(DISCLAIMER: This is a tickle torture fetish story featuring Little Cato from Final Space. If tickling, tickle torture or bondage offends you then please click away now. If you aren't familiar with Final Space then please read the description for some brief explanation of the character.) --------------------------- Six months. That's how long it had been since the feisty young Ventrexian, Little Cato, had been placed in this cell and held captive by the minions of the Lord Commander. The same few guards watching over him, day in, day out, as he was left simply to sit in the cell. With nothing to do to entertain himself except fantasise impossible escapes and occasionally beatbox, the young boy's mind soon lost track of the days and weeks and every day seemed to blend into the next. However, today, something vaguely (very vaguely) interesting happened for the first time in half a year. The guards outside his cell all seemed to converge and have some kind of group meeting, and a new figure appeared amongst them. Little Cato could not hear a word of what they were saying, but he could get a better look at this new person, who didn't look quite the same as the other guards. This one looked much more intimidating: taller, buffer, seemed to be some kind of live creature rather than the robotic guards that usually kept him company. Their face was a mystery, hidden by a dark and ominous cloak, but their hands seemed to be scaly with long claws, and they were carrying a black briefcase of some kind. Whoever they were, they certainly didn't look like they were there to free him from captivity. The feline didn't have to wait long to find out who they were, though – they eventually began to approach the door of the cell, with Little Cato returning back to his normal sitting position just in time to avoid suspicion. "So...you are my new prisoner then, little one?" The cloaked man says, in a very deep and intimidating tone of voice as he wanders into the cell. They were definitely scarier than the other guards, but this prisoner wasn't particularly one to be scared into submission. "Well...I'm a prisoner..." the young orange feline replied, in a smug tone. "...I dunno about yours. Who are you again?" "I am someone who you don't want to talk back to...so wipe that smirk off your face!" Despite the guard's reply being loud and threatening, the small smirk on Little Cato's face grows slightly wider in defiance. The guard smirked a little himself behind his cloak, as he placed his briefcase down on the ground. "The Lord Commander has told me all about you. The little brat whose daddy betrayed the cause..." "Man, and I thought being alone for months was a pain in the ass..." The feline replied, as usual getting much cockier in defiance of his captor. "You've been in here 30 seconds and you're already making me want some alone time!" "You'll get alone time...in a few hours, after your punishment..." "Ha! My punish...wait...my punishmaaAA!?!?" Before Little Cato could question the new guard, his hands were roughly grabbed and he felt cold metal wrap around his wrists. The same kind of tight handcuffs that he had been put in when first escorted to the cell all those months ago. It almost made him nostalgic. "What the hell!? Where are you gonna take me!?" "Oh, do you think we're going on some kind of picnic or something? You're not going anywhere, and I'm making sure of it..." With plenty of ease, the strong guard lifted Little Cato off the ground by his arms, up to one of the several chains that hung loose from the ceiling. Attaching the cuffs to the chain in a matter of seconds, the guard had the prisoner hanging by his arms just a few inches off the ground. It was just enough for the boy to squirm and swing slowly in the air, and for his whole body to be pulled taut by gravity. A few light kicks as the boy struggled didn't seem to faze the guard, who patronisingly pet his prisoner’s blue mohawk a few times. "You've been getting a little too much freedom in this cell, I think. The Lord Commander and I both agreed you should be made a little more...helpless." "Nnngh! Get me down from here or you'll regret it!" The feline shouts loudly, groaning a little from both the discomfort of hanging, and disgust at the slightly depraved tone that the guard's voice took on with that final word. "If my dad comes and sees me chained up like this he'll have your head clean off in seconds!" "It's adorable that you still think your dad is coming, it really is..." The guard paces slowly around his prisoner, speaking in a self-satisfied and teasing tone of voice. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a device – a communications recorder. "He's not going to ever find you here. But we can still let him know that you are alive and well..." "Is that a communicator? C-can I talk to my dad through that?" "It's very much a one-way device..." The guard replied, almost feeling guilty at accidentally getting the kitten's hopes up. "We can record a little video for your dad to let him know you're doing alright. He won't be able to send anything to you, but he will get to see you, every single day..." "R-really?" Little Cato's voice was filled with hope and happiness. Even if he couldn't see his dad, he could finally at least let him know that he's okay. He could make it clear that he's putting up a fight and not letting any of these guards intimidate him. Maybe that would give his dad the hope he needs to come rescue him. "Can we do that now?" "Of course, little one..." The captor presses a button on the communicator, making it sprout some metal legs for it's own built-in tripod. Placing it just in front of where the prisoner was restrained, he clicks another button to make it immediately begin recording. "This is a communication from the prison of the Lord Commander. You will not be able to receive co-ordinates from this transmission, or-" "Dad! I'm okay! It's me!" Little Cato interrupted, shouting as loud as he could from behind the guard. "Come down and kick this guy's ass or I'm gonna have to!" "Predictable interruption..." The guard moves out of the way of the camera, abandoning his official spiel and allowing the lens to get a good view of the chained prisoner. "The only ass that will be kicked in this cell will be this boy's if he continues to undermine his superiors. If this were my boy he would have already received a spanking." "Pfft! This guy thinks he can scare me by being all vague like that! Can you believe him?" The boy's confidence and cockiness is at full power. Even though he was simply speaking at a camera, in his mind he was essentially talking to his father again. He was going to make sure that he remained a fighter, especially for his dad's sake. "Ooh I'm really scared! Come on if you think you're so tough! Hit me!" "I don't hurt prisoners unless I have to, and right now you're in no position to attack me with those cuffs on." The guard says, before turning back to the camera. "Avocato, I am the lead guardian in charge of your son from this day on. I was assigned specifically by the Lord Commander due to my more...unusual techniques of dealing with prisoners. We do not wish to harm your boy, physically at least. But it is my duty to teach him the concept of consequence, and how prisoners must suffer in some way for their actions." "Ooh, big words! You done talking yet?" "We are in no rush, little one. This video recording has only just begun. I think we should show your father some of my techniques." With his prisoner still looking confident, the guard walks closer to his taut body, and with a single long-clawed finger, slowly strokes upwards on one of his armpits. "Eee!" Little Cato lets out an adorable squeak for a second before shutting himself up. He tried to forget about the noise he just made as he felt the claw travel along his underarm, which gave him an extremely tingly and weird sensation. "Aaaa...d-don't touch me!" "Don't tell your punisher what not to do..." The pointy, teasing claw travels up and down the prisoner's underarm a couple more times, before the guard slowly paces around to the other side and gives the other pit a few teasing strokes too. "Are you a ticklish boy? Most prisoners wouldn't react to a light tease like this but you seem to be having a bit of trouble there..." Little Cato successfully managed to hold back any more noises, but that didn't completely hide the fact that he was very ticklish indeed. His body flinched a little with each stroke, his face slightly contorting as he tried to hold in any giggles, and he closed his eyes tight until the stroking had paused. "Answer my question. Are you ticklish?" "N-no!" The cat stutters, "Of course I'm not! I just don't like it when you touch meeeEEE!" Another squeak before he manages to hold in his reactions again. It was a few seconds of claw-wiggling on his armpit that did it that time. A few different fingers so that the sensation was much more intense very quickly. But just because he let out a few squeaks didn't mean he was ticklish. It was just an odd sensation. He'd get used to it in a few minutes and would easily be able to make fun of such a poor torture technique. At least, that's what he was thinking. In reality, the look on his face as he tried to hold in more and more squeaks was proof that he was insanely sensitive. That was obvious to the guard, and would be obvious to his father upon viewing the footage. "It's okay, it might take some time to get you to admit that you're a ticklish little kitten... But I'm sure your dad would like you to tell the truth, wouldn't he?" The guard moves directly behind his prisoner, lifting both hands up to the stretched armpits, and begins to slowly move his claws all around them, being as teasing and tickly as he could be as his voice turned into a loud whisper at Little Cato's ears. "...Wouldn't he?" Although no more squeaks were heard, the noises that did come out of him made it plain and clear what kind of ordeal he was going through. Soft moans and frustrated grunts as he fought the urge to giggle, and the rattle of the chains as his body struggled to try and get away from the tickling. As much as he tried to squirm away though, his soft and furry underarms were rendered completely helpless by the hanging position. Although he still had his shirt on for a small amount of protection, the guard could very easily wiggle his fingers inside it and directly touch his ticklish prisoner's fur. Or he could put his hands through the bottom of the shirt and begin to tickle and fondle the boy's tummy and sides, which he indeed began to do a couple of minutes later. "It's good that you're not giggling too much, even though you clearly want to...We wouldn't want your father knowing you were a weak little kitten who can't handle tickle torture, would we?" "I'm...I-I'm n-not weak!!!" It took some serious effort for Little Cato to respond without bursting into giggles at the same time, especially now that his whole torso was being targeted. His underarms were ticklish but his tummy was well and truly tender, with the slightest poke causing his body to recoil and the chains to rattle louder. It would be a lot easier for him if he would just let his giggles free and stop trying to hold them in, but he was a stubborn and determined one. It would be shameful to show himself as weak to tickling when his father would be seeing him for the first time in months. He had to be a strong fighter, he had to make sure his dad knew he was doing okay. It got harder and harder, as the light and teasing upper body tickles continued for what felt like at least an hour. He was exhausted, primarily because his holding back of giggles ensured that his sensitive body squirmed and thrashed around more than even the guard expected. Considering he had been bound in one position for an hour, he'd given himself one hell of a workout. Eventually, the tickling fingers finally relented, and Little Cato made his loudest sounds so far as he panted upon finally being able to relax. He'd put up a fantastic fight against the guard's torture, but he paid the price in tiredness. He didn't know it himself, but he looked defeated on camera. "That'll be all for today. Just a little introduction. We'll continue tomorrow..." The guard said, walking over to the communicator and ceasing the recording. Little Cato had much more to say to his father, but the guard didn't want to give him too much talk time. "As for you, you put up a respectable fight, but that won't last long..." "Wh-what the hell do you mean!?" Although exhausted, the Ventrexian wasn't going to be any less cocky, "You gonna be a freak and spend an hour tickling me tomorrow too!?" "Oh no, of course not... It'll be at least three tomorrow." The guard giggled a little to himself as he detached the handcuffs from the chain, allowing Little Cato to drop to the ground with a thud and immediately lay down. "There's no more of this sitting around all day for you. You're to receive daily punishments to keep you in line...and personally, I like to tickle torture. You may hold back now but in a few days you'll be laughing from the slightest poke. It'll keep you humble and ashamed, just like you should be." "You really are a freak, man... My dad's gonna beat your ass to the ground as soon as he lands on this planet..." "And when will that be? Hmm? You think he knows which planet you're on? Do you even know that?" The captor continued to rather cruelly taunt the young boy, as he walked towards the door to leave. "The only times your father will see you again will be the videos I send to him every day of his ticklish little son being tickled all over his sensitive fur against his will. He'll be ashamed, just like you are." "I-I'm not ashamed! Get lost!" It may have just been his overtired and tingling state, but the guard's words were hurting Little Cato. He knew that it was an attempt to make him feel bad, but still, the thought of his father seeing him struggle against such a pathetic form of torture made him embarrassed. The guard did indeed do as requested, saying no further words before exiting the cell and locking the door shut behind him, so at least Little Cato could have some alone time again. Already exhausted to the point of sleepiness, the feline boy curled up into a ball and rested his eyes. He knew he'd be tickled again tomorrow. He just had to be prepared to resist again, to the best of his ability. ------------------------ The next morning, Little Cato woke up feeling refreshed, energetic, and restrained. Two of those three things were good. The worry that hit him upon waking was caused by the feeling of some kind of tight restriction around both his wrists and his ankles. It was a lot more comfortable than the shackles he had hung from the previous night, but he was more immobile. Once he had gotten a clearer view of himself, he could see that his hands and feet were trapped in some wooden contraption directly in front of him. The four holes that restrained him in the stocks were slightly cushioned, but they were tight enough to make it uncomfortable to squirm too much. A padlock on the side clearly signified that he wasn't going to be able to get out of this one alone, but he wouldn't have had time to anyway, as it only took a couple minutes for the guard to come through the door once again. "Slept well, did we? I could tell you were tired..." "I would have preferred a nicer wake up call!" The feline growled a little, "The hell is this damn thing you've stuck me in!?" "Language! Do you not like my wooden stocks? Previous prisoners haven't complained so much, and besides it is vital to get you in such a position for today's punishment. You should really work on wiping that growl off your face..." With a quick movement, the guard reaches over and quickly spider-tickles all over his prisoner's tummy, catching him unprepared and getting a loud squeak in return that led into the gift of the first few giggles. Music to his ears. "Eeeehehehes-stop that! You're just annoying me!" The feline tried to save face and recover his composure, but once the first giggles come out, they are of course very difficult to stop. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna touch your precious little tummy any more...I've got new areas to explore." "Huh?" Curiosity caught the cat as he watched his captor bring out the communicator once again and adjust it to the ideal position. As he thought further, he became very aware of which parts of him had been made vulnerable, and his ears drooped a bit. The young boy had some prior experience of his paws being tickled. His dad used to tease him with it all the time when he was younger, and it was unbearable even then, when it was a loving and playful tease. But, he remained hopeful for now that his feet in particular would be left alone. He enquires, just as the camera starts to record again: "W-what do you mean new areas?" "Greetings again, Avocato." The guard speaks to the camera. "Your boy's in a slightly more precarious position today - one that I'm sure you'll recognise from your days here... You broke quite quickly when you were put into the stocks, maybe your boy will do better..." Little Cato continued to growl and look tough, despite having many questions. He didn't particularly want to get into his father's past, but he was morbidly curious. "Did...did my dad get held prisoner like this too?" "Oh no, not prisoner, necessarily. He just needed some...correction...when he acted out of line with the mission. Of course, we did much worse to him than what is going to happen to you - although i cant deny your father became delightfully ticklish once he had been softened-" "OK! OK! That's enough!" The boy interrupted, as he would rather not get any images of his own father being tortured in his mind. "Just get it over with! Come behind me and tickle me, since I know that's what you're gonna do and I ain't got all day!" "Firstly, actually, we do have all day. Secondly, I'm not going behind you, I'm perfectly fine sitting here for now..." The guard giggles sadistically for a second before continuing to talk as he starts to unlace the boots that his prisoner was wearing. "Let's get you a little relaxed and take these boots off." "Ah! G-get off! Don't take them!" Little Cato broke the illusion of tough resistance a little and became more desperate, as the fact of impending foot tickling became very apparent. If the guard had stuck to his upper body, he might have been able to continue resisting and not giving his torturer any satisfaction – but he had no idea how he'd react once his feet were touched. "My dad gave me those boots!" "Your boots aren't going outside of the cell, you can still keep them. Just not when you're in the stocks..." The guard pulled Little Cato's footwear off very slowly, revealing his orange-furred and soft-looking feet. They looked adorable, small but pudgy and wide, and he gently wiggled his toes as he felt a slight breeze on them. "There, doesn't it feel better to be barefoot?" "Not when there's a weirdo looking at them like that! W-what are you doing..." The boy's protests were interrupted by an unexpected feeling on his feet. Unexpectedly nice, even. The guard was using a hand to gently rub and massage across his feet, seeming to take great care in not letting his claws make contact. Yet. "I'm not all evil, you know. It's your first time and you seem nervous, so I should help you relax. Besides, might be a nice thing to get on the video too..." With that being said, Little Cato realised that any illusion of kindness or charity from the guard was simply a ploy. He was trying to fluster him. Make him humble and embarrassed on camera for his dad to see. He wasn't suddenly feeling nice enough to give out foot massages, he knew that a massage would fluster Little Cato and make him all cute and humiliated. And unfortunately for the kitten, it did. It felt really wonderful on his soft paws and made him purr quietly out of pleasure, but he was far too humiliated to really enjoy it. He knew it wouldn't last long anyway. "Your feet really are just as soft as your father's were... Soft, pudgy and ticklish, ideal for me to tease and torture..." "Mmm...sh-shut up..." The soft-pawed boy protested, moaning and purring a little more at the feeling of his soles being luxuriously worked over by the guard's warm hands. A few minutes later, the massage stopped, leaving Little Cato feeling more relaxed than he'd been in a long time, despite knowing full well that wasn't going to last for too long. His suspicions were correct as there was soon another sensation attacking his soles – one much weirder that made him grimace and close his eyes out of humiliation. A warm and wet feeling travelling up both of his soles – he didn't want to think about it too much, but he was pretty sure the guard just licked his feet. "There'll be more of that in the coming days...both the massage and the licks." The guard went over to the briefcase that he had left in the cell a day earlier. He opened it away from the sight of either the captive or the camera, but pulled out a long white feather from it. "I just thought I'd give you a preview now to make sure you were flustered and cute before I took the feather to your soles." "Y-you'd better keep that away from me or I swear I'll-" "You'll what? What will you do in those paw stocks? It's not like you can move much!" The captor taunted as the long feather in his hand twirled around teasingly, "You can't move your cute little feet away from the feather...you're just gonna have to take the tickles like the precious little kitten you are..." "I-I'm not a kitten! You take that back!" The kitten protested more and more as the feather was slowly lowered down to his bare feet, making ticklish contact a few seconds later. To say he was unprepared for the feeling would be an understatement. "You take it bahahahahahackAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!" The sensation of the feather on his soles was something that the boy had never experienced in his life. Not just a tickle, but the most brutally teasing and gentle tickle possible – and it was the slow and teasing kind that were really unbearable for him. The long feather's fluffy fronds really tormented the nerves in his feet, and stroked at just the right speed up and down each vulnerable sole to ensure maximum sensation. Up and down, up and down, until the guard decided to change things up by targeting his poor pudgy toes with the feather. Whatever ability he had to scale back his laughter previously was completely gone by this point, and his uproarious laughter echoed throughout the cell as each stroke of the feather travelled in a tingle up his whole body. Even the palms of his hands received a few strokes, and even they resulted in some adorable laughter. Ticklish soles are a given, but ticklish palms really is the sign of a truly soft-pawed little ticklee. "The feather is the lightest tool I have – and it is driving you insane. How do you expect to cope with the nastier tickles when your feet can barely handle a little teasing tickle?" "F-FFUHUHUHUHUHAHAHAHAHA!!" For Little Cato's own sake, he should probably be happy that his foul-mouthed insult was prevented by his helpless laughter. He couldn't really say much, rendered completely helpless, vulnerable, and most of all, humiliated. After a long while of the feather sliding sadistically back and forth between his tender toes, he couldn't help but blush brightly and reach 100% fluster. He tried not to remember that every single second of this was going to be viewed by his dad. When the feather finally relented, giving those soft furry feet a bit of a break, the poor little ticklee tried desperately to rub his paws together to try and soothe the intense tingling that ran through them. The stocks made that impossible however, so he had to make do with wiggling and flexing his fingers and toes as much as possible. He knew he was pretty much putting on a tease for his torturer by doing so, but if it stopped the horrible ticklish tingles then it was worth it. It did not. "That was just one feather. I've got much, much more where that came from." The guard rotated the briefcase so that it was more visible to his captive. Much to Little Cato's horror, the case turned to reveal a huge pile of tools that seemed designed for tickling – feathers, brushes, forks, pinwheels of all different shapes and sizes. "We're going to be spending a lot of time experimenting on those feet of yours – I'll find out which tool to really punish you with..." "You-you wouldn't dare! No!" The prisoner protested as his hands and feet squirmed around madly just from the sight of the tools. "You still underestimate me... I haven't yet broken you..." The captor said, before turning back to the camera that had captured the whole ordeal, addressing Avocato directly. "These videos will be coming to you every day, Avocato, and will only get more intense from here on. Your son is going to suffer more and more, just like he deserves. You can keep searching for him, but time is running out. He can barely take the feather, never mind what I've got in store for him. I don't think he'll be able to take much more..." Over the next few minutes, hours, days and weeks, the cruel, ticklish and sadistic 'experimentation' on Little Cato continued relentlessly. Although his feet were the primary target, his upper body was sure to receive plenty of tickle torture too, and he felt all manner of different tools torment his tender nerves – the metal pinwheel in particular, gave the guard a lovely scream of hysterical laughter when it was rolled down one of Little Cato's abused soles. The giggles turned into laughter, laughter into breathlessness, breathlessness into tears, tears into begging. The submissive young boy that he really was began to show, and for all intents and purposes, he was now the tickle slave of his cruel guard, for the foreseeable future... ------------------------- It had now been one year since Little Cato was first taken prisoner, and six months since his punishment routine began. Although he was given the odd bit of freedom whenever he was allowed to eat and exercise under supervision, the stocks became his new home. Even when not being tickled, he was kept in there and unable to move an inch. If he was ever particularly vicious or rude during a session, he would be gagged and blindfolded, the resulting embarrassing bondage ensured to be caught on camera to be sent to his father. His paws tingled all day round, the feeling from each session not getting the chance to subside before the next day's session would begin. The guard had studied him carefully and learnt exactly what makes him tick the most – A cold metal pinwheel rolled slowly across his soft arches would be guaranteed to make him howl with laughter, and a long feather sliding in and out between his toes is the best way to make him blush and squirm in humiliation. If he ever dared to curl his toes closed around the feather as it tickled, his session would be extended by an hour. A month or so into the routines, the guard introduced a new method of tickling that would completely destroy the boy's nerves, reserved for only special occasions when he needed extra discipline. A row of robotic vines that the guard could control, and would wrap around and deeply tickle the most sensitive nerves in Little Cato's poor feet. Again, if he dared to curl his toes to shield them from the vines, he would be punished with an hour's extension. The longest so far was 22 hours in length, after he had spat at the guard in retaliation, and was the first time that the feline had begged for mercy. A regular occurrence, now, as the constant daily tickling had drained his willpower. He was still a strong Ventrexian, a toughie, and he made sure to talk back to the guard at any opportunity he got. But that was when the tickling wasn't in progress, and whenever it was, he was transformed into a pathetic, weak, ticklish kitten whose silky-soft footpaws would flinch at the slightest breeze. The videos continued to be sent to the boy's father every single night, which was a win-win for the guard and indeed the Lord Commander himself. At the very least, the sight of his son in distress would be psychologically torturing Avocato, particularly as the guard made sure to do the most humiliating things to the boy very regularly. In the best case scenario for them, it would drive him to search even harder and finally find the planet they were on. It was bound to happen within a few years, and whenever Avocato did arrive to stop his son's ordeal, the army would simply eliminate him. Little Cato, of course, didn't know that plan, and it was the thought of his father's surely endless search that kept him going. Somewhere out there, his dad was stopping at nothing to find and rescue him, and one day they'd be reunited. The torment would be over. He just had to stay strong until then. No matter how many years it took, no matter how difficult it got to be resistant, no matter what evil tickly tool was being stroked and pushed into his helpless paws, he must remain strong. For both himself and his dad. He was a fighter, a ticklish fighter with an adorably precious giggle and laugh, but a fighter nonetheless. He was Little Cato, and one day he'd be taking names and kicking ass alongside his dad. That's all he really cared about. ------------------------- Across the far reaches of the galaxy, a lone bounty hunter continues his now year-long search. Avocato, former right-hand-man to the Lord Commander and father of Little Cato, travels far and wide across the galaxy with the goal of rescuing his son. Despite having no leads on his whereabouts, or any crew to assist in a rescue mission, he will never rest until he can see his child again. A lone warrior, he has no companions for comfort. The only vague reassurance he ever receives, much to his horror, are the daily video communications of his son being tortured. No matter where he goes, he can always count on receiving each video at the same time every day. It becomes part of his routine to watch his own son being humiliated for the pleasure of his captors, with no clue as to how he will be able to stop it. He is always happy to receive them, of course – it's his reassurance that Little Cato is still alive and healthy – but seeing his son suffer in such an unusual way is difficult to bear. Originally treating each video with derision, as tickling is such an odd torture that his son could easily take; Avocato has since spent his days watching his son slowly break, slowly submit, slowly suffer. The gradual hopelessness and fear he sees in his son's eyes as he is tormented is more painful than any 'real' torture ever could be. Just once, he wanted to talk to his son again, to comfort him and tell him how strong he is to endure such torment. To make it absolutely clear that he isn't weak for submitting to such cruelty. And one day, he will. One day. His long search continues...