,” he declared, clinking glasses with Kakyoin.

After a few sips, Kakyoin set his glass down and stepped back. “I think this is where we part ways for the night. I’ve got some things to take care of,” he said with a casual wave, but there was something in his tone that suggested he had more on his mind.

Polnareff raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Don’t go getting yourself into trouble, Kakyoin.”

Kakyoin smirked. “That’s your job, Polnareff.”

With that, Kakyoin turned and slipped out of the bar, leaving Polnareff to enjoy the evening on his own. As Polnareff nursed his drink, his eyes wandered around the bar, taking in the elegant patrons and the soft glow of the chandeliers.

As Polnareff took another sip, the seat next to him shifted, and he turned to find a striking woman slipping into the booth beside him. Her dark hair fell in soft waves, and she wore an elegant black dress. Finishing her ensemble was an enormous silver fox fur coat, cascading down her form and shimmering under the bar’s lowlights. Her presence was magnetic, commanding the room without effort.

“Enjoying your night?” she asked, her voice smooth and sultry. She was Japanese by the sound of it.

Polnareff, ever the charmer, flashed her a wide grin. “Even more now. Jean Pierre Polnareff, at your service.”

“Youko,” she introduced herself as her red lips curved into a smile as she glanced at him sideways. “Such flair, you’ve got,” she murmured, her fingers gently tracing the rim of her glass. “And what brings you to a place like this?”

Polnareff leaned back, clearly pleased with the attention. “Just enjoying a break from my travels. A bit of adventure, a bit of relaxation,” he said, trying to keep his composure.

She chuckled softly, her gaze steady. “Adventure, you say? It seems you have a knack for finding it, wherever you go.”

Polnareff’s interest piqued. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

She adjusted her fur coat, its hairs wiggling in the air slightly as she set it back properly. Youko’s eyes twinkled with mystery. “Just a hunch. Sometimes, the most intriguing people have stories that go beyond what meets the eye.”

Polnareff saw a glimpse of skin as she adjusted her coat. Her shoulders were tattooed, one having flowers and butterflies and the other something scaly, resembling a snake or a dragon. He felt a flicker of caution from her words but couldn’t help but be drawn in. “You’ve got me curious. What kind of stories do you think I have?”

Her smile deepened, enigmatic. “The kind that might involve unexpected challenges…or perhaps encounters with interesting characters.”

Polnareff leaned forward, captivated. “Interesting characters, you say? I can certainly relate to that.” He gestured to the bustling bar around them. “Just look at this place—full of stories waiting to be uncovered.”

Youko tilted her head, considering him thoughtfully. “And yet, it seems you’re the most intriguing of them all. There’s a certain energy about you, Jean Pierre Polnareff. It’s hard to ignore.”

He chuckled, trying to play it cool despite his nervousness. “What can I say? I’m a man of many adventures.”

“You might say that,” she replied, her voice lowering slightly, drawing him in. “But every adventure has its shadows, doesn’t it? Challenges that test our limits.”

Polnareff nodded, a more serious note creeping into his tone. “True enough. But it’s how we face those challenges that define us.”

She leaned in closer, her eyes locked onto his, revealing a flicker of something deeper beneath her playful facade. “And what defines you, Polnareff?”

He hesitated, the weight of her question settling over him. “I like to think it’s a bit of everything. I’ve faced my share of darkness, but I always find a way to fight back.”

Youko’s expression hardened slightly, as if she recognized the exact meaning in his words. “A fighter, then. I admire that. It takes strength to stand tall against the odds.” She said, a hint of insincerity in her voice.

“Strength, courage, honor and a bit of luck,” he added with a wink, trying to lighten the mood. “What about you? What’s your story, Youko?”

She smiled, but there was a flicker of something shadowy in her gaze. “Ah, mine is still being written. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of unexpected turns as well. But tonight, I’m more interested in your chapter.” Youko’s attention sharpened, her demeanor shifting slightly. “Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up with us. Just be careful who you trust, Polnareff.”

His instincts kicked in, and he followed her gaze, the playful banter momentarily forgotten. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Youko said, her demeanor suddenly brightening. “Just a little intuition, that’s all. I’m the curious type, and sometimes curiosity can lead to exciting stories.”

Polnareff studied her, sensing the shift but still feeling a flicker of caution. “Exciting stories, huh? Is that your way of saying trouble might be on the horizon?”

“Not trouble, just… possibilities,” she replied with a playful grin. “Life is full of unexpected twists. Isn’t that what makes it thrilling?”

He couldn’t help but smile back, drawn in by her infectious energy. “You certainly have a way with words, Youko. But I’d prefer to avoid any actual trouble tonight.”

“Oh, come on! Sometimes a little trouble can lead to unforgettable experiences,” she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You might even find it enlightening.”

Polnareff raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Enlightening, you say? What do you mean by that?”

Youko leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s just say I have my own way of exploring those ‘unexpected twists.’ Some might even call it… a profession.”

“Profession?” Polnareff echoed, curious yet cautious.

“Yes,” she said with a sly smile. “I’m a dominatrix. I explore the boundaries of desire and challenge people to embrace their hidden sides.”

Polnareff blinked, processing her words. “Well, that’s certainly unexpected! You’re full of surprises, Youko.”

She laughed lightly, enjoying his reaction. “And you’re not the least bit intimidated?”

“I am, but also intrigued,” he admitted, the thrill of the night growing. “So, what kind of adventures do you have in mind?”

Youko leaned in, brushing Polnareff’s cheek with the sleeve of her fur coat. The soft hairs of silver fox fur caressed his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He felt a rush of warmth and excitement at the intimate gesture, a spark igniting within him.

Youko saw him squirm slightly and chuckled to herself. “Do you like fur, Polnareff?”

His cheeks flushed, and he cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. “Well, I can’t say I dislike it,” he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Youko leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. “There’s something enchanting about it, isn’t there? The softness, the feeling…” She brushed her sleeve against his cheek again, the fur gliding slowly, teasingly.

Polnareff felt his heart race, a mix of excitement and arousal bubbling within him. “It’s definitely… captivating,” he managed to reply, his voice a touch breathless.

“Tell me how it feels… How does the fur feel?” Youko asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Polnareff swallowed, his pulse quickening. “It feels… incredibly soft,” he began, his voice steadying as he leaned into the moment. “Like a gentle caress against my skin. It’s warm, almost inviting. It almost tickles.”

Youko’s smile widened knowingly, her eyes squinting in mischief, almost looking triumphant. “Tickles, you say? Tell me more,” she urged, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “How does it tickle?” The closeness of her presence sent a rush of warmth through Polnareff, and he felt a thrill at the intimacy of the moment.

He swallowed, trying to keep his composure while his heart raced. “It’s the way it brushes against my skin,” he began, his voice shaking slightly. “It’s light and teasing.” As he spoke, he could feel the electric tension between them, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. The warmth of her breath mingled with the softness of the fur as she let it trail along his arm, heightening his senses in a way that felt intoxicating.

“Would you say you’re ticklish, Polnareff?” she teased, her tone laced with curiosity, as if waiting for a cue. He could feel his cheeks flush as he contemplated the implications of her inquiry, wondering if this was her way of pushing boundaries, enticing him further into a realm of playful intimacy.

“Yes,” he admitted, the word slipping out with a mix of vulnerability and a hint of daring. There was something exhilarating about the admission, as if he was letting her in on a secret. The air between them thickened, charged with tension.

A smirk played on Youko’s lips. “Good.” But just as the thrill of their playful banter hung in the air, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Without warning, a loud crash echoed through the bar as glass shattered, shards flying in every direction. The playful tension dissolved in an instant, replaced by a surge of adrenaline. The customers and bartenders quickly evacuated the venue, startled by the transpiring commotion.

Polnareff’s instincts kicked in, and he instinctively stepped back, his body tensing as he prepared for the unexpected. He could see Youko’s expression shift from playful seduction to fierce determination. She rose from her seat, adjusting her glimmering silver fur coat once again. 

A radiant glow enveloped her as a Stand materialized beside her, an imposing sight that commanded attention. It resembled a feminine figure, its tones a mesmerizing blend of dark and silver, shimmering as if woven from starlight. Around its arms and shoulders floated what looked like a long, thick, double-sided fur stole, its luxurious texture giving the Stand an air of elegance and danger.

“Meet Foxey Lady,” Youko announced, her voice imbued with pride and challenge. The Stand moved with a fluid grace, every gesture exuding predatory elegance, its presence both captivating and intimidating. Polnareff felt a rush of adrenaline, the atmosphere thickening with the weight of the impending confrontation.

“You’re a Stand user,” Polnareff stated, his voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline coursing through him. “What’s your Stand’s ability?” He focused on her, trying to read her intentions, but the playful glint in her eyes suggested she relished the mystery of her powers.

A mischievous smile danced on Youko’s lips as she regarded him, her confidence unwavering. “Let’s find out together, shall we?” The challenge hung in the air like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. Foxey Lady moved with an almost hypnotic grace, its sleek form a testament to Youko’s own allure, and Polnareff felt a thrill of apprehension mixed with eagerness.

With a firm resolve, Polnareff summoned Silver Chariot, the familiar rush of power surging through him as the armored figure manifested by his side. Its gleaming blade caught the light, reflecting the intensity of the moment and igniting a fire within him. He felt the connection with his Stand, the bond forged through countless battles, ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.

“Silver Chariot!” Polnareff cried out, sending the knight-like Stand forward with a powerful thrust. The air crackled as Silver Chariot surged into action, its movements fluid and precise, darting toward Foxey Lady with the speed and grace of a skilled warrior.

Before he could realize, Foxey Lady launched the fur stole toward Silver Chariot, the strands weaving through the air like a serpent, aiming to ensnare Polnareff’s Stand. He slashed toward the fluffy accessory, but it evaded his attack with ease, twisting and gliding just out of reach. In a blink, Foxey Lady sprang forward, passing Silver Chariot’s right side, then snuck behind him in a blur of motion.

Suddenly, he felt an unexpected sensation as Foxey Lady began scribbling her nails into Silver Chariot’s armpits. Polnareff burst into laughter, unable to keep his composure amidst the sudden ticklish onslaught. The moment caught him off guard, and he realized that Youko had taken the battle in a direction he hadn’t anticipated. 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAT THE—” he exclaimed between fits of laughter, but his words were cut short by the sight of the fur stole flying toward his face. Before he could react, the soft stole coiled around his head, enveloping him in its plush embrace. The velvety texture teased his skin, and his laughter became muffled as the stole constricted slightly, obscuring his vision.

Polnareff's hands shot up instinctively, grasping at the fur with growing frustration. But his fingers passed through it as if it were smoke, unable to grab hold of anything solid. Panic flashed through his mind as he realized this was no ordinary fabric—it was a manifestation of Foxey Lady, a part of Youko’s Stand, and as such, he couldn’t physically interact with it. His inability to touch the Stand made him feel powerless, a sensation he rarely experienced.

“DAHAHAHAHAMN IHIHIHIT!” he cursed through his predicament, the sound barely audible beneath the thick stole. The tickling sensation continued to play havoc on his senses. His body still trembled with lingering laughter, but his mind was racing, desperate to find a way out of this trap. He couldn’t call Chariot back, alas he was under Foxey Lady’s ticklish barrage.

Youko’s voice cut through the haze, playful and taunting. “You seem to be in a bit of a bind, Polnareff,” she cooed, her words dripping with amusement. “How does it feel, being wrapped in such softness? Quite luxurious, isn’t it?”

Polnareff felt his knees buckling beneath him as the impossibly soft fur stole tightened its grip around his face. The plush fabric pressed closer, almost suffocating in its embrace, as if every fiber was designed to tease his senses and drain his strength. He could feel the fur stroking across his skin in waves—warm, soft, and maddeningly delicate.

“Give in, Polnareff,” Youko’s voice came, soft and insidious, weaving its way into his thoughts like the fur around his face. “There’s nothing more you can do.”

He fell to the floor in an exhausted crash, the impact jarring but not enough to snap him out of the daze clouding his mind. His vision blurred, the plush fur tightening around his face, making each breath a struggle. “No! No, I can’t lose here!” Polnareff screamed inwardly, desperate to fight against the encroaching darkness. He couldn’t let it end like this. Not smothered by some cursed, luxurious fur. Not humiliated by this seductive trickster.

Before he knew it, Polnareff fell into a deep, involuntary slumber, the overwhelming softness of the fur wrapping around him like a weighted blanket, pulling him down into unconsciousness. It was as if the very fur was seeping into his thoughts, wrapping itself not just around his body but his mind, draining his will to fight back.

Snap—Polnareff’s eyes shot open, his heart racing as he gasped for air. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The familiar plush velvet of the bar was gone, replaced by a dimly lit bedroom that stirred an unsettling sense of familiarity within him. Confusion hit him like a wave as he sat up, glancing around.

"Where am I?" he muttered to himself, his voice feeling unusually strained. Instinctively, he brought a hand to his throat. "Whaaat!? Why is my voice so... squeaky!?" He yelped, a squeal escaping his lips, shocking him into silence. He jumped to his feet, darting his eyes around the room, searching for any clues that could explain his predicament.

It was a small room, furnished with floral bedding and lacy curtains. Polnareff's eyes finally locked onto a wall calendar. He squinted at the year printed in bold letters: 1982. His heart skipped a beat.

“I’m 18 again?!” Polnareff exclaimed, his voice still annoyingly higher-pitched than he remembered. Panic gripped him as fragments of a long-buried memory began to resurface. He knew this room. It belonged to his friend’s mother, a woman who had always treated him with a warmth that felt maternal. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled what had happened before this bizarre twist of fate.

“But wait! If I’m here then that means…” Polnareff recollected, as he saw the bedroom door open.

Creak!

The door swung open, and in walked his friend’s mother, draped in a luxurious golden island fox fur coat that glowed under the soft light and swayed elegantly with her movements.. Her presence filled the room with an unexpected mix of warmth and authority, her heels clicking on the floor as she entered. Polnareff’s heart raced; he was caught in a moment he had hoped to forget.

“Jean Pierre! What a surprise to see you here,” she said, her voice disappointed yet teasing, and laced with that unmistakable maternal tone. “I didn’t expect to find you in my room, of all places.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she caught sight of the magazines strewn about, the very ones that had piqued his curiosity moments before.

Polnareff’s cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “I—I was just looking for something!” He knew full well he had been caught red-handed, and there was no escaping the consequences of his actions.

She closed the door behind her, the sound echoing ominously in the small room. “Oh really? You know it’s not polite to snoop, especially in a lady’s personal belongings,” she chided, stepping closer. The playful glint in her eyes made him feel dread. He knew exactly what this was.

Before he could react, she lunged toward him, her fingers wiggling with a teasing intent. “Let’s see if I can teach you a little lesson about respect!” 

She pinned him down on her bed, straddling him and her fingers finding his sides and beginning their relentless assault. “No! Not this again!” he gasped, laughter bursting forth uncontrollably. “HAHAHAHA! STOHOHOHOHOHOP! HAHAHAHA!”

She only laughed more, clearly enjoying his predicament. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she reached over to the nearby nightstand and picked up a pair of handcuffs. “How lucky I am that my husband is a police officer!” she mused, twirling the cuffs playfully.

Polnareff’s heart raced as he felt a rush of panic and embarrassment. He couldn’t resist as she clicked the handcuffs around his wrists, securing them above his head and around a pillar of the bedframe. The cold metal sent a shiver down his spine, making him acutely aware of his vulnerability.

“Now you’re really in trouble,” she teased, leaning down to meet his gaze, her face inches from his. “Let’s see how long you can last without begging for mercy!” Her fingers danced teasingly over his sides, reigniting the tickle torture.

The tickler’s fur coat cascaded around Polnareff’s legs, wrapping him in a soft, plush cocoon that heightened his sense of vulnerability. It felt as though he was ensnared in a fluffy trap, each strand of fur teasing his skin and adding to the sensation of helplessness. The combination of the intense tickling and the enveloping warmth of the coat sent shivers coursing through him, making it nearly impossible to focus.

“IS THIS? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FOXEY LADY’S ABILITY? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Polnareff screamed out, the realization hitting him amidst the whirlwind of laughter and sensations.

“That’s right,” Youko’s voice appeared suddenly, like an ethereal echo. “This is my Foxey Lady’s ability. It takes you into your most intense and excruciating memory of tickle torture and makes you experience it for as long as I desire.” Her words dripped with playful malice, a reminder of his helplessness.

Polnareff’s laughter intensified, desperate. “YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS! YOU’RE GOING TO KEEP ME HERE LIKE THIS? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” he gasped, struggling against the cuffs, but they held firm.

“Oh, but I can,” she replied, a teasing lilt in her tone. “And I intend to have my fun. You see, the magic of Foxey Lady is that it amplifies your sensations, making everything feel even more intense. Every tickle, every brush of fur—it’s all heightened. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“NO! HAHAHA! THIS IS TORTURE!” he cried out, laughter erupting uncontrollably as he squirmed beneath her playful onslaught. “YOU’RE JUST GOING TO KEEP ME HERE FOREVER?”

“I told you I’m a dominatrix, Polnareff,” she informed him, her voice smooth and dripping with confidence. “I utilize my Stand in my profession. It works on non-Stand users too; they just believe they’re hypnotized. I control every aspect of my Stand—how intense the tickling is, slight adjustments to memories, and how long the tickling lasts.”

His mind raced as he processed her words, a mix of disbelief and dread washing over him. “THIHIHIHIHIS IS INSANEHEHEHEHE!” he thought, the laughter spilling uncontrollably from his lips.

“Usually I stop in time with my submissives, but with you I’ll make an exception, darling.” Youko teased, adding to Polnareff’s dread. Her Stand materialized partially, glowing slightly over the figure of Polnareff’s tickle torturess. “I am going to keep tickling you as long as it takes. To stop your heart, that is…”

Polnareff’s blood ran cold at her chilling declaration.

“I am going to tickle you to death, darling.”

Panic surged through him, mixing with the laughter that threatened to spill out again. “NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! HAHAHAHA!” he gasped, desperation creeping into his voice as he squirmed against the bed.

“Oh, no, but I can, darling. DIO is paying me handsomely for this, my weak little tickle slave,” Youko replied, her voice dripping with mockery. “To think one of you is going to die to something as ridiculous as tickling. Isn’t it deliciously ironic?”

His heart raced as he processed her taunts, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “I WON’T LET THIS HAPPEN! HAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!” Polnareff shouted, though the laughter spilled forth uncontrollably, betraying his resolve.

“Aww, darling,” she teased, her fingers expertly dancing over his sides, reigniting the relentless laughter that bubbled up from his core. “Every gasp, every plea, only fuels my desire to keep you right where you are—helpless and utterly at my mercy.”

Foxey Lady's fingers traveled up Polnareff’s sides, traveling up his sides towards his vulnerable armpits with ruthless precision. Her nails moved like a blur, skittering over his skin with untold speed, creating an barrage that felt like a sandstorm of relentless tickle torture. When Foxey Lady arrived at Polnareff’s armpits, she unleashed a flurry of tickling that sent him spiraling into fits of laughter.

“Tickle, tickle, Polnareff~” Youko teased, her voice playful and mocking, as if she were serenading him with his own helplessness. Each stroke of her Stand’s fingers sent electric signals of ticklishness throughout his body.

“SILVEHEHEHEHER CHARIOHOHOHOHOHOT!” Polnareff cried out, between gasps of laughter. He felt as if he had manifested his Stand, but it was nowhere to be seen. “WHAHAHAHAHAT? WHEHEHEHEHEHERE IS IT? WHEHEHEHERE IS CHARIOHOHOHOHOT!?”

“Oh, sweet Polnareff,” Youko cooed, her tone dripping with mock sympathy, “your Stand can’t help you now. Foxey Lady has you trapped in your own memories, where I hold all the power.” Foxey Lady leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear, being a part of the stand. “Just let go. There’s nothing you can do but laugh. Tickle, tickle!”

The laughter poured out of him, a reaction he couldn’t suppress, his body betraying him to the soft, relentless tickling that consumed his senses. “I won’t give in! I’ll find a way out of this!” he thought desperately, even as the ticklish sensations clouded his mind.

Suddenly Foxey Lady stopped, as Polnareff saw the figure of his friend’s mom turn around, still straddling him. The fur of her coat brushed against his chest, soft, luxurious and teasing, obscuring his vision and heightening his helplessness. “Remember this, Polnareff? It’s really about to tickle, darling!” Youko exclaimed. As her Stand’s nails skittered along his suddenly vulnerable feet, he felt a fresh wave of laughter bubbling up inside him, pushing against the walls of his resolve.

“NO! HAHAHAHA! PLEASE, NOT AGAIN!” he gasped, laughter spilling from his lips as he writhed beneath her. The feeling was maddening—he was trapped in a world where laughter was both his punishment and his prison.

The soft golden fur brushed and teased against Polnareff’s face as he squirmed under the coat, covering him in a cocoon of warmth that felt both inviting and suffocating. The duality of comfort and torment was overwhelming, and he could feel the edges of his sanity blurring. In this moment, every tickle sent jolts of dread coursing through him, forcing him to confront not just the laughter but the memory of his own helplessness. He couldn’t escape, and the laughter continued to pour from him.

“Does it tickle, Polnareff? I can keep this up as long as I want,” Youko taunted, her voice oozing with evil delight. “You’re completely at my mercy. Just imagine how long I can prolong your laughter.” The playful menace in her voice only intensified the sensation, and he could feel the weight of her words pressing down on him like the plush fabric surrounding him.

Foxey Lady’s nails found their target, skimming over Polnareff’s ticklish arches with a relentless precision. The delicate yet ever-so-intense touch sent him into fits, his body reacting involuntarily as the sensations overwhelmed the nerves in his feet, spreading up his legs and throughout his whole body. Each skimming tickle was like millions of feathers, light yet insistent, dancing across his skin in a manner that felt both maddening and strangely intoxicating.

“Tickle, tickle, darling,” Youko purred, her voice a sultry tease that echoed in the plush cocoon surrounding him. “How does it feel to be so utterly at my spell?” Her Stand continued its exploration, fingers deftly weaving between his toes and tracing the sensitive contours of his feet. Polnareff squirmed beneath his tickler, laughter bursting forth uncontrollably as he tried to pull his feet away, but the restraints held him firm.

“I can only imagine how much it tickles, Polnareff,” Youko teased.. “Do you like the way her fur coat brushes against your face? Is it soft, teasing?” The words struck his psyche like a rapier, amplifying his embarrassment.

Foxey Lady’s fingers continued their relentless dance, the soft fur brushing against him creating a cocoon of overwhelming sensations. “Admit it, darling. You’re done, nothing to do, nowhere to go,” Youko purred, watching him squirm, enjoying the torment played across his features. Each giggle and squeal only seemed to encourage her, pushing her to prolong the ticklish torment that held him captive.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you finally succumb to the tickling,” Youko said, her voice dripping with a mix of amusement and sinister delight. “Just imagine it—seeing your life ebb away as you laugh your last laugh.”

Polnareff’s heart raced, a mixture of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. “YOU CAN’T! I WON’T LET IT END LIKE THIS! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” he shouted, though the desperation in his voice was undercut by another fit of uncontrollable laughter as Foxey Lady’s nails found a particularly sensitive on his soles.

“You can’t escape, my tickle slave,” she continued, reveling in his torment. “Each giggle brings you closer to the end. Just let go and embrace it. There’s nothing left but laughter now.” Her fingers danced with renewed fervor, drawing out every bit of resistance he had left.

“Think, Jean Pierre! Think!” he urged himself, struggling to clear the haze of laughter clouding his mind. “There’s got to be a weakness!” He could feel the tickling sensation overwhelming him, but amid the chaos, a flicker of determination sparked within.

“My Stand has no weakness, Polnareff,” Youko taunted, her voice laced with confidence as she continued her relentless assault. “Her ability is to exploit every inch of your vulnerability, and you’re far too caught up in your own laughter to even think of escape, I’m afraid.”

But in the depths of his mind, Polnareff was fighting back. “There has to be something!” he thought fiercely, gritting his teeth against the ticklish sensations that swarmed over him. “Even the strongest Stand has a limit.”

“Let go, Polnareff. Nothing you do can stop Foxey Lady. The tickling is so overwhelming. Can you feel your heart? The way your lungs ache?” Youko's voice was a seductive whisper, dripping with satisfaction as she pressed her advantage.

Polnareff’s heart raced, not just from laughter but from the determination within. “I won’t give in!” he shouted defiantly, though the words felt weak against the storm that bombarded him so ticklishly. Each touch of Foxey Lady's nails sent shockwaves through his body, making it hard to think clearly. He felt himself teetering on the edge, the line between surrender and defiance blurring with every passing moment.

“Do you think the demons in Hell are watching? Do you think they’re waiting for you? Do you think they’re going to keep tickling you forever and ever, never letting up?” Youko's voice dripped with mockery, each word laced with an enticing malice that only fueled his despair. “Imagine it, Polnareff. Being tickled forever, knowing you cannot die? That your reality is tickle torture… forever?”

He could almost picture the demons and succubi, cackling as they reveled in his helplessness, their sinister laughter mingling with his own. The very idea was maddening, and he felt the edges of his sanity fraying as the laughter spilled from his lips uncontrollably.

“Come on, Jean Pierre! You have faced worse than this!” he urged himself, his mind racing as he sought a way to turn the tide against the merciless tickling. “There has to be a way to break this cycle!”

Foxey Lady let up the tickling on Polnareff’s feet, granting him a brief moment of respite. The figure of his friend’s mom faded away completely, in her place, Foxey Lady materialized fully, her ethereal form shimmering with a seductive allure. The fur that had previously obstructed his vision no longer clouded his sight, allowing Polnareff to take in the full majesty of the Stand before him. He noticed that the fur stole that had accentuated her was no longer there.

“Actually, I feel like I’m getting impatient, Polnareff…” Youko mused, her tone playfully mocking as she surveyed him with a smirk. Polnareff's heart raced as he watched in horror as Foxey Lady transformed, sprouting two extra arms, making a total of six. The Stand’s presence intensified, each arm moving with an unsettling grace, fingers poised for a new wave of torment, wiggling menacingly.

“Tickle, tickle! Time to die!” Youko declared, her voice playful yet chilling. Polnareff's heart raced as the six arms of Foxey Lady advanced, fingers wiggling like a swarm of playful serpents, each one eager to find its target.

She struck with precision, her tickling fingers darting into his armpits, his sides, and his hips simultaneously. Polnareff erupted into a chorus of laughter, the sound echoing off the walls like a desperate plea for mercy. The sensation was overwhelming, each touch igniting a fire of ticklish agony that spread through his body, rendering him completely vulnerable.

“Is this really how you want to go out, Polnareff?” Youko taunted, her voice laced with mock sympathy as she watched him squirm. “Tickled to death, all while begging for it to stop?”

“NO! HAHAHA! NOT THERE!” he howled, squirming beneath the relentless tickling. Every stroke felt like a jolt of electricity, a reminder of his utter helplessness. The laughter poured out uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face as he writhed under the merciless onslaught.

“Give in, Polnareff! Just let it happen,” Youko taunted. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable.” The six arms moved with a terrifying efficiency, ensuring that there was no escape, no relief from the laughter that consumed him. The tickling was all encompassing, complete, overwhelming. It was the pure definition of tickle torture.

“Think! Why can I feel my Stand manifest? Where is Foxey Lady’s stole? There has to be something!” Polnareff shouted inwardly, desperately searching for a way to regain control. As the relentless tickling continued, he felt the familiar energy of Silver Chariot stirring within him, its presence reminding him that he still had power, even in this bizarre dreamscape.

Suddenly, the chaos of laughter and torment began to crystallize into clarity. He recalled how Foxey Lady’s fluffy fur stole had enveloped him earlier, a key component of her Stand's ability to trap him in this memory. If he could break the connection, perhaps he could turn the tide.

“She mentioned something about hypnosis…” Polnareff thought, a flicker of realization igniting in his mind. Then it clicked. It was all an illusion. “HAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU’RE DONE, YOUKO! YOUR STAND ABILITY IS HYPNOSIS! HAHAHAHAHA! IT’S PURELY VISUAL! AND THE THING KEEPING ME IN IT IS YOUR FUR STOLE!” he yelled, his laughter now infused with defiance rather than despair.

Youko's victorious attitude faltered for a moment, surprise flickering across her features as Polnareff's laughter turned from helplessness to determination. “What are you talking about?” she retorted, though a hint of uncertainty crept into her voice.

With renewed vigor, Polnareff focused on the fur wrapping around him, visualizing it as a barrier rather than a prison. “I can break this illusion!” he declared, channeling the energy of Silver Chariot. “HAHAHAhAHA! IHIHIHIHIT’S JUHUHUHUST A TRIHIHIHICK! I WON’T BE TRAPPED IN YOUR GAMES ANY LONGER!”

As he gathered his strength, he imagined Silver Chariot materializing, cutting through the fabric of the illusion with the same precision it wielded its blade. He could feel the connection between himself and his Stand strengthening, a tide of energy rising within him, ready to shatter the confines of Youko’s hypnotic grasp.

“SILVER CHAHAHAHAHARIOT! CUT THEHEHEHE STOLE AWAY!” he cried, his voice ringing with newfound determination. In that moment, he felt Silver Chariot respond, the familiar rush of power surging through him, igniting a fierce resolve that overshadowed the laughter.

With a swift, decisive motion, he envisioned Silver Chariot’s blade slicing through the illusions that bound him, severing the connection to Youko’s fur stole. The air around him shimmered, the fabric of the dreamscape rippling like a mirage.

Foxey Lady stopped dead in her tracks, staring blankly for a moment, her multiple arms frozen mid-motion. The atmosphere around them crackled with energy as Polnareff's command took effect. Then, in an explosive burst of ethereal light, Foxey Lady shattered into a cascade of shimmering particles, the remnants of the illusion scattering like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind.

Polnareff rose to sit, scratching his head in a daze as the remnants of his bizarre experience lingered in his mind. The bar was a mess, shattered glasses and broken bottles littering the floor, evidence of the chaos that had unfolded. He glanced around, expecting to see Youko, but she was nowhere to be found. The air felt heavy with the aftermath of their confrontation, and the chatter of patrons resumed, oblivious to the battle that had just occurred.

“Where did she go?” Polnareff muttered to himself, his heart still racing. He felt a mix of relief and frustration; he had escaped her grasp.

Gathering himself, he stood up, carefully stepping over the debris scattered on the floor. As he made his way to the bar, he couldn’t help but replay the encounter in his mind—the way her Stand had toyed with him, the soft, teasing nature of Foxey Lady, and the chilling realization that he had nearly succumbed to her power.

“I need to be more vigilant,” he thought, determination solidifying within him. “But I trust she will not try any of us again, since the secrets of her Stand were so easily uncovered.”

Polnareff scanned the room, contemplating his next move. “I need to warn the others,” he thought, remembering the bond he shared with his friends. They needed to be prepared for whatever came next.

The Fiendish Furrier 2: The Critic (F/M, tickling)

“Ugh, so boring,” Bruno burst out loud in disgust, scanning the screen before him.

…

Bruno Graham, a renowned yet infamous fashion critic in the city, had just heard word that some furrier had landed a major interview and a display of her new line of fur clothing in Vogue magazine. Bianca Nyberg, she was called. Having heard of her and seen some of her ads in the city, he had to check the section out.

The lean dark-skinned 32-year-old, sporting a well-groomed fade haircut, poured himself a glass of his favorite red wine and took a seat in his lofty office chair. The heavy rainfall poured against the massive windows of his penthouse, the loud sounding almost like drumming. The apartment offered a generous view of the city, its lights and neon signs illuminating some of the pitch-black midnight horizon.

“Let’s see, then…” Bruno thought to himself, pressing the power button of his computer.

The screen lit up and Bruno quickly surfed his way onto Vogue’s website, the white simplistic design along with the black logo lit up the dim room. The interview was on the frontpage, conveniently. “Fluff overload: Meet the furrier making waves in the fashion community,” the article heading read.

“Heh, big promises,” Bruno uttered, taking a sip out of his glass, twirling it and the wine swirling inside.

Click.

Displayed on Bruno’s bright screen was now a picture of a Nordic looking lady with platinum dyed hair in a shag cut. Her blue eyes were piercing, almost hypnotizing. For the photo she had chosen an all-black ensemble, consisting of a black sweater and a long leather skirt. Draped on her shoulders was a long black fox fur stole, flowing down and adding a touch of opulence to her outfit. Her lips were a bright shade of red and her nails were black and long. Her appearance dripped with elegance and sophistication.

“Meet Bianca Nyberg, the 46-year-old furrier from New Helsing. Known for her exquisite craftsmanship and eye for luxury, Bianca has made a name for herself in the world of high-end fashion. Her boutique, nestled in the heart of New Helsing's chic fashion district, is a haven for those seeking unique and meticulously crafted fur pieces,” the article read.

“Is that so? I’m not impressed just yet.” Bruno thought to himself, sipping the red wine.

“Bianca's journey into the world of fur began at a young age, influenced by her family's long-standing tradition in the trade. Over the years, she honed her skills, combining traditional techniques with contemporary designs.”

As Bruno scrolled through the article, a GIF of Bianca Nyberg played seamlessly, adding a dynamic element to the feature. Bianca gracefully lifts the luxurious black fox fur stole from her shoulders. With elegance, she brings the stole closer to the camera, its plush texture becoming more prominent with each frame. The soft fur envelops the lens, momentarily obscuring the view and creating an intimate, almost teasing experience.

“Bianca’s clientele includes a mix of local celebrities, fashion enthusiasts, and influential people who appreciate the artistry and timeless elegance of her creations. Beyond her boutique, she is also a vocal advocate for animal welfare, actively promoting and supporting sustainable fur practices within the industry. Bianca Nyberg is not just a designer; she is a visionary, continuously pushing the boundaries of fashion while maintaining a deep respect for tradition.”

“Ehh, whatever. Let’s see the line,” Bruno decided.

He scrolled down the long walls of text, looking for the photos of the new line. His eyes skimmed over the detailed descriptions and interviews, eager to catch a glimpse of Bianca Nyberg's latest creations. As he neared the end of the article, his anticipation grew. Finally, he reached the photo gallery showcasing the new line.

The first image was a stunning full-length finn raccoon fur coat in a deep emerald green, the plush material glistening under the studio lights. The model's elegant pose highlighted the coat's tailored fit and luxurious texture.

The next photo featured a sophisticated jacket with a modern twist—an asymmetrical cut and a mix of black leather and silver fox fur. The jacket exuded a contemporary edge while maintaining an air of classic refinement.

A series of images followed, displaying a variety of fur stoles in vibrant colors and unique patterns. One stole, in particular, stood out—a deep burgundy piece adorned with intricate golden highlighting on the fur, draped elegantly over the shoulders of the model.

In another striking shot, a model wore a sleek leather skirt with a fur hem, paired with a cozy fur-lined sweater. The combination of materials and textures created a harmonious and stylish ensemble.

The final photo was a group shot of models showcasing an array of accessories: fur hats, gloves, and handbags, each piece meticulously designed and crafted. The diversity in the collection was evident, with every item reflecting Bianca's signature blend of tradition and modernity.

Bruno would disagree, however. “Really? All this talk over this? Nothing new, nothing revolutionary, nothing special. These are like any other fur clothes. Not only that but fur is steadily going out of style,” Bruno thought as he leaned back in his chair with a visible expression of disapproval spread across his face.

He leaned back in, taking time to analyze every single piece with precision. “Ugh, so boring,” Bruno burst out loud in disgust, scanning the screen before him. He furrowed his brows, tapping his pen against the desk as he dissected the collection, unable to hide his disappointment. To him, the designs felt uninspired and lacked the innovation he had hoped for in the latest fashion trends.

Bruno quickly opened Word, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he prepared to voice his opinion on his popular blog. The familiar blank document seemed to invite his thoughts, and he started typing with a mixture of frustration and urgency.

Scrolling through Bianca Nyberg's new fur collection, I was struck by a profound sense of disappointment. Despite the considerable buzz, this collection fails to deliver anything remotely groundbreaking or noteworthy. Here’s a closer look at why this line falls short:

The first piece, a deep emerald Finn raccoon fur coat, is more about flashy materials than original design. The classic cut and color feel outdated.

The asymmetrical jacket with black leather and silver fox fur attempts a modern twist but ends up being a predictable blend of old and new with no real edge.

The fur stoles, including one deep burgundy with golden highlights, are meticulously crafted but fail to stand out. They feel like tired repeats rather than fresh ideas.

A model’s outfit featuring a leather skirt with a fur hem and a fur-lined sweater is similarly uninspired—just another safe, predictable mix of materials.

Finally, the accessories—fur hats, gloves, and handbags—are well-made but lack originality. The entire collection feels like an exercise in playing it safe rather than pushing any boundaries.

In summary, Nyberg’s new line is a disappointing showcase of missed opportunities. It fails to offer anything new or exciting in a rapidly evolving fashion world.

As soon as he had published the disheartening post, Bruno let out a deep sigh and closed his computer. He leaned back in his chair, the weight of his critique settling in. The quiet of the room enveloped him, offering a brief moment of reflection. The harshness of his words lingered in his mind, but he knew it was part of his role to be honest and critical. On top of that he had a reputation to uphold.

With a final glance at the still screen, Bruno shut off the light and headed to bed. The night ahead was filled with restless thoughts, but as he drifted into sleep, he hoped that his words, though stern, would serve as a catalyst for change and improvement in the fashion world.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” The alarm clock screamed, pulling Bruno from his slumber. Groggily, he silenced the alarm and dragged himself out of bed. After a quick brush of his teeth, he shuffled into the kitchen, where he poured himself a strong cup of coffee.

As he sipped his coffee and glanced at his phone, he noticed an influx of notifications. With a sense of anticipation, he opened his blog and saw that his latest post had taken off. The comment section was buzzing with readers’ reactions, and the post had quickly gained traction across social media.

Bruno’s eyes widened as he saw the surge in traffic and engagement. His critique was sparking lively discussions, with readers both agreeing and disagreeing, and his blog was being shared widely. He couldn’t help but feel a mix of satisfaction and nervousness as he delved into the feedback, eager to see how his words were resonating with his audience.

As Bruno continued to review the flood of comments and social media interactions, he noticed his email inbox was similarly inundated. Amid the sea of messages, one sender stood out: Bianca Nyberg.

His heart raced as he clicked on the email from the renowned fashion designer. The subject line read, “Response to Your Review.” Bruno opened the email with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Subject: Response to Your Review

Dear Mr. Graham,

I’ve read your review of my latest collection with great interest. Your feedback, though candid and critical, is invaluable. I appreciate your honesty and the points you’ve raised about my designs. Constructive criticism is essential in our industry, and I’m taking your comments to heart.

I would like to invite you to dinner at my house for a deeper discussion on my work and future directions. Perhaps a face-to-face conversation could offer more insight into the creative process behind the collection and allow us to address your concerns directly.

Looking forward to your response.

Best regards, Bianca Nyberg

Bruno reread the email, absorbing the invitation and Bianca’s thoughtful tone. He felt a surge of excitement and nervousness, knowing this could be an opportunity to engage in a meaningful dialogue and perhaps gain a new perspective on the designer’s work.

He accepted.

Bruno arrived at Bianca Nyberg’s elegant home at the outskirts of New Helsing, a sense of anticipation mingling with his nerves. The evening air was crisp, and the soft glow of the setting sun bathed the city in a warm, golden light. He rang the doorbell and, after a moment, was greeted by Bianca herself.

“Welcome, Bruno,” she greeted with a gracious smile, dressed in a black sweater, skirt, and stole that mirrored the ensemble from the magazine photos. “I’m so glad you could make it. Please, come in.”

Her home was a testament to her refined taste, blending modern art with classic furnishings. Bruno admired the carefully curated pieces as he followed Bianca into the dining area. The room was elegantly set with a sleek black tablecloth, surrounded by high-backed chairs. A tasteful arrangement of fresh flowers served as the centerpiece, adding a vibrant touch to the sophisticated setting.

As they settled into their seats and Bianca’s maid Marie brought out their meals, the tone of their meeting took a serious turn. Bianca leaned forward slightly, her expression thoughtful but tinged with frustration.

“Bruno,” she began, her tone measured, “I want to thank you again for coming and for your candid feedback. I must admit, I was quite taken aback by your review. I respect your role as a critic, but I was hoping for a more nuanced understanding of my work.”

She took a sip of her wine, then continued, “I put a lot of effort into this collection, trying to balance tradition with innovation and address modern concerns. It’s disheartening to hear that it felt so uninspired to you. And honestly, I’d like you to consider the possibility of deleting that review.”

Bruno’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling the weight of her request. “I understand where you’re coming from, Bianca,” he said carefully. “But my intention was and is to provide honest feedback.”

Bianca sighed, her expression growing more serious. “I appreciate your honesty, but the review is causing real damage to my reputation and my business. In the fashion industry, perceptions can be everything. Negative reviews can deter potential clients and partners, and the impact on my brand could be significant.”

Bruno met her gaze steadily, his resolve firm. “I understand the challenges you’re facing and the impact my review might have. However, my role as a critic is to provide honest assessments. It’s important for my readers and for the industry that I remain transparent and fair in my evaluations.”

Bianca leaned in, her tone becoming more suggestive. “I see where you’re coming from, Bruno. But you know, opinions can change, especially when given the right perspective. I’m sure there’s a lot more to explore in the world of fashion. Sometimes, it takes just a bit more time to fully appreciate the intricacies.”

With a light chuckle, Bianca stood up, her demeanor shifting to a playful and inviting tone. “But enough about business for now. How about I show you around? Just for fun. I’d love for you to see a bit more of what makes this place special.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure, I’d love to see more.”

Bianca took a firm hold of his hand, guiding him with a sense of enthusiasm as she led him through her lavish estate. The warmth of her grip and the confident way she moved added a personal touch to the tour, making Bruno feel welcomed and curious about the spaces they were about to explore.

They walked through a grand hallway first, the same one she had led Denis down some time ago, lined with elegantly framed paintings. Bianca paused at each portrait, explaining the significance of her family lineage. This is my great-grandmother," she said, pointing to a striking portrait. "She was a pioneer in her own right, and I like to think some of her creativity lives on in my work."

She picked up her fur stole and adjusted it on her shoulders, the luxurious hairs catching the light. She moved closer to Bruno, her eyes locking onto his with a new intensity. "You know, Bruno," she said softly, letting the stole brush against his cheek, "there's so much more to fashion than just what meets the eye. Sometimes, it’s about how it makes you feel."

The caress of the fur against his skin sent a shiver down Bruno's spine. He felt the unspoken tension in the air, a mix of seduction and subtle persuasion. Bianca's attempt to sway him was clear, but he remained composed, aware of the complexities of their interaction.

"Fashion is indeed powerful," Bruno replied, his voice steady. "It can evoke strong emotions and create lasting impressions."

Bianca smiled, her eyes still locked on his. "Exactly. And I hope, in time, you'll come to see my work in a new light."

As the tour continued, Bianca led Bruno upstairs, their steps echoing softly through the elegant hallways. The walls were adorned with more portraits and tasteful art pieces, each carefully selected to complement the overall aesthetic of the estate. The air seemed to grow thicker with a mix of anticipation and curiosity as they approached a set of double doors. With a slight pause, Bianca turned to Bruno, a subtle smile playing on her lips. She pushed open the doors, revealing a spacious and exquisitely decorated bedroom, once the chamber of torment for one Denis Marsalis.

The room featured plush velvet furnishings that exuded comfort and elegance. Delicate lace curtains draped gracefully around the large windows, allowing soft, filtered light to seep into the room. Dominating the space was a king-sized bed, lavishly dressed in fur sheets and adorned with an array of fluffy pillows, promising an indulgent retreat.

The most striking feature, however, was the walls, which were entirely covered in rich wine-red fur. This unconventional choice created an atmosphere of opulent extravagance, enveloping the room in a warm, tactile embrace. The fur's soft, velvety texture not only added a unique visual appeal but also invited a sense of touch, making the space feel both sumptuous and inviting.

“Wow, that wall sure looks sensual…” Bruno uttered, his voice tinged with awe and curiosity. The unexpected richness of the fur-covered walls had captivated him, drawing his attention more than any other detail in the room

“I’m a very sensual person, Bruno…” Bianca said, closing in next to his ear. “Now that we’re here, I’d like to confess something. I like you, Bruno. Remember what I said about how fashion makes you feel? I meant that literally… and I’d like to explore… with you,” Bianca said, brushing the stole against his hot red cheek.

Bruno gulped, but he couldn’t deny the allure Bianca had on him. Her presence, the room's opulent setting, and the intimate atmosphere she had crafted all combined to pull him into her world, making it nearly impossible to resist her bold invitation.

As he stared into Bianca’s piercing blue eyes, he felt himself being drawn in further. She stepped closer, her heels clicking loudly with each step. Bianca began to guide him towards the fur-covered wall. Her touch was firm yet gentle, sliding from his chest down to his wrists. With a subtle but commanding grace, she lifted his hands, pressing them against the plush, velvety fur, then…

Click.

Bruno’s hands were firmly secured in place by hidden shackles on the wall. He looked up in surprise, the initial shock of the metallic snap giving way to a mix of confusion and realization. “What?!”

Bianca’s smile widened as she let out a low, soft giggle. Her eyes danced with mischief and anticipation as she reached into a nearby nightdrawer and retrieved a pair of scissors. With a practiced hand, she began to cut away his clothes, her movements precise and controlled. The sound of the fabric ripping and the feel of the cool metal against his skin added to the intense atmosphere of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing? This suit cost 4,000 dollars! Let me go!” Bruno yelled out, enraged by his unexpected predicament.

Bianca paused for a moment, looking up at him with a calm, almost amused expression. "Oh, Bruno," she said softly, continuing to cut away at his suit. "Consider it a small price to pay for a new perspective." The fabric continued to fall away, piece by piece, as she worked with a quiet, determined focus.

“A new perspective?! What on Earth are you talking about?!” Bruno questioned, his voice a mix of anger and confusion.

Bianca looked up again, her eyes locking onto his with an intense, almost hypnotic gaze. "Sometimes," she began, her voice smooth and controlled, "you need to break away from the norm to truly understand something. To appreciate the texture, the experience, the sensation." She continued cutting, the scissors moving effortlessly through the fabric. “And sensations are exactly the topic which I’m going to educate you on, Bruno…”

Bianca cut every inch of Bruno’s designer suit off and tossed it aside, leaving him completely exposed. Bruno felt the cold breeze on his skin, sending a shiver through his body, and the plush fur of the wall caressed his back, its soft texture a stark contrast to the intensity of the situation.

Bianca adjusted the fur stole, draping it elegantly over her shoulders like a loose scarf. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to Bruno, her eyes locking onto his with a mix of dominance and curiosity. She began to walk towards him, her heels clicking menacingly with each step, the sound echoing through the room like a countdown.

As she got closer, she raised her hands, her fingers wiggling as if ready to touch him. The air between them crackled with tension, a palpable mix of power and vulnerability. Bruno’s heart raced, his mind struggling to process the surreal intensity of the moment.

And then, when her nails finally met the exposed skin on his sides, a sharp sensation shot through him. Bianca's touch was both electrifying and unnerving, her nails tracing slow, deliberate lines along his ribs. Bruno’s fate was sealed. He was no longer just a critic observing from the outside—he was now completely entangled in her world: a world of tickle torture.

“WHAHAHAHAHAT AHAHAHAHARE YOU DOIHIHIHIHIHIHNG?” Bruno exclaimed, his voice breaking into uncontrollable laughter, completely taken aback by the unexpected attack.

“Tickling you. Isn’t it obvious, Bruno?” Bianca replied with a sly smile, her fingers dancing across his skin with precision. “I told you I like to explore… and I think you’re going to learn to appreciate my work as well.”

Bruno twitched and squirmed in his binds, his body instinctively trying to escape the relentless tickling. Each movement made the soft fur on the wall brush against his back, heightening the sensation and adding another layer of stimulation.

“HNNGH, FORGEHEHEHEHEHET IT! YOU’REHEHEHEHEHE DOHOHOHONE!” he managed to shout between gasps of laughter, his voice a mix of defiance and desperation. But his protests only seemed to encourage Bianca, who continued her playful assault with a mischievous grin.

“You’ll find that I can be quite persuasive, Bruno…” Bianca purred, her voice dripping with a mix of seduction and control. She stepped in closer, the soft fur stole pressing against his chest. Her nails continued their slow, torturous journey, traversing down to his twitching hips, each touch sending jolts of electricity through his body. “I’m quite the tickler, sweetheart.”

Bruno’s laughter became uncontrollable, his body betraying him as it quivered under her touch. The combination of her seductive tone and the relentless tickling was overwhelming, breaking down his defenses with each passing second. His mind raced, but his body was lost in the sensation, every nerve alight with the duality of pleasure and torment. Bianca’s grin widened as she watched him struggle, knowing she had him completely under her control.

“Tickle, tickle~”

Those words. Those damn words. Those words, spoken so sweetly, echoed in Bruno’s mind, amplifying his helplessness. Each syllable seemed to intensify the sensation, as if Bianca’s voice itself was a tool of torment.

“You have no idea how much I like tickling… how much I like tickling you, Bruno.” Bianca’s voice was honeyed, dripping with amusement and something darker. “I see you trying to make sense of it all, but you can’t, can you? You’re confused, perplexed…” She leaned in even closer, her breath warm against his ear, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill through him. “And scared…”

Bruno’s breath came in ragged gasps, his laughter finally tapering off into exhausted panting. The intensity of her touch and the weight of her words had left him disoriented.

“But don’t you worry. I will take such good care of you, Coochie coochie coo,” she said softly, planting a kiss on his cheek before stepping away. The warmth of her kiss contrasted sharply with the coldness of his situation. She moved toward her closet, her heels clicking against the floor with every step.

“Now…” Bianca began, reaching for something inside the closet. She pulled out the deep emerald green finn raccoon fur coat. “Remember this? Remember what you said? ‘The first piece, a deep emerald Finn raccoon fur coat, is more about flashy materials than original design. The classic cut and color feel outdated.’ Hmpf.” Bianca mimicked in a mocking masculine tone, whilst rolling her eyes.

“I pant stand pant by pant what pant I said,” Bruno replied, his voice shaky as he struggled to maintain composure. The coat's opulence seemed almost to taunt him now, its richness a stark contrast to his current predicament.

Bianca threw her black stole onto the bed and reached into the closet once more. This time, she pulled out the burgundy fur stole with golden highlights, her movements deliberate and theatrical. “Remember this?” she said, draping the stole over her shoulders, layering it atop the deep emerald green coat. “You said: ‘The fur stoles, including one deep burgundy with golden highlights, are meticulously crafted but fail to stand out. They feel like tired repeats rather than fresh ideas.’ Blah blah blah.”

With a slow, deliberate grace, she walked back towards Bruno. The sight of her, adorned in the lush green coat and the vibrant reddish stole, gave her an almost mythical presence. She looked like a glamorous, fluffy, tickle-torturing version of Poison Ivy, her elegant attire contrasted sharply with the intense situation.

The rich textures of her outfit seemed to amplify the tension in the room, creating an almost surreal atmosphere as she approached Bruno, who was now visibly sweating and nervous, his earlier bravado completely gone.

Bianca’s movement was menacing yet elegant as she stopped abruptly at her bed. She knelt down and reached beneath it, pulling out two boxes with an air of anticipation. The soft rustle of the boxes being dragged out created a subtle yet charged sound, adding to the heightened atmosphere in the room.

One box was plain and unadorned, its simplicity a stark contrast to the other. The second box, however, was ornate, its surface richly adorned with intricate patterns and delicate filigree: The Fluff Box. The contrast between the two boxes hinted at the possibility of something both intriguing and mysterious awaiting inside.

Bianca picked up the two boxes and set them beside Bruno with a measured movement. The plain box landed with a soft thud, while the ornate box made a more pronounced sound as it settled onto the floor. She stood up, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and authority as she glanced at Bruno.

She opened the ornate box. “Now, Bruno,” she said with a teasing smile, “let’s see which one you find more... appealing.”

Bruno’s eyes widened with curiosity and a hint of anxiety as Bianca’s hand reached into the box. She lifted up a large, luxurious powder brush with a handle adorned in intricate patterns. The bristles were soft and fluffy, casting a gentle sheen in the room’s light. Alongside it, she pulled out a bundle of feathers attached to an ornate stick, which resembled an exaggerated feather tickler toy.

“I wonder which one you would like to be tickled with…” She twirled the powder brush lightly, letting its bristles sway in the air, and then waved the bundle of feathers playfully.

Bruno’s eyes flickered between the two, his breathing quickening as he felt the tension rise. “T-the brush,” he stammered, a mix of apprehension and curiosity in his voice.

“Alright,” she said, her voice soft but laced with a playful edge. “But don’t think for a second you’re exempt from the other one, my ticklish little critic…”

With a teasing smirk, she set the feather bundle aside. The bristles felt almost too soft to be real as she gently brushed it against her palm, letting the anticipation build. Bruno’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he watched her movements.

“What’s in the other box?” Bruno asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Bianca’s eyes gleamed with playful mystery as she replied, “You’ll find out soon enough.” She then shifted her focus back to the powder brush, her tone taking on a blend of menace and indulgent affection. “Ready for your brush tickling?”

As she stepped closer, Bruno’s heart pounded in his chest. The bristles of the brush hovered just above his skin, their soft promise mingling with the room's charged atmosphere. Bianca leaned in, lifting the brush slowly and inching it towards his right wrist. Her head was just by his ear, and she blew gently, sending tingles down his spine. The fur of the coat and stole brushed against his chest, while the plush fur on the wall caressed his back. He was squished in between a fluffy cocoon of furs.

Her lips brushed against his ear, sending a bolt of anticipation through him. “Tickle, tickle, Bruno…” she whispered softly.

The brush began its delicate descent from his wrist down his arm, the bristles soft yet tantalizingly ticklish against his skin. Bruno could barely focus on the sensation before Bianca's left hand moved with swift precision, her nails striking into his armpit. The contrast between the gentle brushing and the sudden, sharp tickling sent a signal of ticklish alert to his brain.

“OH GAHAHAHAHAHAD!” Bruno cried out, his voice cracking between fits of uncontrollable laughter. He couldn’t help himself; the sensation was too intense, too overwhelming. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire as Bianca’s relentless tickling pushed him to his limits.

“You’re so sensitive, Bruno,” Bianca purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she watched him squirm helplessly against the plush fur and her ticklish ministrations. “Do you like being tickled?”

The soft brush traveled down his arms, over his chest, and back up his other arm, each stroke sending a new wave of tingling sensations through his body. Bruno’s laughter echoed through the room, his voice broken and breathless as he tried in vain to resist the overwhelming ticklishness.

“I like tickling you, Bruno. I like how you squirm and laugh and you can’t resist, can you? No matter how much you want to.” Her nails lightly trailed down his side, just enough to keep him on edge.

Bianca let out a sultry giggle as she brought the big brush to Bruno’s face. With a teasing flick, she brushed it lightly against his nose, causing it to twitch involuntarily. A soft giggle escaped her lips as she traced the bristles along his jawline, the tickling sensation making him squirm even more.

Bruno’s laughter was uncontrollable, his head twisting in a futile attempt to escape the relentless tickling. The brush then moved to his ears, the soft bristles grazing the sensitive skin on each side, driving him wild with the ticklish torment.

“Does my big fluffy brush tickle?” Bianca cooed. “I love how you laugh for me. It tells me just how much it tickles. You don’t have to say a word.” She moved the brush down his neck and twirled the brush lightly over his nipples, before trailing down. “I know it tickles…”

When the brush began to traverse down his right side, Bruno’s anticipation grew. He tensed as it stopped just above his exposed manhood, his breath catching in his throat. But before he could brace himself, Bianca’s nails struck his left side, eliciting another burst of uncontrollable laughter.

Then Bianca knelt down, her eyes glinting with mischief as she brushed lightly around his most sensitive area, her touch deliberate and teasing. The delicate bristles barely grazed his skin, yet the sensation was enough to send shockwaves of ticklish torment through his entire body, leaving him utterly at her mercy.

Bianca’s voice was a sultry murmur, filled with a mix of dominance and satisfaction. “It must be agony,” she continued, her tone smooth and seductive. She gently circled the fluffy brush around his sensitive area, her movements precise and teasing. “The never-ending intense tingling sensation all over your body. The way your vulnerable spots are exploited like this. The way you’re forced to laugh until your lungs ache.”

She watched him with a smirk as he writhed under her touch, her eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and control. “The overwhelming, tantalizing tickle torture…” she purred, each word emphasizing the cruel pleasure she derived from his helplessness.

Bruno’s cock began to twitch slightly in response to the ticklish brushing. Bianca noticed the slight twitch in Bruno’s crotch, her smirk widening as she continued her tantalizing torture. “Yet, I find that you’re enjoying this more than you let on,” she teased, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Typical.”

Bianca rose gracefully from her position, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and anticipation. She walked back over to The Fluff Box, where she picked up the large feather tickler she had set aside earlier. The feathered bundle, now even more tantalizing in the context of the ongoing play, promised a new layer of sensation.

She turned back towards Bruno with a sly smile, the feather tickler held confidently in her hand. “Now that we’ve explored the brush, let’s see how you handle this,” she said, her voice tinged with playful menace. The feathers fluttered gently as she moved, casting a light, teasing shadow across his exposed body.

With deliberate slowness, Bianca approached him, the feather tickler poised to add a fresh dimension to his ticklish ordeal. She gently caressed his cheek, her touch soft and teasing. As she leaned in, her fingers tickled lightly under his chin, sending delicate, tantalizing sensations across his skin.

Whispering in his ear, her voice a velvety mix of seduction and control, she murmured, “It’s going to tickle. The feathers softly dragging on you, leaving tingly whispers of tickling on your skin.” The gentle promise of the feather tickler was almost as torturous as the anticipation itself. She positioned the tickler near his exposed skin, the delicate feathers poised to begin their torment.

“N-no… please…” Bruno whimpered, pleading her not to torture him again.

“Aww,” Bianca cooed, before caressing his cheek again. She moved from his side to a position in front of him. “I’m sorry but…”

Bruno stared deeply into Bianca’s piercing blue eyes.

“I’m going to tickle you.”

The feather tickler made its first contact, brushing gently against his inner thighs, and the sensation was immediate. The soft, teasing feathers danced along his sensitive skin, forcing him to laugh and moan in his fluffy binding. Each light touch of the feathers against his inner thighs ignited a fresh wave of ticklish torment, making him writhe and squirm against the fur wall.

Bianca’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she observed his reactions. She gently moved the tickler up and down his inner thighs, varying the pressure and speed to keep him on edge. Bruno’s cock began to react quickly, rising into a full erection before long.

Bianca lifted the tickler, allowing it to rest between her thumb and index finger as she shifted her attention to his armpits. Her fingers danced with masterful precision, scribbling her nails in the sensitive hollows. The sudden shift from the soft, teasing feathers to the sharp, intense tickling of her nails created a jarring contrast, amplifying the torment.

Bruno’s laughter erupted into desperate, uncontrollable guffaws, the combination of the sharp tickling and the lingering sensation from the feathers leaving him overwhelmed. He much preferred the soft, teasing and gentle tickling of the feather tickler to her scribbling.

“Do you want the feathers back?” Bianca asked, having knowingly lifted the feathers from his manhood to tease him and leave him craving for the more bearable form of tickle torture.

“YEHEHEHEHES! PLEAHAHAHAHASE!” He begged in between his ticklish laughter.

“Then say it. Say you want me to tickle you with my feathers,” Bianca demanded, her eyes squinting in mischief.

“PLEAHAHAHAHASE! TICKLE ME WITH YOUR FEATHEHEHEHEHERS!” Bruno cried out, his voice breaking as he struggled to keep his composure amidst the relentless tickling. His laughter was a desperate plea, a mix of embarrassment and relief as he eagerly awaited the return of the gentler form of torment.

“Aww, of course, tickle boy,” Bianca’s smirk widened, clearly pleased with his submission. She let the feathers descend back to his sensitive skin, their soft touch meeting his needy twitching manhood, resuming the teasing strokes that made him laugh and moan uncontrollably.

The feathers fluttered up and down his shaft, tickling his sensitive skin. Bianca momentarily paused at his tip, giving him a quick flurry of feathery tickles. Her spidering nails met his quivering stomach, forcing the balance of laughter and moaning to tip in favor of helpless giggling.

Pre-cum oozed from his throbbing penis, as Bianca began to twirl the feather tickler on his balls and reaching for under, tickling his taint. He jolted as the soft feathers met the sensitive skin behind his balls. Bianca giggled in response, making sure to properly tickle him and providing long, teasing, ticklish strokes.

Bianca took a moment to relish Bruno’s relieved laughter before gracefully moving towards the plain box. Her heels clicked softly on the floor as she approached, creating a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

With calmness, she lifted the lid, revealing the contents inside. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of anticipation and satisfaction as she glanced back at Bruno, whose curiosity and exhaustion were palpable. She lifted up a massive fur mitten and placed it on her right hand. “Remember? ‘Finally, the accessories—fur hats, gloves, and handbags—are well-made but lack originality. The entire collection feels like an exercise in playing it safe rather than pushing any boundaries.’ Remember?”

Bruno’s pleas reached her ears, a mix of desperation and desire in his voice. “I-I-I’m sorry. Please let me cum…”

Bianca’s smirk softened into a more contemplative expression. “You know, I think you might have learned something today. But I’m not quite done yet.” She positioned the fur mitten near his sensitive areas, her movements deliberate and slow.

The fur mitten hovered near his sensitive areas, its soft texture promising a new kind of soft sensation. Bianca gently grabbed his cock into the fluffy embrace of her fur mitten. The soft fox fur enveloped his throbbing manhood, covering it in a warm, comforting and pleasurable cocoon. Gently she began to flick her wrist, caressing the fur up and down his sensitive privates.

Bruno began to moan, the fur feeling so good after the tickle torturing of his life. His eyes rolled back in pleasure, as Bianca’s fluffy hand stroked him. He felt the fur caress back and forth. Every single hair, every single strand of fur trailed on his sensitive skin, tickling him ever so slightly yet pleasurably.

As Bruno began to savor the soft, luxurious sensation of the fur job, his body tensed in anticipation of what was to come next. The gentle tickling was soothing in its own way, but suddenly, he felt a new wave of sensations.

Bianca’s fingers began their intricate dance, spidering lightly across his armpits. The touch was both delicate and insistent, creating a contrast with the fur mitten’s plush caress. Her fingers moved methodically, tracing a path down his sides and to his hips, before climbing back up his torso.

Bianca’s tone was firm but laced with a lingering trace of amusement as she spoke. “I said I’m not done yet,” she stated, her eyes gleaming with a mix of authority and playful intent.

As her fingers resumed their intricate dance, traversing from his armpits to his sides and hips, the tickling became a complex interplay of sensations. The fur mitten’s caress complemented her skilled fingers, creating a relentless and tantalizing experience for Bruno. His laughter, now a mix of desperation and reluctant enjoyment, filled the room as he struggled against his bonds.

Bianca’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and authority. “Repeat after me and I’ll let you cum,” she bargained, her tone a mix of seduction and control. She leaned closer, her breath warm against Bruno’s ear as she prepared to make her demands. “I love getting tickled by you, Ms. Nyberg.”

With a strained voice, he finally gasped, “I LOVEHEHEHE GEHEHETTING TICKLEHEHEHED BY YOU, MS. NYBEHEHEHEHERG!”

“Am I the meanest and sexiest tickler you’ll ever have, Mr. Graham?” she asked, her tone both commanding and playful.

Bruno, breathless and overwhelmed, finally managed to gasp out, “Y-YES, MS. NYBERG! YOU’RE THE MEANEHEHEHEHEST AND SEXIEST TICKLER I’VE EVER HAHAHAHAHAD!”

“Is my tickling intense and addictive, leaving you begging for more?” she asked, her tone both commanding and seductive.

Bruno, still gasping for breath, managed to shout out in all caps, “YES! YOUR TICKLING IS INTENSE AND ADDICTIVE! I CAN’T GET ENOUGH!”

“Am I the best furrier? Are my furs the most elegant and the softest? Will you remove your review and write a follow-up praising me?” she asked, her tone leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.

Bruno, caught in the whirlwind of ticklish torment and fluffy pleasure, could only respond in a breathless plea, “YES! YOU’RE THE BEST FURRIER! YOUR FURS ARE THE MOST ELEGANT AND SOFTEST! I’LL REMOVE MY REVIEW AND WRITE A FOLLOW-UP PRAISING YOU!”

Bianca’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she heard Bruno’s plea. She paused her tickling, allowing him to catch his breath, continuing to gently stroke him with the massive fur mitten, a soothing contrast to the earlier intense sensations.

With a soft, triumphant smile, she leaned in close, her voice a whisper filled with both dominance and affection. “Good boy. I’m glad you’ve come to appreciate the art of tickling and the elegance of my furs.”

Bruno began to feel his orgasm building up as Bianca flicked her wrist slightly faster now, pleasuring him increasingly. She began to blow gently into his ears, adding another teasy pleasurable sensation to his fur job. Bruno scrunched his neck in response.

Bianca smiled warmly as she continued her gentle strokes. “I really liked tickling you, Mr. Graham. I’ve teased lots of ticklish guys, but you’re one of the most memorable. Your laughter was music to my ears.” She kissed his cheek. “And you liked being tickled by me, didn’t you?”

Bruno looked down and moaned, as he watched Bianca work her fluffy magic on his throbbing manhood. He nodded in response to Bianca’s teasy words. Bruno took all the pleasure in, watching the mitten glide up and down, up and down. He couldn’t even see his manhood. It was lost in a sea of maddeningly pleasurable fur.

“You know, I’m still kind of tickling you while I’m doing this, Bruno,” Bianca giggled, her eyes dancing with seduction. She let her fingers lightly graze his sensitive spots once more, adding a touch of teasing to her words. “Tickle, tickle.” She observed as his breathy moans quickened, a clear sign of the effect her playful touch had on him. “And the fur?” she continued, her voice soft and teasing. “Isn’t it a bit ticklish too?”

Bruno nodded, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. The combined teases and tickle talk from Bianca and the soft brush of the fur against his manhood was almost too much to handle. Each touch, each whisper of the fur, seemed to intensify his experience, leaving him in a state of helpless ecstasy.

“Cum for me… Cum for your tickling fur goddess, Bruno…” Bianca urged, sensing the critic's orgasm was close.

And so Bruno let himself be taken over by an explosive ticklegasm. His back arched in response, as his entire nervous system tingled like fire and his muscles spasmed in pure pleasurable ecstasy. Streaks of hot sperm shot out of his throbbing red cock and he screamed as his entire body joined together in a harmony of pleasure.

Bianca stroked his hair gently, her touch soft and soothing after the intense ordeal. As Bruno panted heavily, his head hung low in exhaustion, she offered him a tender smile. Her fingers ran through his hair with a caring rhythm, a contrast to the earlier playful torment.

“You did so well, Bruno,” she murmured softly, her voice a blend of satisfaction and genuine care. “I’m glad we understand each other now.” Bianca turned to the door. “I sincerely hope you keep up your promise, because if you don’t.”

She turned back.

“I’ll personally make sure you’re tickled and tortured until passing out. Then you’ll be tickled again. And again. And again…”

Gorgeous stole 😍