The Hunting Game (M*/F)

[Sablesword]

[Note: A tickle story, but also a hunt-and-capture-game story, so I'm posting it here as well as in tickle-fora elsewhere]

Petreenie laughed uncontrollably as Master Anson tickled her bare feet. His irhound held her face up over its robotic body, making her struggles futile as its four main manipulators softly clamped her wrists and ankles. She struggled anyway as her master’s fingers played over her soles; she couldn’t keep from squirming any more than she could keep from laughing.

She and Master Anson were both short, for humans. They both had brown-gold skin (his darker than hers), and long hair. He wore his hair in a ponytail, and managed to look masculine despite it. His close-cropped beard helped.

She wore her hair long and loose, as befitted a slave woman and her body was buxom and womanly as she squirmed and laughed. Despite her struggles, she was enjoying herself. Those slave women who weren’t tickle naturals were trained to develop a taste for it, here on the planet of Iowa.

The Iowa colony was one of the Steel Worlds, planets ruled by an aristocracy of AI robots and computers. On the Steel Worlds, the various bioform colonists were commoners, and on Iowa the female humans and humanoids were collared slave women, rather than merely second-class commoners, the way they were on the other Steel Worlds.

The irhound kept its secondary manipulators retracted, and Master Anson kept his widget in his pocket, saving it for later. He intended his current finger-tickling to rouse Petreenie, rather than exhaust her, as he wanted her to do well on the hunt. They were both dressed for that hunt, he in the customary tight pants and loose shirt, and she in a glamorette shift, tied with a belt of the same fabric.

Three other slave women were also undergoing the pre-hunt tickle. Ditza, the pale blue venusian, laughed under the tickle of her Master Kissel, a lean green celtian of above-average height. Nulala, the dark blue lekkain with her twin braintails, giggled under the tickle of her human Master Bomo. And Apple squeaked under the tickle of her Master Hinz. She was a human; he was a green lekkain, and they both had the patterned forehead implants of the Spiner Society.

The chorus of forced laughter trailed off, and the irhounds of the four hunters released their victims. “Be sure to paint your soles, sweet Pet,” Master Anson told his slave woman.

“Yes, master.” Petreenie accepted the bulb of sandal paint and leaned against the solid mechanical body of the irhound to apply it to her bare soles.

Petreenie was the only slave woman in the group who used sandal paint when it was this warm and dry. Ditza never applied it, while Nulala and Apple would only do so when it was cool and wet. The hair-thin film very slightly decreased the sensitivity of a woman’s soles while providing protection against ingrained dirt, along with resistance against cuts and punctures. Purists (like Ditza and her Master Kissel) turned up their noses at the paint, even if it didn’t count as footwear.

Petreenie had suffered too many bad experiences with ingrained dirt to be a purist about sandal paint. Still, she was just as pleased that Master Anson had *ordered* her to use it. Of course, he would strip it off the after-hunt tickle. But that wouldn’t happen until after the hunt.

Mr. Cleggclan – Nulala’s Master Bomo – was the hunt master this morning. He looked over the four slave women, making sure he had their attention, and put the battered hunting horn to his lips.

On hearing the horn’s *blatt!* the four slave woman dashed away from the park’s entrance. Petreenie and Ditza took the central path toward the center of the park, while Nulala and Apple took two of the flanking paths. Ditza split off from Petreenie at the first fork, going right while Petreenie took the curve to the left.

Orangery Park was a perfect hexagon, surrounded by a fence with capture walls facing inward. Inside, it was filled with tropical trees and plants that could never survive the snowy winters of the City of OakFlint outside its climate-controlled grounds. In colder weather, a force dome would cover it all, with just enough permeability to melt any snow into rain. Today, however, the park was open overhead to the blue sky.

Petreenie ran along her path, under the sun and then under the shade of the exotic trees – some native to the planet, and others of species imported by the original colonists. She kept her ears open for the second horn-call, signaling the release of the irhounds. On hearing that second *blatt!* she turned aside, pushing past a bush and into the undergrowth.

Her goal wasn’t to keep from getting caught; it was to delay being caught for as long as she could. Her immediate plan was to cut across to the far side of this path’s loop, hoping and expecting the irhound to take the long way around. If it moved off the path, it would be slower than her – as long as it wasn’t close enough to make its final dash.

Fortunately, Petreenie only had to worry about Master Anson’s irhound chasing her. Each of the four robotic beasts was set today to chase just one of the slavegirls, ignoring the other three. Petreenie remembered the hogtie hunt of half a year ago, held under a rule that sent all four irhound against each slave woman in turn: First Ditza, then her, then Nulala, and finally Apple. The rules for that hunt had also allowed Petreenie and her female friends a longer start before the irhounds were released, but the mechanical hunters still caught all four of them quickly that day.

Petreenie reached the far loop of the path, and saw Nulala coming out of her own shortcut a few meters away. The dark blue woman brushed something off her right braintail. Then she met Petreenie’s eyes, and they ran toward each other, passing and running in opposite directions down the path. A hunt like this one gave the slave women few opportunities to help each other, but what they could do, they did.

They could hear four irhounds baying, each with its own note. Those individual sounds were part of the game, a touch that gave the hunted slave women a bit of help while also providing them with more excitement. Some hunts used a silent variant, but Master Anson had made it clear that Petreenie would never experience that sort of hunt, and she was glad of it.

Mr. Cleggclan’s irhound came trotting down the path toward Petreenie, baying its customized note. Its four legs were currently set to their short length, making it look like it was moving faster than it was. The mechanical beast dodged around her, focused on catching Nulala. Behind it, Mr. Cleggclan himself came striding along, giving Petreenie a nod as they passed.

Petreenie could now hear the note of Master Anson’s irhound getting closer. She decided to take another shortcut, turning to the right and plunging again past the bushes. That bought her to yet another section of path. The baying of Master Anson’s irhound was further away now, and she congratulated herself on being both clever and lucky.

Ditza hadn’t been so lucky. Petreenie saw her in the grasp of her master’s irhound, carried face up as its four main manipulators softly clamped her wrists and ankles once more. Her master walked beside her, his hand teasing her breasts and belly as they traveled slowly back toward the park’s entrance. The irhound was silent now, but Ditza giggled, both from her master’s touch and from the tickle of the irhound’s secondary manipulators, tipped with brushes and teasers.

After a moment’s hesitation, Petreenie decided to stay on the path. Cutting across again could give her another advantage, but staying on the path let her move more quickly. She took a fork that would lead back toward the park entrance. The other fork led to the edge of the park and the capture walls – and to be caught there would be *embarrassing*. As for dodging back toward the entrance, sometimes that trick worked, and sometimes it didn’t.

Petreenie heard the baying of Master Anson’s irhound coming closer. She passed Apple, now captured by Master Hinz and his irhound. Like Ditza, Apple was now giggling as the mechanical beast held her and applied its tickle.

*Now* it was time to cut across again. Petreenie turned and plunged past the bushes. When she came out on the path’s next loop, she immediately dashed off to her right. That was a mistake; she heard the baying of Master Anson’s irhound ahead of her. Coming closer. She turned and ran the other way. Leaving the path now would be another mistake, one that would merely shorten the hunt. With the irhound on its final dash, it could move faster than her through the brush.

Besides, the rules of the hunt limited how long the irhound could dash. Petreenie’s only hope, slight as it was, was to outrun that limited dash time. If she did, it would still catch her, but forcing it to continue its dash after the official time expired would give a bonus to her score.

Petreenie heard the irhound getting closer and closer behind her. She ran as fast as she could. It wasn’t as fast as she wanted. It wasn’t even as fast as she might have run at the beginning of the hunt. She had *tried* to pace herself, but…

The irhound’s primary manipulators seized Petreenie’s ankles and wrists. She felt it lift her into the air, making a soft catch that kept her from bending in a painful and possibly damaging direction. She heard the secondary manipulators deploy, and she felt them seek their way beneath the shift she wore.

Those secondary manipulators began to tickle Petreenie’s sides and belly, teasing the length of her body between her knees and her elbows. Master Anson strolled up to her as she began to giggle, giving her hair a caress and loosening the cloth belt of her shift. But he did not – yet – apply any tickles of his own.

Instead he grinned down at her. “That was a good run, sweet Pet.”

“Heehee, th-thank you master heeheehee!”

Master Anson and his irhound walked slowly to the park entrance, with Petreenie held face-up as the irhound continued to tickle her. She recognized it as a light tickle, one that kept her just below the squirming point. And one that avoided her soles, still covered with the thin coat of sandal paint.

At the park entrance, they found the post-hunt tickling of Ditza and Apple already started. The two slave women, blue and pink-brown, were held face up as they had been for the pre-hunt tickle. But this time the irhounds had their secondary manipulators deployed, and this time their masters were using their widgets instead of just their fingers.

The sight of her friends squirming, and the sound of their laughter, made Petreenie even more aware of the tickle being applied to her own helpless body. Mr. Cleggclan and his Nulala hadn’t arrived yet, but Petreenie could hear them approaching. Or rather she could hear Nulala. The dark blue lekkain female had a distinctive laugh whenever her master tickled her braintails.

Master Anson had pulled out his hipflask and was now wiping Petreenie’s feet with its contents. The flask held alcohol 190, stuff that wasn’t really drinkable. It did, however, efficiently strip off sandal paint. And now Petreenie’s feet felt *extra* bare.

Petreenie squeaked and twisted, pushed past the squirming point as Master Anson applied his tickle widget to those extra-bare soles.

“Tickle tickle!” Master Anson said. “Like this, do you?”

“Heeheehee! Y-yes master! Heehee hahahaha!”

The body-tickle from the irhound turned into a counterpoint to the widget-tickling of Petreenie’s soles. Master Anson knew just how to apply his widget. Petreenie felt his exquisite touch on each of her soles in turn, with every bit of each sole receiving its own portion of tickling. She laughed helplessly as he alternated casually between her two feet, the widget roaming over the bare and sensitive skin and applying just the right touch. Everywhere.

All four slave women were undergoing the post-hunt tickle now. Petreenie could hear her female friends laughing, as their masters tickled their feet, speaking the traditional tickling chants as they did so.

“Wibble-wobble wibble-wobble!” Master Kissel told his pale blue venusian Ditza.

“Buk-nuck noobee beenoo!” Master told his dark blue lekkain Nulala.

“Coochie coochie coo!” Master Anson and Master Hinz said to their human slave women.

“Heehee hahahaha heeheehee!” the tickled females answered. “Heeee! Hahahahaha!”

The masters replied, “Tickle tickle tickle tickle!”

Master Anson paused his tickling for just a moment, and Petreenie felt the irhound begin a wax-wane pattern. A familiar tickle-pattern, practically traditional, not to mention a favorite of her master’s. He returned to the tease of her soles, his widget roaming over each vulnerable foot in turn, from the heel to the tips of her toes. He knew those feet; knew just the right teasing touch for driving Petreenie deliciously mad.

Now Petreenie felt the irhound’s tickle wax. The secondary manipulators, tipped with brushes and teasers, slipped beneath her shift or tickled straight through the flimsy fabric. The four main manipulators continued to hold her in their gentle grip as she twisted and struggled and giggled and laughed. There was no escape. Even when Master Anson ended the tickle there would be no escape until Master Anson commanded the irhound to release her.

And Master Anson was not ending the tickle. Not yet. The manipulator tickle waned, while the widget in her master’s hand made Petreenie *aware* of her bare soles. Of how he could tickle ever square millimeter of them. Of how he would tickle every square millimeter, until his slave woman was completely melted.

Petreenie laughed and laughed. She couldn’t help it, and the tickle felt *wonderful.* Her slave women friends laughed as well: Light blue Ditza, dark blue Nulala, and Apple with her forehead implant and the human-colored skin she shared with Petreenie. All four had been hunted by the irhounds of their masters. All four had been caught by the irhounds of their masters. And all four were being tickled silly, both by those irhounds and by the masters themselves.

It was the post-hunt tickle. A tickle of helpless slave women that would only end when their masters choose. A tickle that delighted those helpless slave women, a tickle that would leave them smiling and melted, and wishing for just a bit *more.*

Petreenie felt another waning of the irhound’s manipulators, after a delicious bout of body-tickling. Master Anson made up for it with a widget-tickle of her left sole. She squeaked and squealed as those tickles sank in. And then she felt a matching tickle of her right sole, just as vigorous as the one she’d received on her left. She panted, her struggles weakening now, but she could still squirm, excited by the futility of it as the tickles kept coming. Master Anson would end this tickling when he chose, but not yet. Please not yet.

Under the teasing touch of the irhound’s manipulators and her master’s widget, Petreenie giggled and giggled and giggle-giggled. She was a shameless slave woman and she loved it. She loved being tickled. It was the best part of the hunt.

(End)

[GreyLord]

A very different story, @Sablesword, Most enjoyable.