Ticklish Humiliation

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

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The Zafara neopet scowled and tilted her head back, letting the early rays of sunshine wash over her blue muzzle as the wooden stocks cut into her wrists and ankles. The jeers of the crowd grew by the minute, despite the early hour, and she knew what she could expect, even if she'd done everything in her power to avoid her fate. Mirabelle, however, wasn't a particularly good thief, when it came right down to it, and, so, her fate seemed to be that she was always in a less than desirable position.

Life in a world of Pokemorphs just wasn't what she'd expected, but she couldn't help her lot. There wasn't any way she could get back to where she came from, after all. The transportation from the neopet world had been out of her paws entirely and, although travel between the two worlds was common, it was unfortunately one way. For those involved in darker activities, it allowed them an escape from an uncertain fate, but for those who were forced into criminal activities on their arrival in the new world, well -- they had a little more on their plates than most.

And so it was the Pokemon world for her.

Opening her eyes, she scanned the swelling, throbbing crowd in the town hall square, the clock tower chiming eight behind them. The stocks were raised on a stand in the middle of the square, market stalls lining the area as if everyone else had no care whatsoever for her wellbeing, seeing her as nothing more than a thief who just about had it coming. Ducking her head, Mirabelle let her blue-furred ears, darkened with just a few spots, flop over her eyes, tail flicking back and forth as the ragged, pointed tip dragged over the literal stage.

Several Pokemon -- ah, so they did have some life in them after all -- slammed their paws into the base of the stage, making it judder as the guards kept them back, tails lashing and abilities simmering just below the surface. Even if she was a thief, they were well prepared to ensure the crowd didn't go too far, as distasteful as her activities were.

"Thief!" A Charmander had plenty to say, scowling as the guards warded him back from the flammable platform. "You stole from us! You should be ashamed of yourself."

Hanging her head, Mirabelle clenched her teeth and hunched her shoulders, huddling in on herself. But no matter how hard she flattened her ears down on either side of her head, she couldn't block out their shouts and catcalls, jeers rising in an unstoppable tide.

"Go back where you came from!"

"Shouldn't have come here to be a criminal!"

"You'll get what's coming to you!"

"Please," she breathed. "I've not taken money from anyone who can't afford to lose a little. And I only took enough to get by, to feed myself."

It wasn't as if they were listening to her.

"Thief!" A Pikachu Pokemorph shrieked, cheeks red and crackling with electricity. "Steal from our town, will you! Get your tail out of here and take your sorry lifestyle with you! We don't want you here!"

There was no question there that Mirabelle could answer or response that could placate such anger and, whimpering, she closed her eyes again against the onslaught. What she'd experienced already was a mere drop in the ocean of what Pokemorphs were actually capable of, governing themselves by more medieval rules than what she was used to growing up with. Truth be told, knowing the darker side of the Pokemon world, she was, in fact, getting off lightly.

She shuddered, recalling how the Mudsdale guards, snorting and huffing like the equines they really were under their anthro guise, wrestled her into the stocks. At any other time, sitting may have been comfortable, but having her arms yanked out before her along with her legs was anything but pleasant. The hard wood pressed in around her ankles and she grumbled under her breath as she wriggled, trying to find a position that was at least somewhat more comfortable. It wasn't, after all, as if she'd never been there before: it was a familiar spot for a thief.

The first rotten tomato struck her on the cheek, jerking her head to the side. She gasped, the slick juice leaving a trail down her face as it dropped to the platform, but the damage had already been done: it had begun. The Mudsdale guards hunkered down at the edge of the stage, well out of the line of fire with only a watchful eye on proceedings to make sure nobody actually scaled the stage.

So typical...

As much as she wanted to paint her traditional, cocky smirk across her muzzle, it was all the neopet could do to not cower openly and cry, tears streaking the mess on her muzzle as soft vegetables smacked into her head and body. Stuck behind the stocks, she was, blessedly, shielded from the worst of the rotting, putrid garbage, but that only meant that it was her face and paws that took the worst of it. She tucked her chin all the way down to the boards, closing her eyes so that she could pretend the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes were merely moisture from the vegetables getting the better of her.

As her hair clung damply to her, smeared with such a disgusting mess that it truly didn't bear thinking about, a goat meandered his way through the crowd to the base of the stage. Bleating, he curiously asked, in his own language, what all the fuss was about, but received, of course, no answer.

Well, that meant that he'd only have to go find out for himself then.

However, the guards had never been instructed to stop animals -- the livestock Pokemorphs kept to sustain their needs for nutrition and companionship respectively -- from climbing the stage and so the goat passed without notice. The dirty grey and white beast hopped up the steps as if he opened the place, two small horns pointing back from his skull. Still young, the animal curiously put his nose to the ground and gobbled up some of the vegetables that were still mostly edible, hardly discerning between what was good to eat and what was not as he cleaned up the mess that the crowd seemed purely intent on adding to.

However, the object of his attention quickly shifted to the squirming female fur locked in the stocks, the neopet twisting and turning her head from the onslaught. The goat picked his head up curiously, nose twitching as zeroed in on the scents that would have been repulsive to most other animals, yet he only saw as a curiosity. With her ears flopped over her eyes, blessedly protecting her face from the worst of the deluge, she didn't even see him clamber up onto the stage itself -- not that the animal cared whether she saw him or not. He was a goat on a mission. Not even the howls and jeers of the crowd could distract him as he trotted at a disjointed jog up to Mirabelle, nose pressing into the sole of one hand paw.

Mirabelle flinched, jerking away and immediately regretting the motion as her wrists slammed into the stocks.

"What the --"

She started to talk, but clamped her mouth shut again immediately as a particularly smelly vegetable -- she didn't want to think what -- slapped her face neatly to the side. Mirabelle convulsed. It was bad enough having the rotting food thrown at her, let alone getting it in her mouth! Still, the rancid juice ran over her lips and she screwed up her face, trying to spit without letting it run between her lips in the process.

But that tickling, what had gotten her attention before -- it was still there! She gasped and fought to keep her mouth closed, eyes wide as she strained to see what was assaulting her. The grey and white goat tipped his head to the side, stared balefully at her and bleated.

"Shoo!" Mirabelle hissed, kicking out, though her hind paw hardly moved at all. "Get away! Off! Away!"

As simple as she made her words, there was no dissuading the goats from the game and treat he'd found and he eagerly returned to lapping both her hind and front paws, fingers twitching from him as he found every drop of debris that had been launched at her. His main attention seemed focused on her feet, however, as she had been at least somewhat able to protect the palms of her paws, and he slithered his tongue between her toes as the Zafara squirmed horribly.

The roar of the crowd seemed to fade away, second by second, and her breath rasped in her ears, heart beat a pounding drum to backdrop her humiliation. As much as she tried, she couldn't not laugh as the sensations built, fingers twitching as she tried, futilely to bat the goat away. But it was no good fighting what she was restrained from: twelve hours had been her sentence in the stocks and, frankly, she was lucky it was not longer. And so, all she could do was endure the fervent laps and butts of the goat, the beast meaningless in single-minded, animalistic determination.

As she whimpered and twitched, unable to escape the very welcome attentions of the goat, something tightened in the pit of her stomach, something she would not have expected to come in such a lewdly public location. Of course, she'd felt such sensations in the privacy of her own lodgings when the fancy took her, but never before would she ever have possibly expected such lustful feelings to sweep through her, tingling up from her loins and setting every nerve in her body alight as the goat lapped and lapped and lapped, each stroke of his tongue more sensual than the last. Yet he could not have known either that he was drawing her to a crescendo.

Panting heavily, breasts heaving, the neopet's eyes grew wide and round, hair clinging to her damp muzzle.

...No!

Blinking furiously, Mirabelle squeaked and twisted away, hiding her face from the crowd. But it was not as if, thankfully, they knew what was really happening, even if they didn't care much either that a second participant had chosen to join her on the stage. Whining and squirming, the neopet's breath grew harsher and harsher in her throat, tiny nostrils flaring as her tail lashed and thumped the stage.

Quickly... Too quickly!

"Thief!"

"Scoundrel!"

Not even that word could stop her throbbing climax from building and building, creeping towards the grand finale with the inevitability of the rising tide. And, drop by drop, her pleasure built, the tightness in her gut growing and growing in a fashion so erotic that it was all she could do to maintain some semblance of composure. Of course, being in the stocks in the main square hardly required her to have all that much composure, but she had to do what she could, after all.

Yet even that right to retain her dignity seemed about to be ripped from her as the goat shoved his nose right up into her toes and ran his tongue from her heel to the ball of her foot in one, long lick.

And that did it. Clenching her jaw, she swallowed her shriek the best she could, though a strangled cry still managed to break free, shuddering through orgasm as wave after wave claimed her body. Rotten vegetables continued to pelt her body and yet she hardly felt them in the arms of ecstasy, the release providing her with an escape that took her away from the humiliation while exacerbating it simultaneously. Crying out softly, she twisted her lips and unknowingly thrust her hind paw right up into the goat's muzzle, to which he only took as a cue to lick harder and faster, drawing out her tingling climax.

The real world was slow to return as she came down, tears of laughter marking her cheeks as her chest reverberated with giggles. Eroticism faded to pure ticklishness and she couldn't help but flinch and kick out as the goat chased her paws around, thinking it all a great old game, his only intent on slurping up the treats of her paws for as long as possible. Laughter pealing and echoing across and above the thrum of the crowd, the Zafara struggled and failed to contain herself through the afterglow, need rising once more even with the humiliation that begged it not to.

Mirabelle gulped, eyes watering. It wasn't as if she had a choice anyway. May as well enjoy it.

The goat wasn't going anywhere.