Chapter 32:

Azusa and Honoka's "performance" for the day was a merciless torture aimed at their feet. Among the assembled demons were families that the sisters had once exorcised—the Ox Demon clan with their gloomy gazes, the Shadow Fiends restlessly shifting in the darkness, and grotesque mountain spirits and ogres.
Their pale, delicate feet were firmly secured by mechanical devices, hoisted high like treasures on display. Several cold suction cups extended from the apparatus, precisely latching onto their toes and slowly exerting pressure, prying each toe wide apart to expose the most tender, vulnerable skin hidden between them.

Their toenails had been meticulously painted—Azusa's in a soft blue, Honoka's in a vivid red. The colors gleamed starkly in the dim light, like malicious ornaments, accentuating their helplessness and rendering their shame utterly undeniable.

"Don't they look much cuter this way?" some demon snickered from the crowd.

Azusa clenched her jaw tightly; Honoka, however, forced out a defiant smirk, trying to mask the fear surging in her eyes with that feigned bravado. Both knew this was only the beginning.
Then, the bizarre instruments—their tips as soft as brushes, yet emitting a low mechanical hum like a chainsaw at their base—were precisely inserted into the gaps between their splayed toes.
Azusa's toes instinctively curled, but the suction cups held them fast, leaving her no choice but to endure those vibrating bristles pressing into the most sensitive skin between her digits. The simultaneous assault of cold contact and mechanical tremor made her body tense instantly, a stifled groan escaping from deep in her throat.
Honoka's defiant smirk froze the moment the instrument touched the spaces between her toes. The humming sound seemed to bore into her consciousness like a drill, and wherever the brushes swept, ticklish sensations shot up like electric currents. Her toes twitched helplessly, only driving the bristles deeper into those vulnerable regions that had never been touched before.
Below, the demons that the sisters had once exorcised held their breath.
Suddenly, the finger-like brushes began to vibrate and spin, and the chainsaw-like brushes started rotating as well. The fine bristles trembled at high speed between their toes, like countless invisible hands simultaneously scraping their most vulnerable skin.
Both sisters' composure shattered almost simultaneously.
Azusa's clenched jaw was the first to give way—a stifled whimper squeezed from deep in her throat, quickly escalating into uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. Her body convulsed violently within its restraints, her toes futilely curling and splaying, only driving the rotating bristles deeper into the gaps between them.
Honoka's barely maintained defiant smirk completely disintegrated. She threw her head back, laughter tearing through her throat like ripping fabric, mixed with gasps and strangled breaths. Her feet twitched spasmodically in the mechanical apparatus, each vibration sending her laughter further into chaos.
Below, the demons' cheers intertwined with the sisters' crumbling laughter, echoing throughout the entire torture chamber.
Tears sprang to their eyes almost instantly. They had long known—from the very first day of their captivity, from the moment the tickling torture had first shattered their consciousness—that they were utterly incapable of enduring this torment.
But knowing, and being forced to face it again, were two entirely different things.
Azusa's tears mingled with sweat as they rolled down her cheeks, fresh moisture continuously seeping from beneath her tightly shut eyelids. Her laughter had grown hoarse, tinged with sobs, like the death cry of some wounded creature.
Honoka's defiant smirk had vanished without a trace, replaced by an expression of complete collapse. Her head was thrown back, tears tracing paths down the curve of her neck, laughter and weeping merging into something indistinguishable.
Their bodies remembered. Remembered the terror of every ticklish touch, the shudder that ran through every inch of skin when stimulated, remembered how they had lost dignity, reason, everything—all in helpless laughter.
And now, they could only endure it all over again.
After what felt like an eternity, the tickling between their toes finally stopped.
Azusa and Honoka sagged limply in their restraints, chests heaving violently, gasping for air in great, desperate gulps. Their splayed toes hung limply, the skin between them still throbbing with that tingling after-sensation—as if countless tiny electric currents still crackled just beneath the surface.
"Can't even handle a little toe-tickling? Pathetic…"
"Weren't you two all high and mighty as exorcists? Now you can't even stand this much?"
"Look at them, flopping like fish out of water, hahaha—"
The demons' taunts came from all directions, dripping with mockery, contempt, and malice. Every word pierced clearly into their ears, but they had no strength left to respond—not even enough strength left to feel ashamed.
All they could do was use this brief respite to breathe.
Like drowning victims finally breaking the surface, even if only for a few seconds.
The demons didn't let them rest for long.
Before their breathing could fully settle, something cold pressed against their soles—something was being attached.
Azusa's body tensed instantly. She couldn't see what it was, only feel its bizarre texture: a flat surface, but covered in countless… protrusions? Like tiny rounded tips pressing simultaneously into the most sensitive skin of her feet.
"Wh-what is…?" She tried to speak, but only broken, breathless sounds emerged.
Honoka felt it too. The thing was applied lightly, almost weightless, yet the fact that she couldn't see it multiplied her fear tenfold. Her toes twitched involuntarily, trying to escape the unknown sensation, only pressing those countless tiny bumps more distinctly into her soles.
All they could do was wait.
Wait for the demons to reveal—this time, what awaited them.
"Aahaha! It tickles—!"
Almost simultaneously, the maddening tickling sensation returned to the spaces between their toes, while the countless tiny bumps on their soles began vibrating intensely. The dual assault of ticklishness flooded their reason like a tidal wave.
Azusa's head snapped back, uncontrollable laughter tearing from her throat like screams. Her toes twitched futilely within the suction cups' grip, the bristles between them and the vibrating bumps on her soles tormenting her most vulnerable areas simultaneously.
Honoka's last remaining shred of composure crumbled in an instant. She laughed until her whole body trembled, tears spraying with each convulsion, saliva mixing with sweat and tears at the corners of her mouth. Her feet spasmed helplessly within the apparatus, unable to escape a single sensation.
This tickling—this torture that burrowed from the depths between their toes into their very marrow, while simultaneously crawling up from their soles through every nerve—plunged them back into the abyss of helpless hysterics in an instant.
Sweat slid down their violently trembling bodies—from tensed calves, along inner thighs; or over their collarbones and heaving chests, finally pooling in spasming stomachs. Each droplet glistened in the dim light, as if their crumbling dignity had condensed into visible form.
Their feet were especially drenched, the spaces between their forcibly splayed toes slick with moisture, creating a sticky contrast against the cold machinery that made every vibration more intense, more unbearable.
The girls' laughter echoed through the chamber—hoarse, broken, yet piercing the air like shards of glass.
Below, the demons' excitement reached its peak. They clapped, stomped, unleashed all manner of strange cheers. Those demon families that had once been exorcised by the sisters now watched with vengeful ecstasy gleaming in their eyes. The Ox Demons' heavy breathing mingled with laughter, Shadow Fiends twisted and danced in the darkness, Mountain Spirits bared their fangs in bone-chilling grins.
For them, nothing could be more satisfying than witnessing their former enemies collapse so completely.
Amidst the chaos of hysterical laughter, no one noticed—the mechanical arms extended silently, their tips aiming at the sisters' completely unprotected heels. Now those two spots trembled with each spasm of their bound feet, sweat tracing slow paths along the curve of their heels, glistening helplessly in the dim light.
The mechanical hands paused for a second, as if savoring their prey's complete unawareness.
Then, they slowly descended.
And Azusa and Honoka continued laughing, tears blurring their vision, their ears filled only with the noise of their own crumbling laughter intertwined with the demons' cheers from below. They didn't know—a new threat was already inches away.
The moment the mechanical hands made contact with their heels, their fractured laughter shattered into something else entirely—
"AHHH——!!"
It was a sound somewhere between a scream and a wail, torn violently from the gaps between their hysterical laughter. The stimulation on their heels was far more intense, far more unbearable than anything on their soles. Every vibration from the machinery felt like it was directly stimulating their nerve endings.
Azusa's body arched like a shrimp, only to be crushed back down by her restraints, leaving her to convulse futilely within her limited range. Her laughter had completely distorted, pitched so high it barely sounded human, mixed with strangulated gasps.
Honoka thrashed her head wildly from side to side, tears and sweat spraying through the air. She wanted to scream, to curse, to beg—but every sound that escaped could only emerge as more hysterical laughter. Her feet spasmed helplessly against the machinery's manipulations, unable to avoid a single touch.
And below—
"Hahaha! Yes! Just like that!"
"Look at them! The great exorcists? Ha!"
"Scream! Scream louder!"
The demons' cheers and laughter rose and fell in waves, their sinister, sadistic gleams flicker in the dim light like beasts surrounding dying prey. Every broken note, every convulsion, every tear from the sisters became the most exquisite seasoning for this bloody狂欢.
No mercy. No sympathy.
Only pure, boiling sadistic delight.
" Pleasure.
Before they could catch their breath from the heel torment, the rolling brushes for the balls of their feet were applied as well.
Row upon row of fine, dense bristles precisely covered every inch of skin from the base of their toes to the front of their arches. As they began to roll, that tickling—that sensation burrowing through every pore simultaneously, exploding along every nerve—utterly shredded whatever remnants of sanity they had left.
Azusa's body jerked violently as if electrocuted, her waist twisting futilely, her legs spasming within their restraints. Her laughter had completely gotten out of control, high-pitched and shattered, mixed with near-suffocating gasps and sobs.
Animalistic wails tearing from deep in Honoka's throat—only to be immediately swallowed by hysterical laughter. Her feet curled and splayed unconsciously beneath the rolling brushes' torment, only driving those fine soft bristles deeper into every crease.
They writhed. They struggled. They cried. They laughed.
But they couldn't escape an inch.
"So these are the great exorcists of the Kuromyamai house? Hahaha!!"
The demons' mockery rose from below like a vicious slap, yet it didn't even leave room for shame—because they had long lost all capacity for conscious perception amidst their laughter, leaving only their bodies' most primal, most humiliating responses.

Tentacles climbed onto their insteps, sparing no hidden ticklish spot—the hollows where toes meet the foot, even the paper-thin vulnerable skin on the inside of their ankles. Every inch of skin was explored as if licked gently, each undulation bringing new, unpredictable waves of ticklish sensation.
Azusa's toes splayed and curled helplessly within their suction cups, the skin of her insteps rippling with fine tremors at the tentacles' touch. Her laughter had grown hoarse to the point of suffocation; through tear-blurred vision, she could only watch those dark tendrils crawled slowly over her feet, like some nightmare from which there was no waking.
Honoka's feet convulsed violently, trying to kickand flail but only ended up shaking in vain. The tentacles tightened further, as if mocking her struggles. Their soft tips burrowed between her toes, into every minute crease of her insteps, into every sensitive spot she could imagine—and places she couldn't.
Not a single ticklish spot was spared.
Not a single chance of escape remained.
The suction cups were replaced with specialized rotating brushes.
Those devices that had firmly held their toes were now substituted with fine, spinning brush heads—each toe individually encased, the bristles attacked the tip, the pad, the base, even the sensitive edges where nail met skin that were likely overlooked.
As the brush heads began to spin, that concentrated, meticulous ticklish sensation exploded from ten points simultaneously.
Azusa's toes trembled helplessly within the brush wrapping, each toe enduring its own private torment. She wanted to curl, to avoid, but the brush heads clung tight, the spinning bristles sparing not a millimeter of skin. Her laughter had shattered into something beyond words, leaving only staccato gasps and convulsive inhalations.
Honoka's toes jerked violently, like ten nerve bundles being electrocuted at once. Those toes, once painted with red polish, now trembled in the dim light with each rotation of the brushes, every spin making her body tense tighter and her laughter climb higher.
Each cute little toe was being individually "serviced."
Each wave of ticklishness could not be shared, could not be shared to the others.
And this "performance" still had a very long time to go.
Chapter 33:

Yoko Yaminein had prepared for this rescue for a long time.

It wasn’t that she lacked confidence in her own abilities. But her aunt and mentor—Nana Yaminein—had fallen. Her mother, Akemi Yaminein, had fallen too. Both had vanished without a trace. She had never witnessed her mother’s skill firsthand, but from the rare glimpses in her aunt’s tone, she understood that the woman had once been a formidable exorcist. And Nana Yaminein was the strongest exorcist she knew.

If they could disappear into this place without a sound, Yoko dared not underestimate it. She couldn’t simply walk through the front gate.

Months of investigation had mapped every patrol route, every shift change, even the thickness of the walls. Her mother, her teacher, her two younger cousins—Honoka and Azusa—were inside. She had confirmed it, over and over, until there was no room for doubt.

Tonight, under the faintest sliver of moonlight, she made her final preparations and slipped in.

She kept low, her fingers sinking into the cold, damp soil. The stench of rot and rust clung to the back of her throat, an unshakeable film. She let out a slow breath and tightened her grip on the short knife at her waist. The cloth wrapped around the hilt was soaked through with sweat.

She thought of her aunt’s face. Those steady, unwavering eyes had once told her, in the middle of training: “Your mother is stronger than you think.”

That was all.

Now even those eyes were gone, swallowed by this place.

Yoko wet her cracked lips and peered past the broken wall ahead. In the darkness, the demon stronghold lay like a crouching beast, exhaling its foul breath in slow, steady pulses. Footsteps sounded in the distance—heavy, dragging something metallic across the stone. She counted the beats, waited for the sound to turn down a corridor, and then darted from her hiding spot.

Her feet touched the ground with barely a whisper. She hugged the wall, her back pressed flat against the cold, slick stone, the knife reversed against her forearm. Her breathing was so shallow she could hardly hear it herself.

There was no turning back.
She dragged the monster’s corpse as far as she could into the shadows by the wall, her movements so controlled even the rustle of her clothes was barely audible.
Greenish blood traced the blade’s edge before she flicked her wrist, sending a few droplets spattering to the ground where they disappeared into the dust.
She did not move immediately. Holding her breath, she listened.
Only the low moan of wind slipping through cracks in the walls, and the faint beat of her own heart.
Her soles pressed flat to the floor, stepping without so much as a crunch of gravel.
She flowed along the wall like a shred of darkness, soundless.
One corner, then another. At each turn, she paused for a heartbeat, her gaze slipping around the edge before her body followed, scanning the corridor beyond for any sign of disturbance.
Her fingertips tingled.
Not fear—just the tautness of holding her breath too long.
Ahead was the spot she had spent weeks verifying: an iron door set into the stone wall, the rust on its handle exactly as she investigation.
She crouched beside it, pressing her spine flat against the cold rock. With her right hand, she pressed it to her chest and slowed her breathing one last time.
When she finally reached the cell where her two elders were imprisoned—the so-called “Chamber of Atonement”—the sight before her made her breath catch for a moment.
She crouched outside the iron bars and peered cautiously into the dimly lit space.
Inside, the two women were encased in blocks of a cement-like substance that gave off a faint purplish-red. Its surface was rough, clearly some kind of demonic construct. They were almost entirely sealed within, unable to move. Only their heads, feet, breasts, and buttocks remained exposed.
It was her mother and her aunt.
Their heads drooped limply, eye masks covering their faces. Sweat and traces of some dried, milky fluid clung to their skin. There were no external wounds on their exposed flesh, but the signs of prolonged abuse were unmistakable—reddish marks like fingerprints pressed into their breasts, streaks of viscous, still-damp fluid trailing down the insides of their thighs.
Their chests rose and fell faintly. They were alive. Barely.
Yoko clenched her jaw, her fists tightening against her knees.
She made no sound. She simply stared at those familiar faces, swallowing down whatever was rising in her throat, one breath at a time.
Yoko’s gaze traveled lower, and then she saw it all—around their necks, dark silver rings pressed tight against the skin, their surfaces etched with dense rows of咒文. Even the faint rise and fall of their throats seemed held in check by them.
But it didn’t end there.
Metal rings pierced through their nipples, catching the weak light with a cold gleam. Smaller ones were set into their clitorises, the skin around them red and raw. Each ring trailed faint traces of spiritual residue, writhing slowly like something alive.
Her fingertips went numb.
It wasn’t fear. It was something colder, sinking from her chest down to the pit of her stomach, weighing so heavily that her knees nearly buckled.
Her mother and her aunt didn’t even have the strength to hide themselves. Or to tremble. They were simply there, sealed inside those purplish-red blocks, discarded like objects worn out from use.
She bit down hard on her lip until the taste of iron spread across her tongue.
Fortunately, there were no demons in the cell at that moment, no one there to torment them. A so-called “rest period,” perhaps.
Yoko approached the purplish-red block and reached out to touch its surface—cold, hard. The moment her fingertips made contact, a faint pulse of spiritual power pushed back, like the prick of a fine needle. She clenched her jaw and tried to wedge her short blade into the edge. It bit in for barely a finger’s width before jamming solid. She pushed at the base of the block, but it didn’t budge, as if it had grown from the floor itself.
She stopped. Her fists pressed against her knees. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
She couldn’t break it open. Couldn’t move it.
She knew this was a window of opportunity—the demons were absent, the silence a stolen gift. But she was helpless against this thing.
She forced herself to calm down, to study the block’s structure again, when a faint sound came from behind her—the involuntary twitch of a body held too long in place.
She jerked her head up.
Her mother’s head had turned slightly. That face, half-covered by an eyepatch, angled toward her. Even through the patch, Yoko could feel the gaze cutting into her—and then her mother’s head began to move, left and right. Small motions, but frantic, as if using the last dregs of strength she had left.
Go. Leave.
It was then that Yoko noticed their mouths. Both were fixed open with gags—metal frames clamped between their teeth, lips stretched into a rigid shape, not a single sound able to escape. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to speak. They couldn’t.
Aunt Nana stirred slightly beside her. Her eyelids fluttered, as though trying to open them, but she couldn’t muster even that much.
Yoko stared at her mother, still shaking her head. Something clenched tight around her chest, squeezing. She opened her mouth, but no sound came. She held that exhausted face in her gaze, her nails digging into her palms.
She understood what her mother was trying to tell her.
Chapter 34:
Yoko crouched in the shadows of the cell, her nails nearly digging into her palms.
She watched her mother shaking her head—so desperate, so hopeless, like a dull blade slicing back and forth across her chest. Her aunt could barely muster the strength to shake her head anymore. Her eyelids fluttered a few times, but never opened.
She couldn’t stay here. She knew that.
But she didn’t want to leave either.
Her fists clenched and unclenched. In the end, it was the faint glimmer of wetness welling up from her mother’s half-closed eye that finally pushed her to her feet.
You can’t save us. Go.
The corridor was darker than when she had come in.
She kept low, moving swiftly along the wall, her soles gliding over the floor, each step landing precisely where her previous one had fallen. Her breathing was short, held to the shallowest rhythm. Her eyes searched every corner, every crack in the darkness.
But the air had changed.
Too quiet. Even the low moan of wind through the crevices was gone.
She stopped, pressing her back flat against the stone wall, and slowly drew her short blade.
They’re coming.
Not from one direction. From two. From three. Faint, hard sounds—like chitin scraping against stone—seeped out of the depths of the corridor, from the path she had come from, from the path ahead, from the corners she thought she had already cleared.
She had been discovered.
Yoko narrowed her eyes, shifted her grip on the blade, and exhaled a stale breath.
Come on, then. At least not in that cell. At least not in front of them.
She had lost count of how many times she had swung the two kodachi.
Fighting her way out of the cell block, Yoko’s breathing had grown shallow and rapid. She had no time to flick the green blood off the blades—layer upon layer of it had dripped past the guards and onto her fingers, sticky and slick, making it almost impossible to keep a firm grip on the hilts. She didn’t stop to wipe them clean. There was no time.
Sounds came from both behind and ahead. The scrape of hard chitin against stone walls. The wet drag of flesh across the floor. And those shrill cries—like infants, like beasts—pouring from the depths of the corridor, growing in number, drawing closer.
She burst around a corner and drove her left-hand kodachi into the throat of a demon lunging from the side. The creature didn’t even have time to scream. Its body went limp, slumping against her. She shoved it off with her knee, and the blade came free with a dull, wet sound, spraying green fluid across half her face. At the same time, she swung her right-hand blade upward, severing the forelimb of another demon dropping from above.
No time to catch her breath.
She ducked under a third demon’s charge, stumbled, and slammed her knee into the ground. Before she could rise, she swung one blade upward in a reverse grip, piercing through the soft underside of its jaw. The other blade swept to her side, just in time to parry a claw reaching from behind—metal and chitin scraped together with a shrill shriek.
Yoko pushed herself up, gasping. Her left shoulder burned—she couldn’t remember when it had happened. Her clothes were torn, skin laid open, blood trailing down her arm. Both kodachi were drenched in green blood, the gleam of their steel swallowed by the viscous fluid, leaving only heavy, cold iron.
The exit was close.
She could feel it. Not the thin draft squeezing through cracks in the wall, but real wind—wind from outside, carrying the chill of earth and night. It poured through some invisible gap ahead, brushing against her blood-soaked face like a cold slap.
She clenched her teeth and kept running toward it. Her steps grew heavier, but she didn’t slow. Both blades hung loose at her sides, their tips dragging across the ground, leaving two thin, long trails of blood behind her.
The sounds of pursuit were still behind her. But fewer than before. Not because they had given up—but because any that could keep up had already fallen somewhere along the path she had carved.
The two kodachi moved in her hands with unnerving steadiness.
The demon lunging from the front didn’t even have time to open its mouth before the blade had already passed through its throat. Yoko’s feet didn’t stop. Her breathing didn’t even waver. A shift of her body, a sliding step, and her left-hand blade swept sideways—another demon’s forelimb, along with half its shoulder, spun into the air. Green blood traced an arc. She didn’t bother to look.
These small fry were no match for her.
Fighting her way from the cell block to here, she had picked up a few scratches. But none were fatal—none had even been unavoidable. She simply hadn’t needed to avoid them. She was faster than them. Sharper. More ruthless. Every cut was clean, economical, exactly what a trained exorcist should be.
But her heart wasn’t in the blades.
Her mother’s face. Her mouth stretched open by the gag. That half-closed eye beneath the eyepatch, shaking its head—go. Her aunt couldn’t even muster the strength to shake her head anymore. Her eyelids fluttered faintly, but never opened. The rings through their nipples, through their clitorises—glinting coldly in the dim cell, like needles driven into flesh. Driven into the back of her eyes as well.
Yoko clenched her jaw and forced a stale breath out through her nose.
Her left-hand blade flashed upward, splitting open the belly of a demon dropping from above. Her right foot slid half a step back, and her right-hand blade punched through the skull of another creature lunging from the side. The movements were clean. Not a single unnecessary tremor.
Her face was calm. Almost blank.
Only her fingers—wrapped around the hilts—had gone white, knuckles stretched tight as if about to crack.
She couldn’t afford to lose control. Couldn’t afford to rush. Couldn’t fall here.
The exit was close. Wind was already pouring in—cool against her cheek. Like her mother’s hand. No—not like that. Her mother’s hand had never been this cold. Never this cruel.
Yoko crossed both blades in front of her chest, then flicked them outward at the same time. Green blood sprayed from the edges, splattering against the stone walls and leaving two thin streaks. She took a deep breath and stepped toward the exit.

Two hours had passed.
The stone floor before the exit was soaked with blood.
The Blue Ogre King lay face-down. The hole in its chest was hidden beneath its body, invisible from above. It lay motionless, limbs sprawled, like a collapsed mountain of flesh. Its spiked club had rolled a few paces away, several of the iron spikes broken off, thick with dark green blood.
The Lizardman slumped against the wall, half-sitting, half-lying. A long gash ran from its left shoulder to its right ribs—scales peeled back, exposing the dark red meat beneath. It was still alive. Its vertical pupils were half open, the tip of its tail twitching occasionally, but it couldn’t move anymore.
Yoko sat in the middle of the blood.
A thin line of blood hung from the corner of her mouth, half-dried, trailing from her lower lip to her chin. She didn’t bother to wipe it away.
Both kodachi were chipped and dulled. The left one was stuck into a crack in the stone beside her, the blade twisted, the edge curled back like a jagged saw. Green blood dripped slowly down the spine. The right one was still in her hand. The cloth wrapped around the hilt was completely soaked through, its original color impossible to tell. The blade had lost several chunks along its edge— looked like a row of uneven teeth.
The strap of one of the geta sandals snapped and fell to the ground.
She tried to stand.
Her knee lifted halfway before the muscles in her thigh seized violently, and she collapsed back down. Her spine hit a shard of broken stone, forcing a pained grunt from her throat. She didn’t try again.
The walls were splattered with blood. Hers, and the demons’.
Dark red spray marks stretched from the base of the wall up to about chest height. Some were five-fingered claw marks. Others were fan-shaped spatters from blunt impacts. Long smear trails ran diagonally from the wall down to the floor—as if something had been dragged down, fingers desperately scraping for purchase. Greens, reds, deep browns—all mixed together, indistinguishable in the faint moonlight.
The silence was like a grave, broken only by the wind pouring in from outside, brushing over the blood-soaked ground and the scattered scales with a soft, whispering rustle.
When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was the rough stone ceiling.
Consciousness came back to her slowly, heavily, like being pulled up from the bottom of a muddy swamp. She instinctively tried to push herself up—her hands were tied behind her back. The coarse rope bit deep into the flesh of her wrists. She gave a small tug—the knot didn’t budge, and the friction burned her skin like fire.
She tried to draw on her spiritual energy.
Nothing.
Her core was empty. Hollowed out, as if someone had scraped it clean—not a single shred of power remained.
No. Not empty. Sealed.
She lowered her gaze and saw it around her neck. A dull silver metal ring, clamped tight on her neck. Its surface was covered in dense spells—the same kind she had seen on her aunt and her mother. A sealing collar. The cold metal pressed against her skin, digging in slightly with each swallow, like something alive slowly tightening its grip.
Her breath stopped for a moment.
Not from fear. From something heavier, colder—sinking from her chest all the way down to the pit of her stomach.
She closed her eyes. Opened them again.
The ceiling was still there. The ropes were still there. The collar was still there.
She lay still, no longer struggling. Just shifted her gaze from the ceiling, slowly scanning her surroundings—walls, floor, iron bars. The air was thick with the smell of damp mold, mixed with faint traces of rust and decay.
The same kind of cell as her mother’s.
A blue ogre and a lizardman stepped into the cell.
No words were exchanged. No glances, no pause, no warning.
The two monsters' rough, massive hands grabbed the fabric at her chest—the outer garment, the tight-fitting ninja suit beneath it, and the layer underneath all at once. Two layers of cloth tore apart. The sound of ripping fabric was unnaturally loud in the cramped cell. Shreds of cloth hung from her shoulders and waist, dangling like rags.
Her heavy, full breasts, freed from their bindings, sprang loose. They swayed slightly in the dim light.
The lizardman stood to the side. Its vertical pupils reflected her exposed upper body, its gaze sliding slowly from her collarbone down to her chest—expressionless, motionless, just watching.
Yoko closed her eyes. A fine layer of goosebumps rose on her skin.
Her eyelashes fluttered once, and her lips pressed into a thin line. At the corner of her mouth, a dried streak of blood from the earlier fight still remained. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Her chest rose and fell with that rhythm, the soft pale flesh shifting in the faint light, drawing subtle shadows of motion.
The ogre let out a low, rumbling growl—as if confirming something, or simply pushing air from its throat. It didn’t touch her again. It crouched down, bringing its face closer, its murky yellow eyes fixed on her bare breasts. Its breath hit her skin—carrying the stench of rotting meat and blood.
Chapter:34

When Yoko woke up, the first thing she felt wasn’t pain. It was cold.
The air clung to her bare skin, damp and chill as a thin layer of ice. She instinctively tried to curl up—but her body didn’t move. Not from weakness. From restraint.
She opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly.
Her hands were tied behind her back, her wrists sunk deep into the purplish-red mass, completely immobile. Her legs were in a kneeling position—her knees pressed against the rough stone floor, but from the middle of the block, her lower legs extended outward, her feet left hanging in the air. Her toes touched nothing but the cold emptiness around them.
Her upper body was bent backward. A spiked club protruded diagonally from the purplish-red block behind her, its haft embedded solidly in the stone-like substance. Its tip pressed exactly against her back—above her waist, below her shoulder blades. The club was rough and heavy, caked with dried dark green gore, like a rigid arm stubbornly shoving her spine forward. Her entire body was stretched into the shape of a drawn bow by that fixed implement—her lower back forced outward, her chest thrust high and forward, heavy and prominent, trembling faintly with each shallow breath.
She wore not a single piece of clothing. Her skin was directly exposed to the damp, cold air of the cell, every part of her clearly visible.
Yoko didn’t struggle.
First, she looked left and right. Stone walls. Dim light. The same cell. The purplish-red stuff had grown up from the floor like a tumor, clamping her limbs tight. She tried moving her fingers—her fingertips could curl, but her wrists were completely locked, not even room to rotate. She curled her toes. The cold of the stone made her shiver involuntarily.
The sealing collar was still around her neck. Its metallic chill pressed just below her throat, biting gently into her skin with every swallow.
She closed her eyes, then opened them again.
She remembered her mother’s face. Her mother embedded in the same kind of block—only her head, feet, breasts, and buttocks exposed. Those rings. Her mother shaking her head, telling her to leave.
Now she was just like that.
From outside the cell, footsteps approached.
A lizardman walked in.
Its footsteps were light, the rustle of its scales like dried snake skin dragging across the floor. Yoko turned her head, lifting her gaze from the ground—first to the tail swaying slowly behind it, then to the lean body covered in dark green scales, and finally to the reptilian face. Its vertical pupils met her eyes.
Her body tensed slightly.
Not a struggle. In this position, struggle was impossible. Just an involuntary contraction of the muscles between her shoulder blades, pulling at her back where the spiked club pressed against it, making her chest tremble faintly.
The lizardman didn’t speak.
It stopped two steps away from her and raised its right hand slowly. Five fingers spread open, writhing slightly in the air—flexing and extending, as if testing something, or simply admiring its own claws. Its gaze slid down from her face, past the sealing collar on her neck, past her chest thrust high and forward, finally settling on the two soft white mounds rising and falling with her breath.
Then it reached for her.
Slowly. Deliberately drawing out each second. Its fingers writhed faintly in the air, the scales on their pads glistening greasily in the dim light. Yoko stared at that hand, her pupils contracting slightly.
The hand was covered in fine scales, the fingertips ending in blunt, rounded claws. It carried a rough warmth and a damp, fishy stench. He touched her collarbone first—just a touch, as if confirming something. Then the hand slid down along her skin, unhurried, from collarbone to the curve of her chest. His fingertips brushed against her breast, forced high and prominent by the arch of her back.
Yoko's body went rigid.
She couldn't help it. It was a reflex, like flinching from a burn. From the spot where his hand made contact, a wave of goosebumps spread across her entire skin. She bit her lip. No sound escaped her, but her breathing faltered.
The lizardman didn't stop. He seemed uninterested in her reaction—or simply indifferent. The hand continued downward—from her breast to her ribs, from her ribs to her waist. Slow. Like a sluggish worm crawling across her flesh. The edges of his scales scraped against her skin—not painfully, but with an itching sensation that made her want to curl away. She couldn't. Her body was fixed in place. The spiked club behind her held her spine forward, leaving her chest exposed and accessible.
Yoko turned her face away and squeezed her eyes shut.
The lizardman finally spoke. His voice was hoarse, scraped from deep in his throat. "...Quite tight."
His hand stopped at her waist. It didn't move further. But it didn't withdraw either.
The lizardman's fingertip touched her nipple.
That reptilian hand was disturbingly skilled—the scales on its pads rough and cold, yet it found the most sensitive point with perfect precision. It didn't rush to knead. First, it traced its claw lightly across the center of the nipple, as if testing a bud that had never bloomed. Yoko's body jerked violently, as if struck by an invisible whip.
It was a reaction only an untouched body could produce—too direct, too intense. Before her brain could register what was happening, her body had already betrayed her. Goosebumps rose from the nape of her neck down to her waist, a fine layer of tiny bumps spreading across her skin. She tried to pull back, but the spiked club pressed firmly against her spine, leaving her no retreat.
The lizardman took the still half-soft nipple between two fingers and rolled it slowly. The rough scales chafed against the tender skin. With each rotation, there was a sensation like tiny needles pricking her chest, and at the same time—something dragged up from the deepest part of her body, a tingling heat she had never experienced before. Yoko's breathing completely unraveled. No longer the shallow, steady rhythm from battle. It came in broken, uneven bursts, mixed with stifled gasps. Her lips pressed tight together, her teeth biting into the inside of her lower lip, the taste of iron spreading across her tongue.
Her body began to move involuntarily.
Not conscious resistance—more like an overstimulated spinal reflex. Her hips twisted. Her bound legs convulsed inside the block. Even her hands, tied behind her back, clenched and unclenched in rapid succession. The purplish-red cube responded to her struggles with a low, deep thrum—barely audible at first, like distant thunder, then growing louder.
The lizardman didn't stop.
He moved to the other nipple, employing the same technique—starting with a light tracing, then rolling, then kneading with slightly increased pressure. Yoko's body arched backward, but the club wouldn't allow retreat. The force rebounded entirely into her chest—her breasts thrust forward, her nipples protruding even more, as if offering themselves into that reptilian palm.
A sound escaped her.
Not a scream. Not a plea for mercy. Just a short, hoarse, broken exhalation squeezed from the back of her throat—like the last breath leaking from a strangled throat.
Cracks appeared in the purplish-red cube.
First, a hairline fracture, meandering from the top down—passing through the point where her wrists were embedded, continuing all the way to the floor. Then a second crack, a third—like the shell of a cracked egg, fine fissures spreading from the center outward. Purplish-red light leaked through the gaps, many times brighter than the cube's usual dim glow, like the blood of some creature shining from its wounds.
The lizardman's hand finally stopped.
Its slit pupils lifted from her nipples to the cracks. It tilted its head, as if considering something.
Yoko gasped for air, her chest heaving violently. Both of her abused nipples had fully hardened, glistening wetly in the dim light—shaded a tone darker than the surrounding skin, red as freshly picked berries. Sweat soaked her forehead, strands of hair clinging to her skin. A droplet—whether sweat or something else—hung from her chin.
She didn't look down at the cracks. She just closed her eyes, turned her face to the side, and with every ounce of will she possessed, forced her breathing back to that shallow, steady rhythm from battle.
But her body was still trembling. Like a string that had been stretched too long—still vibrating faintly in the air even after breaking.
The lizardman withdrew the hand hovering before her chest and tilted its head. Its vertical pupils reflected her pale, taut face.
“Seems you’re much stronger than those two little shrine maidens.”
Its voice was not loud, carrying a slow, unhurried composure—like someone appraising the quality of an object. The tip of its tail tapped lightly against the floor, a small clicking sound, before it added:
“Just like with those two elder shrine maidens, we’ll have to use an even stronger seal.”
Yoko’s lashes trembled slightly.
She did not answer. Her lips pressed tighter together, cracking the dried blood at the corner of her mouth, seeping a faint red. Her chest rose and fell with her breath, her breasts—thrust out by the spiked club—swaying gently with each inhale, casting blurred shadows in the dim light. She stared into the lizardman’s eyes. There was no fear in her pupils, no anger—or rather, she had pressed both deep to the bottom, leaving only a thin layer of nearly wooden calm floating on the surface.
Her mother’s face flashed through her mind.
The mouth stretched open by the gag. The half-closed eye beneath the eyepatch, shaking its head—go. The purplish-red block. The rings through her nipples. The rings through her clitoris. Those memories glowed with a cold, faint light, like needles driven into flesh that could not be pulled out.
Now it was her turn.
Heavy footsteps sounded from the cell entrance. Another blue ogre ducked its head and squeezed inside—its massive frame almost filling the doorway, thick arms hanging at its sides, fists like rocks. Its murky yellow eyes swept the dim lighting and finally fixed on Yoko’s naked body. It said nothing, just breathed out in heavy rasps, a strand of translucent drool hanging from the corner of its mouth. The muscles of its chest heaved with every breath.
The lizardman did not rush to act. It simply watched her with interest—as if waiting for her to say something, or to let some expression slip. The blue ogre that had just entered stood to one side, shifting its murky yellow eyes from the reptile’s face to Yoko’s bare chest, letting out a low rumble from deep in its throat.
Yoko said nothing. She did not even look away. She simply moved her gaze slowly from the lizardman’s face, casting it into the impenetrable darkness beyond the cell.
Her feet hung in the air, touching nothing. The sealing collar bit into her neck, pressing gently into her skin with every swallow. Her hands were bound behind her back, sunk into the purplish-red mass, immobile. Her back pressed against the spiked club, her upper body bent backward like a drawn bow, her chest thrust high and forward.
She was a pinned prey.
They brought the sealing rings—for the nipples and the clitoris.
The lizardman pulled them from a leather pouch, unhurried, like a tradesman sorting tools. A faint purplish-red glimmer flickered across the surfaces of the rings, each one covered in dense spell, exactly identical to the ones Yoko had seen on her mother and aunt. The ogre crouched nearby, its murky yellow eyes shifting between the ring and Yoko’s nipples.
Yoko’s breath stopped for a moment.
Her pupils contracted slightly as she stared at those rings—cold metal, tainted with residual demonic energy, gleaming with a sickly luster in the dim cell. She remembered the ring through her mother’s nipple, the red, chafed skin around it. The smaller ring through her clitoris, embedded like a rivet.
Now it was her turn.
No foreplay. No mercy. The lizardman stepped up to her, reached out with its left hand, and pinched her left nipple—rough scales grinding against the most sensitive skin. It twisted, forcing the pink bud to protrude as far as possible. Yoko’s body tensed violently. Her spine pressed against the spiked club, forcing out a stifled grunt.
The lizardman’s right hand held the ring. It aimed the sharp tip at the most tender point of her nipple.
No countdown. No hesitation.
The ring pierced through her nipple like a red-hot needle pushed through flesh. Yoko’s entire body convulsed—a violent shudder that ran from her spine to her fingertips. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Not because she held it in—because the pain was so great she couldn’t draw breath. Only a thin, broken whisper of air escaped her throat.
Human red blood seeped from the fresh wound, tracing a thin line down the curve of her breast and onto the purplish-red block. The lizardman did not stop. It took the second ring and pierced her right nipple the same way. This time Yoko did not tense up—because her body was already trembling uncontrollably, like a leaf torn by wind, unable to stop. Her knees slipped slightly on the stone, her suspended feet swaying weakly in the air.
The ogre moved closer.
It crouched between her legs. Yoko’s sex was fully exposed to the damp, cold air. She shivered. The ogre’s thick fingers spread her labia, revealing the small clitoris hidden in the folds—tiny, pink, still twitching faintly from fear and pain.
“Don’t…” Her voice squeezed from deep in her throat, hoarse and faint, like air passing through a nearly closed door.
The ogre ignored her.
It took the smallest ring—two sizes thinner than the nipple rings, its tip sharp as a needle. It didn’t bother to hold the clitoris in place. It simply drove the point straight through. In that instant, Yoko’s body arched violently as if struck by lightning. The back of her head slammed against the stone wall behind her with a dull thud. Tears and sweat poured down her face, mixing with the blood from her lip, dripping onto her bare chest—impossible to tell which was which.
“—Ah…!”
Finally, a sound escaped her. A short, crushed scream—like glass shattering in her throat. Then she clenched her teeth and forced it down, cutting it off. Only harsh breaths through her nose and the uncontrollable trembling of her body remained.
All three rings were in place.
They sat in her flesh, the dull silver standing out against her pale skin. Tiny beads of blood glistened at the edges of the wounds. The spell on the rings grew faintly warm—as if countless fine needles were burrowing from inside the wounds, following nerves, following blood vessels, drilling into the channels where her spiritual energy once flowed. She felt the last lingering traces of her power being devoured by something cold. Nothing left.
The lizardman stepped back, crossing its arms. Its vertical pupils reflected her trembling body, her face wet with tears and blood. It nodded with satisfaction.
“These sealing rings can only be removed with demonic energy. A shrine maiden can never take them off!”
Its voice carried a slow, savoring pleasure, like tasting the pain of its prey.
“You will serve us forever as our itch-slave!”
The ogre stood as well, a low, rumbling growl of contentment in its throat. Their gazes fell upon Yoko’s naked, shaking body—upon the cold metal rings piercing her nipples and clitoris—like connoisseurs examining a freshly completed masterpiece.
Yoko did not answer.
She didn’t even look at them. Her head rested against the stone wall, face tilted upward, eyes half-closed. Her lashes fluttered without stopping. Tears, blood, and sweat mingled together, flowing down her neck, past the edge of the sealing collar, into the hollow of her collarbone.
Her hands were bound behind her back, sunk deep in the purplish-red mass, immobile. Her feet hung in the air, touching nothing. Her back was pressed forward by the spiked club, her chest thrust high and out—the rings at her nipples swaying faintly with each ragged breath.
The further sealing was over.
The two demons did not touch her again. The lizardman withdrew its hand and stepped back half a pace. Its vertical pupils reflected her faintly heaving chest—like inspecting a newly finished piece of work. The blue ogre stood to the side, its heavy breathing echoing through the cell, a thin strand of drool stretching from the corner of its mouth.
Then the tickling began.
Almost at that very instant, Yoko’s body tensed violently—and then the laughter erupted from deep in her throat.
“Ha… haha… HAHAHA—!”
It was an uncontrollable, hysterical cackle forced out from the depths of her lungs. Her mouth was wrenched open, and her eyes were wide open, and in her pupils there was no mirth—only despair. But her body was no longer obeying her. Her breasts, her belly, her soles—three places simultaneously attacked by a ticklish sensation like countless invisible feathers brushing back and forth across her skin. From her nipples to her navel, from her navel to the arches of her feet, layer upon layer, wave after wave, rising higher and higher.
“N-no… stop—haha… HAHAHAHA!”
She managed to force out a few broken words before the next wave of laughter swallowed them. Her upper body was bent backward, her chest thrust forward—a posture that stretched her belly long and flat, her delicate skin pulled almost translucent, every inch of it exposed to that maddening, tingling tickle. Her abdominal muscles were well-developed, but they were useless now. No matter how tense her muscles became, they couldn’t block the devastating stimulation that crept from the surface of her skin straight into her nerve endings. Her whole body trembled with laughter, shaking within the purplish-red restraints. Her feet, hanging in the air, kicked uselessly, her toes curling and splaying against nothing at all.
“HAHAHA… stop… pl-please… HAHAHAHA!”
At last, tears fell. Not from sadness. From laughing too hard, too wildly—her body was no longer under her control. Tears mixed with the sweat and blood on her face, dripping from her chin onto her collarbone, then running down the valley between her breasts. Her chest heaved wildly with each gale of laughter, the thrust-out white flesh shaking as if it might snap free from its pinned position. The sealing collar around her neck bit gently into her skin with every swallow, every choked gasp—cold as an iron finger. But that chill was nothing against the burning tickle that raged inside her.
The lizardman stood where it was, its mouth slowly curving into a grin, revealing rows of fine, sharp teeth. It said nothing, just watched the scene with leisurely interest—its vertical pupils reflecting Yoko’s twisted laughing face and trembling body.
The ogre crouched down, its murky yellow eyes fixed on her shaking chest, drool dripping from its mouth onto the floor with small, soft pats.
Yoko’s laughter began to grow hoarse. Her throat was dry now, the laughter interspersed with coughs and sobs. But she couldn’t stop. The tickling seemed to have grown teeth—biting into the most sensitive parts of her skin, forcing her to laugh, to cry, to spit out the last shred of her dignity from the bottom of her throat.
Only now did she understand what her mother and aunt had endured.
Her agonized laughter tore from deep in her throat, like a dull blade scraping back and forth against a stone wall.
“Ha—haha, hahaha—! Stop… haha, hahaha—!”
The sound crashed around the tiny cell, bouncing from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, shattering into a thousand sharp echoes that gathered again into a chaotic wave, drowning her in it. Her mouth was stretched wide, saliva and blood-streaked drool spilling from the corners, dripping down her chin onto her collarbone, then sliding between her wildly heaving breasts. Tears didn’t fall one by one—they poured in sheets, blurring her vision, turning the dim light of the cell into a trembling, shapeless glow.
“Pl-please… haha—stop, make it stop… hahahaha!”
The pleas squeezed through the cracks between her laughs, broken and desperate, like a drowning person bobbing in and out of the water. Her throat was already growing raw, but the tickling gave her no pause—countless fine feather tips simultaneously circling her nipples, the delicate skin of her belly repeatedly stroked, the maddening, toe-curling sensation on her soles crashing in wave after wave. Her body writhed within the purplish-red restraints, but every movement was locked down: her hands bound behind her back, her legs only able to kick weakly, her arched posture stretching her belly tight as a drum, each tremor making her skin rub against the air and amplify the torment.
“Aaa—hahahaha! I can’t—I can’t take it… hel—haha! Help…!”
Her screams mixed with the laughter until they became indistinguishable. At the peak of a laughing fit, she couldn’t breathe in—her throat emitted a thin, high whistle like a flute, then she choked on her own spit, coughed twice, and was shoved back into the depths of laughter by the next wave. She threw her head back, pressing her skull against the stone wall. The sealing collar bit into her neck with every violent swallow, but she could barely feel it—compared to the burning tickle raging inside her, the cold sharpness of the collar felt almost gentle.
“Hahahaha—please… I can’t… haha, ugh… hahahaha!”
Crying and laughing tangled together. She wasn’t weeping from sadness—she was laughing so hard that her tear glands had given up. Snot ran from her nose, mixing with tears, sweat, and blood, turning her whole face into a wet mess. Her lips were cracked, her tongue moved weakly in her mouth, occasionally forming a faint syllable—“mama,” maybe, or “help me”—but it was immediately crushed by another burst of laughter.
“Ha… ha… ha—” Yoko’s laughter began to fragment, becoming short, staccato “Ha” sounds, like a dog being strangled. Each “Ha” carried a shudder from her chest, popping out from her throat and dragging a long, distorted tail behind it, slowly fading. She thought the tickling might stop—but in the next instant, a stronger wave exploded from all three directions at once.
“Aaaah—!”
Not a laugh. A pure scream. Sharp, short—the kind of sound forced out in the instant a blade pierces flesh. Then the laughter returned, louder than before, more unhinged.
“Hahahahahaha—! Stop… haha… ki-kill me… haha… please kill me…!”
Her pleas had changed from “make it stop” to “kill me.” Her voice was almost completely shredded now, sounding like two pieces of sandpaper grinding together. But she was still laughing. She couldn’t stop. That damn tickling kept moving back and forth across her nipples, her navel, the arches of her feet—like countless thin snakes, like ten thousand ants, like the tongue of a demon.
Only now did she understand what she had seen in her mother’s and aunt’s eyes.
Yoko’s head lolled to the side. Drool hung from the corner of her mouth in a long, thin strand. Her eyes were half-closed, tears clinging to her lashes, her pupils unfocused. But her belly still rose and fell faintly, her toes still curled once in a while.
The laughter didn’t stop completely. It degraded into a low, intermittent “Heh… heh… heh…”—like an old bellows leaking air.
The cell grew quiet.
Only her panting, an occasional sob, and a barely audible murmur drifting up from the depths of her throat remained:
“…kill me… please… kill me…”
The lizardman finally moved. It crouched down and extended one finger, lightly poking the inside of her thigh.
“Heh—hahahaha!” Yoko jerked like she’d been electrocuted, letting out one more sharp laugh—then went limp, tears still flowing silently.
The lizardman stood up and glanced at the ogre.
“Not yet,” it said. “This is only the beginning.”
The exorcists of the Yaminein main branch—all wiped out.
Chapter 35

Deep in the otherworld, beyond the border of reality, a city floated.
There was no king, no council, no ruler of any kind. It had simply gathered itself into existence—because every demon needed a place where they could indulge, trade, take pleasure, and rot without pretense.
The city was called Carcasa.
Wooden buildings rose in layered tiers, their eaves curving in complex lines, their latticed doors papered with translucent shoji that glowed with warm light. Red lanterns hung beneath every eave, dyeing the entire street into a hazy, ambiguous rouge. But if you looked closely, the timber was alive—its surface occasionally oozing thick, sweat-like fluid. Inside the lanterns, the light came not from candles, but from long, thin creatures that writhed faintly. The air smelled of incense mixed with rotting flesh—sweet, rank, and dizzying after a while.
There was no daylight here. An eternal twilight poured from somewhere in the void, crushing every shade of red into a dark, dull ochre. The cobblestones were always wet—not from rain, but from warm dew that seeped from the foundations of the buildings. Walking on them, you could feel a sticky, soft give beneath your soles, as if treading on the tongue of some living creature.
The busiest place in all of Carcasa was a massive multi-story building. Its facade was ornate—sweeping eaves, carved railings, and rows of Japanese-style lanterns lighting up the entire street. There was no sign above its entrance, yet every demon knew what it was called. They whispered the name among themselves, with longing and greed:
“Emise — the Laughing House.”
Just approach that street, and the laughter would seep into your ears from every direction. Not quiet laughter—unrestrained, abandoned laughter, nearly tearing throats apart. It crept through the slits of the latticed doors, poured from the open windows on the second floor, rose from beneath the floorboards, from inside the walls, from the very air itself—like scalding syrup, thick and sweet, wrapping itself around every creature that set foot on that street.
Push open the heavy lattice door, and the air inside was thicker, hotter, reeking of sweat, saliva, and a certain musky scent of female hormones. Along the corridor, separate rooms lined both sides, each partitioned by solid wooden walls. Cloth curtains hung over each doorway, and from behind them came every kind of laughter—some shrill, some low, some caught between sobbing, some so distorted that you could no longer tell if it was laughing or gasping.
Demons could enter any room they pleased.
Inside each room, a woman was restrained. Their positions varied—some hung from the ceiling, some embedded in purplish-red blocks, some spread-eagled and tied to wooden frames. Most of them were naked, their skin marked with sweat stains, scratch marks, and dried residue of fluids. Rings and cursed implements pierced their nipples, clitorises, even their tongues. Tickling, vibration, electric shocks—the torment never ended. It left no fatal wounds, but made the women laugh endlessly, tremble endlessly, cry endlessly.
Once inside, demons could do whatever they wanted.
Some simply sat in a corner, eyes closed, listening to the laughter—letting the pure demonic energy flow through their auditory nerves into their brains, then spread throughout their bodies. To them, this was the ultimate luxury: energy that fed them without any effort. Others preferred more direct entertainment—reaching out to touch the women’s bodies, tickling their most sensitive skin, watching them writhe madly in their bonds, laughing until they nearly choked. The more desperate the laughter, the richer the demonic energy. Some demons even crawled onto the women, licking their sweat and tears with rough tongues, swallowing even the lingering traces of spiritual power.
Every woman’s laughter had its own “flavor.” Ordinary women produced only murky, impure energy. But exorcists—especially those from the Yaminein line, with their deep spiritual reserves—their laughter was pure, almost transparent spiritual fluid. Each laugh was like a drop of molten gold, falling into a demon’s core and instantly transforming into surging power.
In the small hall of the “Emise,” four bodies—honed and tempered through countless battles against demons—lay naked under the orange-yellow light. Purplish-red demonic “concrete”——Nightmare Coagulation had grown from the stage, locking their limbs in place. This special material was neither stone nor metal, but alive—slowly writhing in response to their body heat. It did not harm the skin, yet it was more inescapable than any chain. These powerful, muscular bodies, which had once slaughtered countless demons, could not move so much as a single finger. They had been brought here through rifts in otherspace—from Hunan, China; from Nara, Japan; from Alsace, France. Their respective homelands had been swallowed by pitch-black fissures and then spat out into Carcasa’s “Emise.”
A demon stepped out from the shadows. It wore a dark red shirt with its collar open, and two slender antennae extended from its collarbone, swaying slowly in the air. It walked to the four restrained bodies and, like a museum guide, began to introduce them one by one.
“This one—from Wulei Guan in Hunan, China—Quexie Sanjin.

真不错，挺好用的。

Base +5, chun31922 +6, 7274177 +6

画风粗糙，玩法单一，文字贫乏，一点也不好！（提裤子）

Base +6, alen wan -6, Streliz1a +6, calaloy +6, axbbbbbb +4, 柒岚萧雨 +6, yousan65464 -6, QQQQ QQQQ +4

看了下，这作者fanbox每个短篇是单独配文的，只看图总感觉少了点什么。

Base +7, Skore41 +6

Azusa and Homura Yaminein
the Chapter of capture
Pages: 1-9
The Yaminein house is a renowned exorcist family in West Japan. Their family temple is in the Mountains of Tottori. The Elder sister Nana Yaminein, as the chieftain of the family, is the chief priestess of the temple. The younger sister, Akemi Yaminein, has achieved in politics and commerce, despite her ability in exorcism.
Akemi's daughter, Yoko Yaminein, often trains at the temple. Nana's daughters Azusa and Homura study in different high schools close to their home. Azusa, Homura, and Yoko are all famous excellent exorcists in the dark world.
Lack of inspiration for the goddesses' stories recently, so I made something new. The Goddesses' story wasn't finished. If anyone could spark me with interesting ideas, like new victims, I'd really appreciate it.
Akemi Yaminein

The Chapter of abduction
Pages: 10-15
The iron lady of the Yaminein family, Akemi, was abducted by the stooges of the devils. She was languished and tamed in a secret den of the devils.
Nana Yaminein
Pages: 16-19

the Chapter of ambush
One day, Nana Yaminein received a letter containing recent photos of her daughters and little sister. Nana, with fierce anger, had to go to the location mentioned in the letter to fight against the people and monsters who ambushed her there. The results are predictable...

Chapter 4
Pages: 10-26
Nana Yaminein realized that she was restrainted in a strange place when she regained consciousness. All her clothes were stripped off, her voluptuous body was tied up, and hung in front of the men with her private regions were exposed totally.

"Nana Yaminein! You are now in my hands, and I'll kick you into our tickling hell! Master will be glad for that!" the leader of the kidnapper announced her horrible fate.

The hands of the kidnappers stabbed her vulnerable body, her extremely sensitive feet, boobs, buttocks, and thighs with soaked by tickling oil. The married beauty burst into laughter immediately. The kidnappers laughed to enjoy her resistance, which escalated her suffering.

Even though the exorcist did not stop struggling to try to escape from this situation desperately, the circuit of her thought was burned every time her nipples were tickled.
"I can break your will with just little tickle, no matter how hard you resist, you won't escape from this splendid hell!" the leader of the kidnapper whispered with joy.

"AHAHAHAAHA, STAHAHA!!! LET HEEE GOOHAHAH!!!"

A ring-gag forced her mouth open and muffled her voice.

"Quiet, Nana! No, you sow! Ah...yes....please take this dildo, it was moulded from the Master! You should get use to it!" the leader slowly plunged the dildo into her throat.

"Oh man, this sow is so busty, just like her sister! and as ticklish as hers too!"

They tickled her boobs with soft brushes in-between, and rubbed the juicy flesh, and the part where the breasts were not visible was inserted from the gap and tickled mercilessly.
As time goes by, nobody seems to be aware of her cry and laughing for help. She lost hope gradually.

She continued to suffer so much these days and was made to be a ticklish doll hung from the ceiling. Nana can never get out of this state by her own in the foreseeable future...

Chapter 5: An experimental animal
Pages: 27-30
In the secret base of the demons in the human world, A special treatment room that was set up which was even rarely visited by followers of the demons.
It is a facility for disposing of enemies of demons and those who discover their secrets, and is basically managed by low-ranged demons. The experimental animal in this cell was Akemi Yaminein, the heroine of the famous exorcist Yaminein family. She has to undergo a tickling endurance experiment here before being escorted to the demon world. And this experiment doesn't really have a specific purpose, it's just to make her suffering.

Chapter 6: An experimental animal
Pages: 31-32
The experimental animal in this cell was Nana Yaminein, the matriarch of the famous exorcists, Yaminein family.

Chapter 7: Invasion into the demon world
Page: 33
To rescue her family, the genius exorcist Yoko Yaminein made her way by stealth into the demon world, and kills countless demons until she was captured by the them, after she was sieged by the demon army.

Chapter 8: Auction I
Pages: 34-35
No text

Chapter 9: A Circus I
Pages: 36-40
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! It is the tickling training show of Azusa and Homura, of the famous exorcists family Yaminein! All of you are their fans, we hope you enjoy it!

Hey! You can't endure this anymore? This is your future life! You must be humiliated to your limit in fornt of the devils! Show our audiences your cute laughing faces like circus animals!

Look at these gorgeous bodies! They will be displayed, and tastes all the agony of tickling... doesn't that terrifying when you just hear it? The true hell has just begun. From now on, both of you are our ornamental toys, for your life time... You will continue to suffer in this hell!

Chapter 10: Auction II
Pages: 41-44
No text

Chapter 11: Invasion into the demon world II
Pages: 45-46
Yoko Yaminein in the demon world.

Chapter 12: Family Reunion
Pages: 47-49
The five exorcists of Yaminein family were escorted to the demon realm, and became tickling slaves there. They were tortured and trained in various places, in front of their enemies, and amuse the demons and monsters with their extremely ticklish and tender feet.

Chapter 13: Family Reunion II
Pages: 50-53
Nearly one year later...

Chapter 14: Nana's service
Pages: 54-59
Nana's serving is ongoing, as a tickle whore...

Chapter 15: Nana's boobs' training
Pages :60-64
How sensitive and ticklish could this lady's boobs?

Chapter16: Spin-off
pages: 65-70
Some of the captives would become permanent slaves of the demons... Even she was a really powerful one who used to be the leader of her clan...

Chapter 17: Auction for the next month
Pages: 71-73
No text

Chapter 18: Spin-off The missing exorcists
Pages: 74-84
For many years, there was happen that some powerful exorcists missing in different places around the country. Among them, there were even the chiefs of several famous exorcist clans. In fact, many of these female exorcists who failed due to momentary mistakes and carelessness were captured, and sent to the "Demon Headquarters" that has been circulating among demons recently, and becoming slaves.
These exorcists‘ spiritual power wase sealed, and they were used for entertaining the demons in the quarters. Especially the powerful exorcists who have killed numerous demons have been branded as "sow" and can only survive as slaves of the demons.
This time, the demons hold a feast of buttock tickling for entertainment. The ladies who should be executed by demons, are just powerless and hopeless meat slaves for amusement now.
(Names on the butts:

Otoko Tsuchimikado, Megumi Maminein, Nanami Sakaki,

Miyuki Touou, Fuyuki Abe, Hikari Asahina)
No matter how strong they were, these ladies are now merely meat toys that are getting mad with just a gentle scratch on their buttocks.
And every inch of the skin on the butts of these exorcists will not be ignored. The goal of demons is to humiliate them completely and plunge them into eternal despair and pain.
This is their hell...
Will they escape from this despair eventually?
Or a more hopeless future?

Chapter 19: The newly acquired slave at the auction
Pages: 85-102
Screams, laughter and sobs echo through the dark and silent underground. The stubborn slaves were left in the dungeons to be tickled and tortured. It would bring the rebellious slaves to their knees, and to let them know that their training would continue uninterruptedly here, making them aware that they lost their human right.
They would be placed here... for a whole day of continuous tickling torture, or even a week if she had some trouble to her master.... the torture and training would not stop n matter how she begs.

Chapter 20: Extra Foot Care
Pages: 103-128
Miss from the prestigious Touou family, yet you like to travel around in these worn-out grass shoes. Such good feet, but with thick calluses and have been worn so rough. What a waste!"
"Ara ara... what do you little monsters want to do to me?"
"We will provide a good pedicure for Miss Touou, and these cute feet will recover to their proper condition."
This pedicure will last for thirty days, and we are sure that Miss Touou's feet will be as delicate and sensitive as little babies.
"It's weird... my soles..."
"On the first day, we grind off the calluses on the soles of her feet carefully. We'd rather take a long time, in case it would hurt the dermis layer. Just do it slowly."
"Heehee... It's tickle now. Hihih, do you all want to torture me like this? Hihih..."
"The next day, we needs to clean her toes thoroughly, slough off dead skin cells by using a scrub, and apply lubricant to give them a good massage."
"Hahaha it's tickle hahaha! How could this happen hahaha! Stooop hahahah!!"
On the third day, first clean her toe crevices, and then let her experience itching in her toe crevices
"Hahaha it's killing mehahahhaha!!! I can't stannnahhaha!! hha! STOOOP HAHAHAhahahahahaha! STOOOPHAHHAA!! hahahaNOOOO!!"
On the fourth day, it was time to clean up the less important places. There were some dead skin on the edges of both feet, which must be cleaned up.
"Hahaha hahahhaha!!! STOOOP HAHAHAhahahahahaha! STOOOPHAHHAA!! hahahaNOOOO!!"
The next day, clean the forefoot and heel again, these areas need to be softened to make them more delicate.
"Hahaha hahahhaha!!! hha! STOOOP HAHAHAhahahahahaha! STOOOHAHHAA!! hahaha!! NONONONONOHAHAHAHHAHAHAH!! IT'SHAHAHAHA!!!STOOPHAHAHA!!! PLEAASHAHA!!"
On the sixth day, Miss Touou is facing a treatment of her ticklish archs of the soles.
"Hahaha it's killing mehahahhaha!!! I can't stannnahhaha!! hha! STOOOP HAHAHAhahahahahaha! STOOOPHAHHAA!! hahahaNOOOO!!"
On the seventh day, her feet cleaning is continued, with moderate force and gentle scratching and brushing. In addition, the balls and heels should be cleaned at the same time. The entire sole can be cleaned for a day.
On the eighth to nineth day, let her toes, which are smooth enough now, enjoy some deep development.
"HAHAHHAHANOOO!! KILL MEHAHAHAHAH!!! NONOOOOOO! PLEAAAAAHAHAHAH!!!"
On the tenth day, Miss Touou has a rest for a day, a whole day, and... we treat her feet with some sensitivity increasing ointment. This is also a very important part of her pedicure.
"What... what are you up to? Do you know who I am? You'd better kill me now... or I will absolutely kill you all! Kill you all! Kill you all! The Touou clan won't let you go either!"
You have had a pair of beautiful and ticklish feet now! Miss Miyoki Touou, please lenjoy your new life!"
Since the eleventh day, every inch of her skin on the soles can be treated by tickling.
"HAHAHAHANOOOAHAHAHAH!!!?? NONOAHHAHA!!! NOOOOHAHAHAHAH!!! STAAHAHAHA!! HAHAHAHA!! NOOOOO! HAHAHA...HAHHAHA!! HELPHAHAHAHA!!! NOOO!HAHAHHAA!!!PLHEHAHAHZHAHA!!"

('Can't stand it anymore... the brain is dysfunction!)
She will become a good toy...

Chapter 21: Spin-off: the Grannies
Pages: 129-137
Touou of the east and Yaminein of the west are the most prestigious exorcism households in Japan, with many powerful offspring emerging in the past two hundred years. As time goes by, monsters are progressing. These two households have been thorns in their side since hundreds of years ago for the demons. So the demon clans across the country have joined forces to launch plans against these exorcists.
Ten years ago, the matriarch of Yaminein (50), went missing. Her eldest daughter, Nana Yaminein, became the new matriarch of the household; Seven years ago, the most powerful exorcist of the Touou household, Miyoki Touou(43), disappeared, which deminished the strength of the Touous dramatically.
These two exorcists secretly became permanent tickle slaves of the demons, who ravaged them recklessly, making their lives worse than death. Many advanced demons who know their identities prefer to appreciate their painful appearance.
After their enslavement, they were transformed into half demons. Although they did not get the ability of monsters, they gained extremely long lives.
And the only duty for the rest of their lives is to please their captors, which are their enemies, the demons, by their sensitive bodies.
Their personalities and mentality were solidified to the day of their capture, so that their unwillingness, humiliation, fear, and despair could provide the demons with the most food.
But after years of training, the body has become quite different.
"The first half of your life was my most hated exorcists, and the second half was my favorite tickle slaves."
"Can you remember who you are after being a tickle slave for ten years?"
"Let's exchange the tickle slaves, so we can enjoy different flavour! Although they are both old ladies, their skins are still delicate and tender! Especially with these trained feet, they are particularly interesting to play with!"

"You should thank us for giving you life!"
"I heard that the main house in Yaminenin clan has been completely wiped out. Maybe you will see your daughters and other descendants in the future."
"Can you hear my word? Oh, forget it, just live peacefully as tickle slaves. By the way, I will let your slutty breasts enjoy some good tickling later."

Chapter 22: Spin-off: Touou's Training

Pages: 138-149
"Playing brave? You know your weaknesses already, and you know you won't be able to hold on."
”As I thought, these breasts are also quite ticklish."
"This breast needs to be labeled as a breast slave."
"HeheHiii!"
"Not bad, it looks pretty!"
"Great, now you are our breast slave."
"In the days to come, you should reflect on the harm you caused to us monsters before and accept your fate honestly"
"Ticklish exorcists, that's what I love the most!"
"We will let the tentacle monsters serve you. These low-level monsters can obtain pleasure by absorbing human pain without tiring."
"After all, you are the strongest and most stubborn person in the Touou clan."
"There's still a long time left, you can think about it carefully."
"Of course, I hope your brain is still functional."

Chapter 23: Family reunion in the Tentacle hell
Pages: 150-157
For months they were held in different places as tickle whores, and suffered by different demons. The Yamineins, the eldest daughter Azusa, the second daughter, Homura, and Their mother Nana, were getting more and more hopeless. Then once again, they were dragged to the "tentacle hell" as high-quality tickle slaves.
The three of them were tied to the “bed”. It wasn't strings or chains that bound mother and daughter—the bed was made up of flesh-colored tentacles. The body heat clinging to their skin, the "crawling" sounds squirming in the back of their ears, and the countless folds of flesh extending from the bed frame all became countless more tentacles.

Soon, the lower halves of their bodies had been "engulfed" by the flesh-colored tentacles. The swollen mass of tentacles devoured their bodies from their knees to their ankles, leaving only their bare feet sticking out from the edge of the bed.

The tentacles binding their upper bodies creaked in time with their peristaltic movements—
Three people were present. The bondage of a mother and a woman is not like that of a mother and a woman. There is a warm body on the skin, a moving "creeping voice" in the ears, a number of folds can be stretched out on the screen, and a number of unclean hands can be heard.

Fuku, three people with flesh-colored tentacles on the lower half of their bodies. Expanding tentacles reach the knees and ankles, and the bare legs extend out from the sides.

The touches on their bound upper bodies move and rub against each other...

Flesh-colored tentacles lick at their weak spots. Tickling and fear mix together, causing them to thrash around like mad. The tentacles tighten, moving ever faster.

"Stop...! Stop tickling me... Ahh!?"

On the verge of losing their sense of reason, the sound escaping from the back of their throats is no longer distinguishable as laughter or sorrow.

The tips of the tentacles split into countless small mouths, letting out a resounding "giggle..."

Tied in a dark room, they are punished by "tickling" - their powerless spasms, roaring laughter from their throats, and their ravaged nerves tear the mother and daughter away from their past as "monster killers."

The monsters whisper.

"This is karma... For every life you have taken, this laughter will become an eternal punishment."
Although their reason is getting mess, they knew what they would face, but they lost any chance of resistence.

"Cry, scream, gnash! Your despair would make the skin tender, and more delicious."

"The more you resist, the greater your laughter will lead you to the future I want... Oh... the laughing is so gorgeous."

"Dance as our toy forever!"

"Your body is no longer belongs to youselves. Look, the tentacles are trembling as we wished!"

"The nerve would be reviving forever - your tickling won't be end!"

"Your souls have turned into the prisoners of tickling... suffer forever, and that's proof of your existence."
The three ladies were ticked through the whole body with countless tentacles, while their eyes were blindfolded.

The tickling constantly move from the sole to the breasts and nipples ――

Breathing and screaming are crushed by laughter, and only the convulsive muscles can cry "stop!"
"You shall imagine that thousands of caterpillars crawl your skin when your eyes are covered... Oh, the crying laughter, the best hymn to me."

"In this darkness, when your laughter declines, we would pour " the drop of madness to the throat, and keep the mad laugh forever. "

"Blindfolds are our mercy -- if you look at the tentacles, your brains may melt with laughter."
The tentacles crawled over the weak spots of all three mother and daughter simultaneously - their sides, the soles of their feet, and their breasts itched, and the crazed laughter of the three women swirled around the room, like a trio of tears.

The tentacles were forced into the mouths of the three mother and daughter girls, and a purple liquid was forced down their throats - the mucus and liquid mixed together, forcing their laughing muscles into spasms. Eventually, the mother's hoarse laughter and the daughters' high-pitched laughter merged into one another in the room.
"Kukukuku... Haha, stop... Kukukukuku... The children... Aaaah!!"

The veins bulging on the mother's neck throbbed with each laugh.

"Ah... Ah... Hiii! ... Kill me!"

Azusa unconsciously tried to bite off her tongue, but the demon's tentacles held her jaw in place.

"Hiiiiiiiii! That's funny! That's funny! Haha! Ahahahaha!!"

Homura's pupils were sucked into the whirlwind of laughter, their pupils narrowing to needles.

Nana's low laughter resonated with Homura's shrieks, and Azusa's intermittent moans set the rhythm.

It was the sound of the instrument known as "family" being torn apart by the demon's hands.

"Mother's laughter was supposed to be a 'spell' to protect her daughter, right? It seems to have the opposite effect."

Chapter 24: Family reunion in the Master’s place
Pages: 158-162
Yaminein Akemi, who was purchased last month, was tortured as a "tickle slave" along with her daughter for about a month, laughing maniacally every day as the demon played with her. The daily tickling torture brought her to the brink of collapse.

"Kill me, hahahahahahaha! Please! Kill me, kill me, unnnnnggghh ...
Akemi and Yoko deeply regretted not eradicating the demons back then, but there was nothing they could do now, other than continue to laugh madly in the demons' hands.
The seals on their necks prevented them from using their power; otherwise, they could have destroyed these small fry demons with a mere wave of their hand. And now, these small fry had actually become their "masters," able to torment them with unbearable tickling torture day and night as they pleased.
Their thoughts were meaningless to the demons. The stimulation of their armpits, the soft flesh of their breasts, and their waists and bellies brought them to the brink of unconsciousness. Yet, in the next instant, that electric current surging from even more ticklish spots robbed them of even their most familiar, meaningful words, leaving them only to emit ceaseless, hysterical laughter.
"Eeek aaaah! So delicious! Slurp, slurp, so delicious ohohohoho eeek! I feel incredibly happy now! You bitch of the Kuroyamai family, for killing my brothers! For killing so many demons! Mmm ohohoh! So tasty! I feel... I feel like I could play this delicious foot forever, eee yohoo ho~"
"Kill me hahahahahaha! Please! kill me ughnnnaaaaah I don't want gah-pfft-blub-blub-hahahahahaha-- I can't, can't ahhhh please! ! Kill me, kill me!!"

"Please hahahahaha-- I don't wanna, don't wanna laugh ughna-hahahahaha hehehe... Please gah-pfft-hyuh-hahahahaha-- Just let me die ughn-gah-pfft-hee-hahahahahaha! Let me eeeeeek-heeheeheeheeheehahaha! Please hahaha... ha..."

Chapter 25: the Avici Hell
Pages: 163-171
Years later, those exorcists who had been made into tickle slaves by the demons were delivered into the Avici Hell.
They, along with their life-support systems, were encased alive within special concrete pillars, denied all rights to resist, struggle, or even perceive the outside world.
Each day, at a designated hour, the gates of Hell swing open. Demons then stream in without end, claiming the flesh that catches their fancy, and commence their tortures.
From the soles of their feet to their chests, every last inch of ticklish flesh is targeted. The demons know their weaknesses with cruel precision and are devilishly adept at exploiting them, making the women experience hell in its truest, most agonizing form.
"Eehee... Hahaha! N-not there... EeYAAhahaha! St...stop... Hk-khk... Ee-HOHAHAHA!!"
These once-mighty exorcists were powerless to resist. The trembling of their bodies and the helpless fluttering of their feet were the only protests they could muster. Yet these very acts only served to excite the demons further. Their laughter, resonating from within the concrete pillars, delivered ever more delight to their tormentors.
Even when the day's "service" is concluded, the demons deploy mindless tentacled horrors to sustain the flow of tickling sensations upon these women's most ticklish spots. They deny them even a moment's respite, such is their intentional malice.
They shall endure their wretched existence within this unending torment of tickling, steeped in anguish and remorse, for all eternity.

Chapter 26: Vengeance
Pages: 172-181
"Ah... Would you mind perishing for a moment, please?"

Years ago, the demons active in the Kinki region were wiped out by a Demon Exorcism Division led by the most powerful Miko in the western territories. The Blue Oni clan was nearly eradicated, but a fortunate young leader was snatched away to safety even as pursuers closed in on her.
After forming a nationwide federation, the demons even colluded with foreign entities, ultimately triggering the Cataclysm. The Exorcism Division was overwhelmed across multiple fronts, and their mightiest exorcists vanished after being ambushed.

As the demons spun their shadow network across the archipelago and stitched pacts with entities beyond the sea, the descent into chaos became irreversible—
She was justice incarnate, eradicating true evil, till the day her daughters were taken hostage— She walked alone into their trap, now a tickle-toy for the demons.

As talons scraped her exposed nerves, demonic laughter drowning her dying prayers, Bloodstained fangs hissed against her ear:

"Do you see it now, Yaminein? The slaughter you called 'purification'... has birthed this night parade of ten thousand demons devouring the mortal realm! Did you ever imagine, while severing the heads of three hundred of my kin, that those blood-soaked hands would one day be devoured by the very darkness you spawned? Does remorse now crawl in your heart?"
"You mean to tell me... it was fucking tickling these tits that made you break—?"

His claw scratched the silk soft breasts, her spine arching like a profane bow in convulsions,"Those mates used tickles... goddamn infantile tickles..."

Spittle hit on her flesh,"To make you—YAMINEIN NANA! The frost-hearted bitch who slaughtered my kin— Beg like a rabid bitch scratching at the floor?!"
Laughter curdled into neural static shrieks, as if ant-feet danced beneath her skin—

"HAHA— STOP! PLEASE... KILL ME NOW!"

Pupils shattered like divine mirrors in bloody tear-tracks, though she knew no mercy lived in demon ears, her body still convulsed like a marionette with severed strings:

"TICKLES... NOOO! KILL ME! KILL ME PLEEEASE!!"
"Kill you? What a waste~" The chief's claw traced her milk-sweat valley,"I paid a lot for your 30-day lease..."

"If just tickling your nipples makes your tendons lock up, what about adding soles and armpits?" The young chief beckoned two orphaned oni with dried tear streaks still on their cheeks. Their nails meticulously scraped the soft flesh of the witch's armpits, while fingers crawled over the tender meat of her foot pads. As the avengers intensified their scratching along the sensitive rim of her areolas and the overly plump breast flesh, the healthy female body abruptly tensed like jade, pores exuding a scent akin to lactation... making the onis' Adam's apples bob.

Her suspended feet kicked frantically, ten toes clawing pale arcs in the air, soles arched taut like drawn bows, sweat droplets tracing the foot arches—Just as the orphan's fingertips rubbed her armpit sweat, the chief suddenly gripped her trembling heel and sneered: "Look, these soles... are even softer than an ordinary young girl's."

Two orphan oni ticked stopwatches while raking her soles:

"717 hours left! Gotta stay healthy and tickled till contract expiry, auntie~"
Nana thrashed wildly, but coarse ropes bit deep into her wrists and ankles. She could only twitch like a fish on land, shoulders scraping bloody streaks on the wooden frame. Her soles curled and jerked uncontrollably under the blue demon's scratching nails, toes twisting together in violent tremors.

Another demon dug his index finger into her sweaty armpit, scraping along sweat-slicked skin folds, broken laughter was gurgling from her throat as spit and tears soaked her temples.

The young chief pinched the ridges of her areola with his fingernails, rubbing rapidly. Her nipples stood hard as pebbles. When her hips suddenly arched upward, but fell back in no time. Her gaping mouth sucked in no air—only wheezing rasps squeezed from her shuddering chest.
he young boss squatted down, digging his fingers into the tensed skin along Nana's flanks and scraping back and forth. Her waist jerked like electrocuted, but steel shackles pinned her to the rack, only making the frame clank violently.

A slick tongue suddenly pressed between her thighs. Nana's body spasmed—a half-scream tore from her throat—until an oni's thumb jabbed hard into her lower back. The shattered scream drowned in hysterical laughter. She clenched her thighs desperately, ankles grinding blood into the shackles, while another demon's nails scratched her soles into frenzied twitches.

Sweat streamed down her rigid inner thighs, mingling with wetness below. As the boss's tongue circled the tenderest flesh, Nana's back arched violently, neck tendons bulging. Restraints held her immobile. Laughter and choked spit sprayed through her teeth. She writhed to escape, but the fingers clawing her waist and the slippery tongue between her legs kept feeding relentless itch, draining her strength drop by drop.
"Right, we can't let those breasts get away either." The young boss summoned two blue oni, each beginning to tease her left and right breast.
Nana lost all sense of time—the oni's vengeance seemed endless. Only when they grew weary might she breathe, for so few clan remnants lived.

Yet she never anticipated the cursed artifacts. three obsidian plumes swirling feather-light over nipples, a humming jade bell above her arch. Each plume-tremor slammed her hips against shackles; each bell-chime scraped her soles into twitching moths trapped in iron.

As the first wave of tickling lit her spine like live wire, laughter tore from her throat fused with a sob of despair—locked in place, her body was now denied even the mercy of unconsciousness by those pulsating relics.

Chapter 27: Vengeance II
Pages: 182-196
(Five years ago)"It seems you went through such trouble to separate me from my guard... all to lay hands upon my person and plot some petty scheme against the Yaminein House, no?"
"While I find our family's exorcism ventures rather... uninspiring, pray do not conflate disinterest with incompetence."
"How adorably pathetic."
Corrupted Yamawarau, puppeteered by the National Yokai Alliance, laid an ambush in the city for Yaminein Corporation's mastermind, Akemi Yaminein. But even after successfully luring away all her bodyguards, they were mysteriously wiped out to the last creature.
This inexplicable defeat forced the Alliance to drastically re-assess the threat level of Akemi. A new, highly concentrated operation was orchestrated targeting her personally, with the ultimate goal of the complete eradication of the Yaminein house of the west.
After her capture, Akemi succumbed to the same fate as her elder sister: becoming a tickle slave for their amusement. The corrupted Yamawarau then purchased one month's title of use over her.

"One month. She's theirs."

"For one full month, Akemi is ours... Heh, I can't wait to see what's left of her after."
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn't Her High-and-Mightyness herself. How the mighty have fallen! Since you've lost so utterly, be a good dog and learn to behave in your new life."
"Stop! Hahaha! No more tickling! PLEASE! AHAHAHAHAHA!! AHAHAHAHA~ I can't take it! AHAHA! Just kill me now! HAHAHAHAHA~ MERCY! AHAHAHAHAHAHA~~"
The collar around her neck, the rings piercing her nipples and even her clitoris—all were designed to seal her spiritual power, reducing her to a helpless mortal incapable of resistance.

Even the greatest exorcist would be reduced to nothing more than livestock, raised and kept by yōkai under these seals.
"How did a woman this pathetic against tickling even manage to kill our kin we sent after her? Just let her die laughing! Hah!"
"Useless, lewd bitch. Now that you've been reduced to a tickle-slave livestock, have you accepted your inevitable end—to be tickled to death? After all, that's the final chapter for all tickle slaves, isn't it?"
Several Yamawarau clambered over her body, their dozens of fingers exploring every inch of her. The soles of her feet, her armpits, the swell of her breasts, her nipples—nowhere was spared from their torment. The outcome was a foregone conclusion: her uncontrollable, hysterical laughter fueled the Yamawarau's intense sense of vengeful pleasure, driving them to explore her soft yet firm body with even greater fervor.

Akemi’s body arched backwards like a drawn bow, violently straining against the collar and some invisible force that pinned her in place. She twisted and struggled desperately, her skin scraping raw against the manacles. The sweat-slicked collarbone and heaving chest evoked a pang of pity.
"Heh… hee… st-st-stop… Stoooop pleeease—!!"
"Fufufu... I bet your sister is just as despairing as you are now, isn't she? The great Yaminein House is so pathetic. Soon, you'll all be our beloved little 'tickle toys'~❤️ Oh, and don't you worry about your daughter... we haven't caught her yet. But we'll make sure to reunite you two soon... for all eternity~"

It began as a series of incoherent, breathy squeaks of laughter before coalescing into a torn, disordered shriek. Tears streamed uncontrollably from the corners of Akemi's eyes, mixing with sweat and saliva to ruin the face that once knew only arrogance and mockery.

"AHAHAHAHA! I—I can't take it…! You win! It's your victory! AHAHAHA! I admit it! I… acknowledge my defeaaat!!"

She screamed the admission between paroxysms of helpless laughter, the closest thing to begging for mercy she could muster. Yet it sounded less like surrender and more like a furious declaration forced from the brink.
Her toes curled painfully, every new wave of tickling sending her muscles into spasms of unbearable tension.

"So… stop… make it stop… I'm begging you… (gasping for air) … just… kill me… eeeugh, no wait! DON'T STOP— NO, I MEAN STOP! STOOOOP IT!!! AHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

In her agony, her words became a garbled mess, vacillating wildly between desperate pleas for death and desperate pleas for cessation. Ultimately, the sheer terror of the unending torment overwhelmed her, and her shrieks peaked into a piercing, frantic keen, her laughter becoming even more hysterical and shattered.

Her body gave one final, violent twitch before going completely limp like a broken puppet, only her shoulders still trembling with post-hysterical sobs and residual tickling.
However, this was not the conclusion, but merely the prologue to her descent into being a tickle slave—and a relatively gentle one at that.

Chapter 28: Vengeance III

Pages: 197-208

"So you're the ones causing trouble in the city? How dare you show up here so brazenly!"

"Well... now that you're here, you needn't bother leaving. After all, Auntie Nana told us to clean up the city soon!"
A blaze of exorcising light erupted from Honoka's staff, overwhelming the surrounding fiends and stripping them of their will to resist. Meanwhile, Azusa simply held her stance, poised and ready, yet she made no move to intervene in her sister's assault.

When the Yokai organization began its sinister counterattack from the shadows, Azusa and Honoka were the first exorcists to be targeted. They harbored a deep-seated hatred for the Maminein household, yet they were acutely aware that they were no easy opponents.

A sudden ambush sounded the battle horn for the Yokai's counteroffensive.
Using the captured sisters as leverage, the Yokai laid a trap for their mother, ensuring the entire family would be reunited in a hell of ticklish torment. This was the demons' grand design for the women they both feared and despised.

In the dungeon, the Spirit-Sealing Collars around the girls' necks glowed faintly. Ever since their capture in a surprise attack, stripped of their power and garments, they had been forced to endure daily tickling torments as playthings for the demons. The bursts of laughter they were forced to produce satisfied their captors, and these exorcists, completely drained of their spiritual power, had become the demons' ideal "tickle slaves."

A new wave of suffering soon awaited them. An exorcist, rendered powerless and forced to laugh—precisely the kind of prey the demons delighted in toying with the most.

These exorcists, who were initially slated for execution after punishment, turned out to be a most pleasant surprise for the demons. They decided to keep and raise them a while longer, meticulously "developing" their bodies to truly mold them into lifelong tickle slaves.

This drawn-out torment and punishment excited and delighted the demons far more than a swift execution ever could. The very thought of their sensitive bodies being gradually "trained," reduced to the same state as any helpless girl—convulsing with equally despairing laughter—drove the demons to redouble their efforts in exploring every last ticklish spot.

The laughing girls had no idea their mother had been dragged to the very threshold of their dungeon. They were beyond noticing, lost in waves of helpless laughter. And their mother, the most powerful exorcist, watched
on—her own strength sealed, utterly powerless to save them.

The girls shrieked and sobbed, driven to madness by the relentless tickling. Nana could only watch her daughters writhe in agony, her heart breaking with utter helplessness. Soon, she too would be dragged to her own cell—where an even more excruciating torment, a training far crueler than what her daughters endured, awaited her.

Chapter 29: Vengeance IV

Pages 209-229

"Look over there! Is that her? It's that Kuromyamai Nana, isn't it?! Hahaha, she actually came! That damned woman really showed up! After her, brothers! Let's kill her!"
The earth was stained with the green filth of demon blood, the air thick with the stench of burning and ozone.

Yaminein Nana stood at the road's center, wreathed in scorching spiritual flames. Her kimono was spattered with viscous green blood, yet the hem billowed as if moved by the heat alone. Without incantations or wasted motion, she advanced, and each step manifested death.

A howling Yamabito charged. Nana flicked her fingers, and a blade of fire cleaved it in two.

A Flying Head Demon shot from the shadows, only to be engulfed in white spiritual fire and vanish into smoke.
Demons swarmed like the tide, but they broke against her flames. Her fire became countless blades, slicing, piercing, and incinerating until the road was paved with a gory, emerald-green carpet of their remains.

When Nana crushed the skull of the last Blue Oni with her bare hand, the onslaught finally halted.

The surviving demons froze. Their roars died in their throats, becoming terrified gasps. They stared at the woman standing atop the mountain of corpses—bathed in blood, her calm eyes burning with a deep worry for her daughter and a simmering rage.

The fodder demons began to break and flee. But then, a figure who had been watching coldly from the sidelines stepped forward to block Nana's path. The demon leader, the architect of this ambush, was now poised to strike against her, having already expended a portion of her power.
"Charge now! She's on her last legs! If we flee now, our brothers will have died for nothing!"

"I can tell her blade is slowing! Her spiritual power is spent! Now, grab her now!"

In the demons' dungeon, Nana finally saw her daughters, who were in the midst of being tormented. But this brief 'reunion' was cut short. She was soon dragged away and escorted to a separate cell, prepared especially for her.

The powerful exorcist was then stripped bare by the demons, a cold and methodical preparation for the torment that was to come.

Various sealing artifacts had completely suppressed Nana's spiritual power, palpable wave of relief passed through the demon horde as the final sealing artifact clicked into place, completely neutralizing Nana's spiritual energy. Their leader cautiously prodded her arm with a clawed finger, then let out a guttural chuckle of triumph when she failed to react. Emboldened, the rest closed in, their eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity as they began meticulously examining the body of the woman who had once struck fear into their hearts.

Nana's powerful physique writhing helplessly before them proved too tempting to resist. One bold demon finally reached out, tracing a single claw along the sole of her tensed foot. To everyone's astonishment, the formidable exorcist broke immediately - a choked laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. Though she clenched her jaw, fighting to regain composure, the truth was out: her body was just as ticklish as her daughters', a vulnerability now laid bare before her captors.
The facade of composure she struggled to maintain shattered completely. Uncontrollable, body-shaking laughter burst forth from her, echoing off the stone walls of the cell.
A mere tickle from the soles of her feet was enough to reduce this most formidable and ruthless exorcist to a state of helpless chaos. To the demons, her laughter was sweeter than the most exquisite melody.
Nana threw her head back and let out a raw, guttural laugh that echoed off the stone walls. Each burst was laced with tremors of genuine agony, yet underpinning it was a wild, almost defiant edge. Tears streamed from her eyes from the sheer physical reflex, but her laughter held no plea for mercy—instead, it grated on the demons' ears like a blade dragged across stone.
"Keh... heh... Aha... AHAHAHAHAHA!!"
The demons crammed a specially made gag into Nana's mouth, the metal frame holding her jaw perpetually agape. Saliva dripped freely from her chin, tracing a glistening path down her chest. Each time a fragmented laugh escaped her constrained throat, the demons erupted into ecstatic cheers. To their ears, these distorted sounds of laughter were sweeter than any symphony, each convulsive peal sending them into a frenzy of delight.

"This woman's will is strong, I'll grant you that. But such a exquisitely ticklish body..." the lead demon rasped, its claw tracing slow circles up her trembling calf. "That makes her destined to be our perfect tickle slave!" The proclamation was met with guttural roars of triumph from the gathered horde, who now saw past her defiance to the helpless laughter that awaited beneath.

Day and night, an endless stream of demons took their turns. For days on end, Nana remained strung up in that helpless, hogtied bind at the center of the dungeon, her torment never ceasing. Even an exorcist of her caliber was now completely drained—both of spiritual power and physical strength. Suspended in the air, her body twitched and shuddered uncontrollably from the relentless stimulation, her consciousness adrift in a sea of unbearable sensation.

"Hahaha! All three of them—mother and daughters—are so exquisitely ticklish! They're born to be premium tickle slaves! I can't wait to see the glorious sight of all three laughing in despair together!?But for now, let's savor every moment with this 'finest' exorcist~"
Yet, to truly break Yaminein Nana completely, the demons still had a long way to go. Her will remained like tempered steel—bent, but never shattered.

But what awaited Nana was even more depraved. As filthy claws began to defile her body, as her mouth was forced to become an instrument for their release, the once-pure exorcist plunged into an abyss darker than death itself—a soul-shattering humiliation that began devouring the last vestiges of her dignity.

Wave after wave of tingling sensations crawled over Nana's entire body, tearing uncontrollable laughter from her throat. Yet the demons only grew bolder, ruthlessly violating both her flesh and her crumbling sanity—their claws tracing the hypersensitive curve of her breasts, scraping lightly over her quivering soles, turning every inch of her skin into a testament to her humiliation.

The dungeon echoed with the whispers of demons, mixed with the buzzing sound from toys. Strange toys were plugged into the bound demon hunter, intensified the overwhelming sensations pushing the bound exorcist beyond her limits. Her captors watched intently for the final collapse of her composure, anticipating the moment her enduring resistance would finally shatter.

Yaminein Nana lay exposed in her most vulnerable state, enduring daily torment from the vilest of demons. Yet compared to the profound humiliation yet to come, this was but a faint whisper of the storm awaiting her.

"Gyaahahaha!! Aaah, hahahaha!! St-stop the t-tickling, ahahaha!!"

Chapter 30: Vengeance V

Pages 230-246

The spacious cell was lit by a harsh electric lamp mounted on the wall. All three women were stripped, their hands cuffed behind them to wooden posts, their feet secured in fetters.
Black hoods covered their heads until the audience of demons had settled in for the "tickling show."
As the hoods were torn off, Azusa's eyelashes fluttered violently, her light-dazzled eyes struggling to focus. When she recognized the chained figure on her left, a kitten-like whimper escaped her throat:

"Mo...Mother?"
Honoka jerked against her restraints, making the wooden post creak dangerously. "It's impossible..." she rasped, nails digging into her palms, "You were supposed to be in the jinja..."

Nana slowly lifted her head. Through disheveled hair, her ever-calm eyes now swam with anguish. Seeing fresh bruises around her daughters' ankles, her Adam's apple bobbed: "Forgive me..." Her voice grated like broken glass on stone. "Your mother...failed to protect you."

"No!" Azusa cried out, chains clanking. "We were too weak... "

Honoka let out a wounded animal growl, slamming her forehead against the post. When she looked up again, her eyes were red-rimmed but dry.

"Please...don't look at us like this..."

Nana strained against her bonds as if to touch their faces across the distance. Drawing a sharp breath, her voice suddenly cleared into the purity of a moonlit blade: "Look at me, my daughters. The blood of Yaminein may be broken, but it will never bend."

"What a touching reunion!" The demon host rapped his claws against the iron bars, creating a jarring clang. He circled the three bound women, his bone-tipped whip occasionally scraping the ground at their feet.
"Behold—" He yanked Nana's hair back, "The Yaminein matriarch! Just her name used to make lesser demons tremble!" Switching to lift Honoka's chin with his whip, "This pyromaniac torched our eastern fortress!" Then suddenly digging his claws into Azusa's waist, making the girl gasp, "And this one... possesses the strength to tear through barriers with her bare hands!"
The audience erupted in whistles and stomping cheers. The host leaned close to Nana's ear: "So... which of these 'delicacies' shall we taste first?"

As shouts of "Tickle Yaminein Nana to death!" erupted from the crowd, the host cracked his bone whip with a sharp whistle. "By popular demand—let the tickle torture commence on the former exorcist iemoto!"

The term "tickle torture" drained all color from their faces. Azusa's lips trembled; Honoka yanked madly at her chains; Nana instinctively curled her toes as if to shield herself from the coming agony.


The executioner demons knelt, lifting Nana's tensed feet as if handling rare delicacies. When the rough, sandstone-like fingertips made contact with the soft, quivering soles, the roaring crowd suddenly fell into a rapt silence.
Contrary to all expectations—even after days in the dungeon had taught her exactly how vulnerable her body was—Nana clamped her jaw shut, biting her lower lip with desperate force. A thin trail of blood welled where her teeth broke the skin.

But her body betrayed her.

The moment she tried to summon even a wisp of spiritual energy to counteract the sensations, the sealing collar around her neck flared, violently dispersing the gathered power. Unchecked, the tickling signals shot straight to her brain.

A traitorous twitch tugged at the corner of her mouth. It quivered, then widened into an unmistakable curve. Finally, a choked laugh burst through her clenched teeth, swiftly devolving into a cascade of helpless, ringing laughter that filled the chamber.

“Hih… kuku… AHAHAHAHAHA!”

She tossed her head from side to side, but the relentless tickling along her soles stripped away all reason. Tears of pure reflex sprayed from her fluttering eyelashes, her hips grinding helplessly against the post. When claws skimmed the delicate arch of her foot, her laughter fractured into kittenish hyperventilation, ankles chafing raw against the manacles.
The audience erupted in a frenzy of stomping. As the host dragged his bone whip through her damp underarm, her screams dissolved into breathless, hiccupping wails.

Applause and cheers thundered from below, yet Nana's laughter only grew louder and more unhinged, as if her very soul were being torn out through the sound. Her tears were no longer just from physical reflex, but now streamed with pure humiliation and despair.
"Mother...!"
Azusa twisted her body desperately, her wrists scraping raw against the rough wooden post, powerless to do anything but watch her mother's form convulse with relentless laughter.
Honoka let out a low, trapped-animal growl. She strained with all her might, the stone base of her post groaning ominously, but the specially forged manacles held fast. Finally, her head dropped in defeat, a look of near-shattered despair crossing her face for the first time in front of their enemies.
All they could do was watch and listen. This powerlessness was a torture far crueler than any physical pain inflicted upon them.

When the demon’s fingers touched her chest, Nana’s spine arched violently. This was no ordinary tickling—it felt like a corrosive invasion. Rough fingertips scraped back and forth across the soft curves, like sandpaper grating against waterlogged velvet. Each pass sent ripples of sensation piercing through layers of skin straight into her nerves. Nana's consciousness was torn in two.
One half was physiological collaps, the tickling spread like a living vine, frenzied, invasive, creeping outward from where she had been touched. Not sharp pain, but a maddeningly dense scraping sensation that burned along every neural pathway. Her muscles began convulsing uncontrollably, goosebumps rising in fine patterns beneath her collarbone.
The other half was psychological execution. She knew her daughters were watching. Every tremor, every fragmented laugh that escaped after failed suppression, was being recorded by those four gazes. This awareness transformed the sense of tickling—it was no longer mere physiological reaction, but a living humiliation show displayed for her dearest ones to witness.
“Ah… hah…!” Her shattered gasps bled into laughter. Her nipples tightened painfully under the relentless stimulation. The demon deliberately slowed, dragging the edge of a nail lightly across the peak—and a sharp, prickling tickling exploded outward, like red-hot needles driving deep into mammary tissue.
Sweat gathered along her collarbone and trickled into the valley between, glinting with a murky sheen across the quivering curves. She could feel how her body betrayed her—breasts heaving with each ragged breath, skin flushing with shame, even the deepest tissues contracting in spasms of unbearable tickling.
The demon's fingers didn't stop. They scratched over her softest curves over and over again as if excavating treasure. The tickling came in layers: the surface stimulated by the rough fingerprints rubbing against skin, the deeper tickling of muscles being pressed and stimulated, and something more hidden, a tingling that seemed to emanate from the marrow of her bones.
She heard her own laughter change tone. From the very beginning suppressed grunts, to broken gasps, finally collapsing completely into hysterical laughter mixed with sobs. Tears blurred her vision but couldn't blur the faint rattling of chains behind her—the sound of her daughters struggling, and the sound of her final dignity as a mother shattering.

As the clamor of the demonic audience swelled, the tickle torment for the sisters, Honoka and Azusa, commenced in earnest.
Coarse palms clamped down on their soles. Instantly, both pairs of feet recoiled in near-perfect synchrony, curling inward as if touching scalding iron. Toes hooked in a spasm neurotically, arches tensing into defensive bows. Honoka tried to wrench her shackled feet back, her struggle only managing a futile shift of mere inches within the confining space. Azusa's toes curled toward her palms like a drowning woman grasping for salvation, her arches straining like overtightened strings, while her ankles twisted with frantic, minute motions, a desperate illusion of slipping free.
But the demons' fingers were relentless shadows. Rough fingertips remained fixed to the most sensitive centers of their soles. Even curled to their limit, the grating sensation seeped into every deepest crease. A fingernail traced a faint, maddening line across the tightly furled skin.
Honoka's arch began to spasm violently, her taut toe joints blushing pale. A cold sweat beaded on Azusa's curled sole, glistening with a damp sheen in the dim light. "...Don't touch...!" The demand tore from Honoka's clenched teeth, laced with a tremor, her curled foot lashing out in a violent kick—only to drive the shackles deeper into her flesh. And when a demon's thumb thrust into the hollow of her tightly curved arch, all tensed resistance shattered into uncontrolled convulsions.
Three pairs of feet, curled in distinct postures of agony, quivered like young leaves in a gale within the demons' grasp. When nails simultaneously scraped the deepest part of their curled soles, their defiant roars and choked sobs finally fractured into the same broken laughter—a macabre symphony of mirth that resonated with the stomping rhythm of the audience below into a twisted cadence.
The heels that had borne the calluses of countless battles now glowed with an unnatural tenderness, a perverse result of days of forced "care." Skin meticulously treated with salves and unguents gleamed with a pearl-like fragility under the gloomy light. Every line on the demons' palms had become an extension of the torture. Their feet, subjected to forced medicinal baths, now suffered a dangerous inversion: dulled pain paired with a heightened, excruciating sensitivity to tickling. The three pairs of forcibly softened feet looked ever more like fragile offerings against the coarse palms. As knuckles began scraping the thinnest layer of skin on their soles, the cell filled with a simultaneous, leather-ripping gasp—the prelude to total collapse.
Three distinct types of laughter wove together in the cell—Nana's hoarse tremolo, Honoka's stifled explosions, Azusa's weak whimpers—colliding with the stone walls and fusing with the frenzied stomping below into a grotesque, hellish symphony.
Laughter spiraled into a vortex of madness within the cell. Coarse knuckles simultaneously ground against three pairs of tensed soles, scraped across chests heaving with frantic breath, and probed the depths of armpits forced open by struggle. Three bodies contorted against the wooden posts in curves of near-shattering tension, sweat spraying with each convulsion to trace brief silver threads in the torchlight.

Sweat-drenched strands of hair clung to temples and napes, lending a strange, oil-painting-like sheen to three faces contorted by extreme sensory overload. Anguish carved furrows between Nana's tightly knit brows, yet it couldn't mar the elegant lines of her features. Instead, the pallor washed by sweat and tears revealed a kind of shattered, martyr-like beauty. Uncontrollable laughter spilled from her parted lips, her neck stretched into a taut, graceful arc like a swan's final song. Their laughs entwined and ascended, finally shattering against the stone vault above into an endless, echoing feedback loop of tickling and laughter—a hellish resonance.
Three distinct types of sweat-slicked beauty were on full display across three bound forms. What was twisted were their expressions, their despair at losing control. The beauty was the stubborn, inextinguishable light of their spirits shining through the cracks of their tortured flesh—a light that humiliation and torment could not fully extinguish.

midst a burst of laughter so sharp it felt like her ribs might crack, Nana’s glazed gaze suddenly pierced through the dungeon’s flickering torchlight. She saw herself kneeling on the wooden floor of the veranda, her posture straight as bamboo in early summer. Yoko sat close beside her, her small legs dangling over the edge, swaying slightly, the thongs of her geta loosely hooked on her toes. Her eyes were fixed on the two figures chasing each other in the garden—when Honoa suddenly turned and snatched up a bamboo broom to playfully chase Azusa, Yoko's dangling legs jerked back; when Azusa, laughing, hid behind the cherry tree and peeked out with a flushed face, the fingers clutching Nana's sleeve relaxed just a little.
Sunlight flowed like warm honey, slowly spilling over every cobblestone and patch of moss in the courtyard. Her daughters’ laughter was as clear as glass wind chimes, resonating in a dissonant, haunting harmony with the hoarse, tear-and-sweat-choked laughter now tearing from her own throat across the chasm of time.
The vision shattered. Coarse fingertips were grinding into the most tender flesh of her soles, a demon’s breath hot against her ear. The courtyard scene faded rapidly to ash, leaving only the icy bite of the shackles around her ankles and something congealing into permafrost within her chest—a reality so suffocating it stole all other senses.
And so, the "new life" began—amidst the demons' shrieks of "tickle her to death," amidst the ceaseless burning tickling crawling along her soles and breasts, between her daughters' choked sobs and her own uncontrollable hysterical laughter. Nana's thrown-back neck arched in a fragile curve, sweat mingling with reflexive tears streaming down her jaw. She saw phantom cherry blossoms bloom and wither repeatedly on the stone walls, while reality etched itself, stroke by stroke like fingernails scraping soles, into the very marrow of her trembling bones.

Last edited on 20 December 2025, 10:30.

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Ch.31
After the din of the public punishment faded like a receding tide, Nana regained consciousness in utter darkness and silence. The first thing she perceived was not light or sound, but the complete disconnection from her own body—as if her consciousness had been stuffed into a stone statue, unable to even send the faintest signal to twitch a fingertip. She tried to open her eyes, only to find that even this most basic physiological reflex had been stripped away.

Some dense, cold substance encased her from all sides—not the restraint of shackles, but something more absolute, as if she had been cast in concrete. Only her hearing remained functional: the distant drip of water fell at precise intervals, like a clock counting the duration of her preservation as a "living specimen."
As consciousness surfaced from an abyss of endless darkness, the first thing Nana perceived was the sound of breathing—damp, short, and unnervingly regular. It was her own. Then, another, finer, trembling breath responded from her left side.

With immense effort, she turned her head, her cervical bones emitting faint grating sounds. Her vision gradually focused in the gloom, settling on the profile of her sister Akemi, terrifyingly close. Both their long hair spilled freely over the magenta material that encased them, spread like withered seaweed across the cold surface.

They were embedded from the collarbones down in this massive substance. It was as hard as true concrete, its surface webbed with cracks like parched earth, offering no hint of elasticity to the eye—only an absolute, dead solidity. Their legs extended in a twisted manner from either side of their heads, soles facing outward—and now the cruelest detail became clear: each big toe was encircled by a cold metal ring, fixed to the top of a slender vertical metal rod rising from the material. This design prevented their feet from hanging freely, allowing only the slightest, most pathetic sway—like pinned specimens.

Despite their torsos being entombed as if in sarcophagi, their breathing remained unimpeded, a cruel miracle. Each inhalation drew cold air into their nostrils, a relentless reminder that they were still alive—in a form more humiliating than death.
As expected, the familiar, crawling sensation of tickling soon spread across her soles. Nana, whose senses had been thoroughly “primed” by previous tickle torture, found her defenses crumbling instantly.

Her mouth was brutally held open by a metal gag, preventing her from closing it or even mustering the minor resistance of biting her lip. When the first wave of ticklish sensation hit, laughter rushed unimpeded from her forced-open mouth—no longer a stifled gasp, but a distorted, wet-sounding cackle, twisted by the apparatus and mixed with the sound of agitated saliva. Drool trailed uncontrollably from the corners of her mouth.

With her toes bound to the metal rods and her feet utterly trapped, the stimuli continued without respite. The laughter thus became sustained, amplified, echoing hollowly and loudly within the gag's frame. The only parts of her body that seemed able to convulse violently were her pinned feet, her ankles twisting futilely, only making the metal rings rub more harshly.

She wanted to stop, but her body would not obey; she wanted to swallow the laughter, but the gag made even swallowing difficult. Every peak of tickling sensation transformed into another burst of amplified, exposed disintegration—a public collapse endlessly reverberating through the cell.
Akemi’s consciousness struggled up from the viscous dark. Her last memory was of endless tickling—soles, armpits, waist—layer upon layer, flooding her reason like a tide until everything went black.

The first sense to return was hearing.

As Akemi floated in an endless dark abyss, the first sound she grasped was breathing.

—Heavy, damp gasps forced from her own nostrils.

Then, another set.

To her right, so close she could almost feel the airflow brush her ear. This breathing was more rapid, laced with something desperately suppressed—fine, shattered tremors.

(…Nana…?)

She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were heavy as lead. No, not just heavy—some rough fabric was pressed tightly over her entire eye area, blocking all light. Absolute, pure darkness.

Panic drenched her spine like ice water. She tried to scream, but her mouth was stuffed full; coarse fibers pressed deep against her throat, making even swallowing difficult. What finally broke through was only a sound muffled in her nasal cavity: "Mm—!"

Almost simultaneously, a response came from the right.

It was a series of sounds filtered through cloth… laughter. Shattered, suppressed, trembling unmistakably, mingled with the wet, sticky sound of fluid movement.

(She … laughing…?)

Before the question could form, new perception forced its way in.

Touch.

Cold. Hard. From the collarbones down, her body was completely encased in some dense material—not a single finger could move. This wasn't the restraint of shackles, but the absolute stillness of being buried alive in a stone coffin.

And… exposure.

The chill of cold air directly contacting her chest and lower body. And metal—cold rings clamped tightly against her skin, their presence growing clearer with her increasingly ragged breaths.

Clearest of all were her feet.

Her toes were forcibly stretched and fixed, the soles of her feet utterly exposed to the void. Then—

—Something soft, feather-like, brushed across the sole of her right foot.

"Mmph—!!!"

Her body reacted before her mind. Akemi's torso arched violently within its confinement (though it could only move a fraction), her stifled scream twisting into a distorted groan. To the right, Nana's laughter also sharply rose, mingled with drowning-like gasps.

"Oh my? This one's awake too."
The man’s voice cut through the darkness, gentle as a bedtime story.

“Sleep well?”

Her heart clenched as if gripped by an icy hand.

“Looks like you’re both awake.” The man’s voice held a smile, that pure predator’s pleasure in watching prey struggle. “Don’t worry, the blindfolds and gags are temporary. We put them on when we feel like it, take them off when we feel like it—we’re all about consent, right?”

Footsteps approached. Cold fingers brushed aside the sweat-damp hair sticking to Nana’s cheek, the gesture tender as if petting an animal.

“After all, sometimes letting you see each other, see how we… dote on you… makes for better theater, don’t you think?”

Nana’s breathing quickened. She wanted to ask where her daughters were, but the gag wouldn’t let a single clear syllable through—only broken “Mmph… mmph…” sounds from her throat.

“Aha, wondering about those two girls, right?” The man might as well have been reading her mind, malice dripping from his voice. “Honoka and Azusa—such cute names. They’ve been staying here a while now. Adapting… quite well.”

Akemi’s breath hitched for a second, then became a ragged, muffled gasp.

“As for Yoko…” The man’s voice turned toward Akemi. “Your daughter’s lucky. We haven’t found her yet. But don’t worry, we’re experts at hide-and-seek. We’ll find her eventually, right?”

Nana heard Akemi emit a bestial, choked roar—the sound of a mother’s instinct burning in despair.

“Alright, chit-chat’s over.” The man clapped his hands, his footsteps retreating slightly. “Officially welcoming you both to your… new home.”
The faint rustle of fabric, like someone unrolling a document.

“By decree of the Yokai Alliance High Council, Yaminein Nana and Yaminein Akemi, for long-term obstruction of duties and harm to alliance members, are hereby sentenced to permanent deprivation of liberty.”

His voice turned cold and formal, each word a nail.

“Restraint apparatus: Custom bondage module, model ‘Eternal Display—Sister Edition.’ Additional fixtures: Nipple Spirit-Suppression Rings, Clitoral Sensitivity Amplification Rings, Foot Restraint and Sensitivity Enhancement Units.”

Tears welled up, soaking the cloth beneath her blindfold. Nana wasn’t crying for herself—it was for her daughters. Honoka and Azusa were already here. What had they been through? How were they now?

“The sealing rings on you are permanent gear.” The man continued, his tone sliding back into that nauseatingly cheerful lilt. “But don’t worry, they’re ergonomically designed. Won’t affect your health—they’ll just make you dozens of times more sensitive than the average person, and forever cut you off from gathering spiritual power. That’s all.”

Akemi began shaking her head violently, her trapped body scraping faintly against the concrete. A silent, frantic “No,” over and over.

“Your new life is simple: be good exhibits and toys. When we’re in a good mood, we might remove the blindfolds, let you see each other. When we’re in a great mood, we might take out the gags, listen to your screams and… laughter.”

The sensation of a fingernail tracing her sole hit her then.
The so-called "sentencing" was nothing but a formality.

Before the man's words had fully faded, Nana felt that hand—coarse, warm, deliberately gentle—press against the sole of her completely exposed foot.

"Mmph…! Mmm—!"

The scream, stifled by the gag, tore from her throat as a muffled gasp. Her toes reflexively curled within the metal restraints, but her big toes were firmly clamped, forcing her entire foot to remain in that humiliating, fully splayed position.

The tickling began.

Not tentative grazing, but skilled, rhythmic scraping. Rough fingerprints ground against the tender hollow of her arch, nails occasionally skimming the sensitive skin along the instep. Every inch of skin, "conditioned" to abnormal sensitivity, screamed—but her throat could only produce broken whimpers.

"A’re, still such adorable reactions~" The man's voice, laced with amusement, came from straight ahead. "Even though you've passed out several times before, your body hasn't learned to endure at all, has it?"

From the left came Akemi's stifled groan. Her breathing grew rapid and chaotic, interspersed with choking gasps.

"Don't worry, don't worry, your turn is coming right up." A younger demon's voice chimed in, cheerful as a child unwrapping a gift. "Today's a special program~"

Nana felt the hand leave her sole.
The next second—

Something unbearably soft brushed against her buttocks.

Feathers. Not one, but a whole bunch, their down fine as willow catkins in early spring, lightly sweeping across her fully exposed cheeks. The sensation was so gentle it was worse than direct scraping—because there was nothing to resist, no point of pressure, only wave after wave of fine, maddening tickling crawling up her spine into her brain.

"Mmmph—!!"

Her lower back arched forward violently, but her body, fixed in concrete, could only manage a feeble tremble. Behind the blindfold, her eyes widened to their limit, tears gushing forth, soaking the fabric.

"The buttocks are quite a sensitive area too~" the man explained cheerfully, as if presenting a scientific experiment. "Especially for exorcists like you two, who've trained in martial arts for years. The gluteal muscles are more developed than average, nerve distribution denser…"

The feathers began to move. Slowly, cruelly slowly, from the outer curves of her cheeks toward the central cleft. Each movement sent Nana's body into convulsive twitches.

"…So the tickling feels especially intense, you see."

"Mmph! Mmmph—!!"

Akemi's muffled cry suddenly pitched higher. Clearly, she was receiving the same treatment. Nana heard frantic struggling against restraints from the left, the faint clinking of toes hitting metal rods.

But it was all futile.

They were utterly fixed here, like two displayed specimens. Even the blindfolds and gags were "privileges" to be removed only when their tormentors were "in a good mood."

"Feels good, right?" The young demon's voice drew close to Nana's ear, warm breath brushing her earlobe. "Look, your whole body's trembling. It feels so good, why resist?"

The feathers pressed harder. No longer just brushing, but with a pressing, twisting friction, drawing circles on her cheeks.

Nana's breathing completely fell apart. Inhales became short, sob-like hitches; exhales became uncontrollable shudders. Her consciousness began to blur—not from fainting, but from sensory overload. The lingering scratching from her soles still burned, now compounded by the torment at her buttocks. The two sensations converged and collided at her nerve center, finally exploding into blank whiteness.

She heard herself laughing.

Not voluntarily. It wasn't even "her" laughing. It was her body's autonomic response pushed to the limit, escaping through gaps in the gag as intermittent, hoarse "hah… hahh…" sounds, like a leaky bellows.

Tears soaked directly through the fabric of her black blindfold, carving wet trails down her cheeks.

“Yes, yes, that’s the reaction!” The demon clapped excitedly. “But this is just the appetizer~”

"Ah, she's laughing! She's laughing!" the young demon cheered. "See, simultaneous attacks work best! Soles and buttocks, double combo!"

From the left, Akemi emitted a similar sound. But it was less laughter than a distorted form of weeping—broken, desperate, mingled with the wet, stifled sounds of tears and saliva against the gag.

Two once-proud exorcists, two once-powerful bodies, now trembled, convulsed, and emitted inhuman sounds in the darkness.

And the demons laughed.

It was pure, enjoyed laughter.

Slender writing brushes now targeted the fully exposed, posture-forced-open crevice between their buttocks. This wasn’t scraping, but something more insidious—twirling, light tapping, sweeping back and forth.

Nana’s body jerked as if electrocuted—an illusion, of course, her fixed torso couldn’t even tremble, only her internal muscles contracting in despair. Her pelvis began rocking uncontrollably forward and back, a futile attempt to escape the tickling burrowing deep, only rendering her position more humiliating.

Akemi lost control of her bladder at that moment.

Warm liquid streamed down her inner thighs, dripping onto the concrete base. A beast-like death rattle escaped her—a sound mixing ultimate shame with physiological collapse.

“Oops, made a mess.” The demon’s tone was like scolding a child for spilling milk. “But it’s fine, we have plenty of time to ‘clean up’~”

Time lost all meaning.

It might have been ten minutes, three hours, or an entire day. In this space without daylight, only eternal darkness and relentless torment, any sense of time was utterly stripped away.

And the torment never ceased.
Cold fingers pinched the permanent metal rings on their nipples and began to rotate.

Tickling, and the ensuing tickling that seemed to burrow deep into mammary tissue.

Nana’s consciousness shattered at that moment.

She saw hallucinations: Honoka and Azusa as toddlers, clumsily attempting to nurse for the first time. That warm, milky-scented memory superimposed onto the current icy, shameful, violent stimulation, creating a kind of psychological lingchi.

Her throat could no longer produce sound, only the hiss of air forced through the gag, like wind through a torn hole.

Akemi simply passed out.

But the demons wouldn’t allow such escape.

Pungent smelling salts were shoved under her nose, dragging her back to hell. The first sensation upon waking was the persistent, accelerating rotation on her nipples and the ensuing tickling—a tickling that crawled deep into her chest cavity, making her want to claw her own skin off.

“Don’t fall asleep now, we’re just getting to the good part~”

The demon’s voice seemed to come from far away, blurred and distorted.

Brushes, feathers, fingers. Soles, buttocks, breasts. Three tools, three zones, taking turns like a perpetual motion machine—no pattern, no warning, the only certainty being it never stopped.

At some point, Nana began to laugh.

It wasn’t from joy—her tears never ceased. It was a reflex from a completely shattered nervous system, an uncontrolled, spasmodic reaction of a body under extreme stimulation.

“Heh… ugh… hehehe…”

The gag-muffled laughter sounded like a dying person’s death rattle.

Akemi laughed too.
Two women, fixed on eternal display stands, in endless tickle torture, laughing like broken dolls in intermittent and joyless bursts.

And the demons cheered.

“Yes! That’s it! This is what we want!”

BrushesFeathers swept between buttocks.

Nails scraped across soles.

Fingers twisted nipple rings.

No rest.

No end.

Only the eternal, personality-grinding itch.

When Nana finally lost consciousness again (her body’s self-preservation forcing a shutdown), her final thought wasn’t relief, but:

Yoko, whatever you do, don't let them find you. And on no account come to rescue us!

Honoka, Azusa, I’m sorry, Mom can’t hold on anymore.

Akemi, I’m sorry, your sister couldn’t protect anyone...whether it was you or Mom...

Darkness swallowed everything.

But even in unconsciousness, her toes still twitched slightly within their restraints.

Her body had already memorized this hell.
Consciousness returned through tickling.

Not a sudden awakening, but like a diver being dragged up from the deep by that familiar, tingling sensation creeping up from the soles. Nana’s eyelashes fluttered. Then she realized—she could see.

The blindfolds were gone.

The dim stone chamber, flickering torchlight, the cold magenta “concrete” display stands, and Akemi—so close, fixed in the same humiliating pose. Her sister’s eyes were open too, pupils reflecting terror and disorientation.

Then they realized simultaneously: the gags were gone too.

They could breathe. They could speak.

But before any sound could form in their throats—

“Ah, perfect timing.”

The man’s voice came from ahead. The same demon leader stood a few paces away, twirling a black and white feather between his fingers. His face wore the expectant smile of someone awaiting a play’s opening act.

“That was just a rehearsal—letting you two adjust to your bodies’ ‘new settings.’” He spoke leisurely. “Now… it’s showtime.”

He snapped his fingers.

Three other demons emerged from the shadows, holding different tools: slender nail attachments, soft animal-hair brushes, and fingers clad in specially textured gloves.

“After all, we went to the trouble of removing the blindfolds and gags.” The leader tilted his head, his smile widening. “We want to hear more distinct laughter. We want to see more vivid expressions of fear.”

Then, the tickle torment began.

Round two.
Starting with the soles—slender nails dragged slowly along the arch of each foot, meticulously avoiding any force that might cause injury, leaving only pure, nerve-shredding itch. Nana’s toes curled spastically within their metal restraints, but escape was impossible.

“Hih…!”

The first short, sharp gasp escaped her throat. A voice. Unfiltered by cloth, unobstructed—a clear, tremulous woman’s voice, piercingly audible in the stone chamber.

Almost simultaneously, a suppressed gasp came from Akemi. The tip of a brush was swirling against the sensitive skin of her buttocks, its soft touch bringing not comfort but a more insidious, scalp-prickling itch.

“A… ya, yamete…!”

Akemi uttered her first words since waking—a plea. But as the sound left her lips, her eyes flew wide, because rough fingers had pinched her exposed nipple through the metal ring, beginning a rapid, torturous kneading.

“Ha… haha… ahahaha!”

The laughter shattered.

Not a gradual collapse, but a catastrophic breach, like a dam bursting. Nana’s head fell back, her neck arching weakly, her mouth falling open as laughter mixed with sobs and saliva poured out, stripped of all dignity.

“Ku… kusugu… iyaaaah!!”

Akemi was worse off. The dual assault of brush and fingers made her body thrash like a fish on land—though the parts she could move were pitifully few. Her laughter was a sharp, near-screaming sound, tears instantly streaming, glinting brokenly in the torchlight.

And this time, they could see each other clearly.

In a brief lull between waves of laughter, Nana’s gaze met Akemi’s tear-blurred eyes. She saw her sister’s gaping mouth, contorted expression, trembling chin. She knew Akemi was seeing the same wretched sight in return.

This seeing was crueler than any tool.
The demon leader strolled leisurely, admiring this “symphony” like a conductor. He leaned close to Nana’s face, studying every twitch of her muscles; he crouched by Akemi’s feet, watching the soles blush an unhealthy red under the scraping nails.

“Yes, this is the sound.” He murmured approvingly. “Much better than before. More… alive.”

A feather brushed lightly against Nana’s underarm.

“Kyaaaah—!!!”

A high-pitched, utterly distorted shrieking laughter tore through the air. Nana’s head shook wildly, her hair matted to her sweaty face. Her consciousness floated on waves of sensation, the only clear things being the sight of Akemi’s equally broken form and the sound of her own strange, insane laughter.

This was the “full display.”

No barriers, no separation. Every humiliation, every breakdown, every physiological response was laid bare before the torturers’ eyes—and burned into each other’s retinas.

Time lost meaning.

There was only itch, and laughter.

And within the laughter, the increasingly distinct taste of despair.

"Keep going, keep going~ We can play for a long time today." The man's voice held a satisfied laziness. "We have all the time in the world, after all. The rest of your lives… is our entertainment time."

The feathers didn't stop.

The tickling didn't stop.

Time, in endless torment, flowed slowly, cruelly on.

Base +13, 闲杂人 +6, WANKAKE +3

非常非常棒，太棒了，这种全裸挠痒并且完美展现身材的作品，作者是天才！

Base +6

捕获之章
页码：1-9
八名院家是西日本著名的除妖世家。其家族寺庙位于鸟取县深山之中。姐姐八名院奈奈身为当主，兼任寺庙的首席神官；妹妹八名院明美虽具除妖资质，却在政商界大展拳脚。明美的女儿八名院阳子常在家族寺院修行；奈奈的女儿梓与焰则分别就读于离家不远的两所高中。梓、焰、阳子三人在“里世界”中皆是声名显赫的杰出除妖师。
八名院明美
绑架之章
页码：10-15
八名院的“铁娘子”明美，被恶魔的傀儡绑架，在魔窟中被折磨、被驯服。
八名院奈奈
页码：16-19
伏击之章
某日，奈奈收到一封信，里面装着妹妹与女儿们的近照。怒火中烧的她，只能孤身奔赴信中所写的地点，迎战早已埋伏在那里的人与魔。结局，可想而知……
第四章
当八名院奈奈恢复意识时，她发现自己被困在一个陌生的地方。她被扒了个精光，丰满的身体被紧绑，并吊在一群男人面前，连私密的小穴也彻底暴露出来。“八名院奈奈！你现如今落到了我们手里，我将让你堕入挠痒地狱！主人会很高兴看到你的样子！”绑匪头头宣告了她悲惨的命运。
头头的手开始玩弄她脆弱的身体，将润滑油涂满她极度敏感的脚，乳房，臀部和大腿。这位已婚女士立刻狂笑不止。绑匪们以她的反抗为乐，这加剧了她的痛苦。虽然驱魔师仍旧没有放弃尝试去逃脱，但是当她的乳头被挠痒的时候，她的思维就好像被灼烧一样。
“我只用挠痒就击溃了牛顿意志，无论你怎么挣扎，你都逃不出这挠痒地狱。”绑匪头头愉悦地低语。
“啊哈哈哈哈！滚啊！”
一个口塞迫使她的嘴巴张开并让她无法发出声音。
“安静，奈奈！不，你这母猪！啊……是的……请拿着这根假阳具，它是主人铸造的，你应该习惯它！”绑匪头头缓慢地将假阳具插进了她的喉咙。
“哦！这母猪太润了！就像她姐姐一样！也和她姐姐一样怕痒！”
他们用软刷挠她的乳房，摩擦这多汁的美肉，从两峰之间插入并狠狠挠痒。
随时间流逝，没人在意她的哭泣和狂笑。她逐渐失去了希望。她这些天一直被折磨，已经变成了一个挂在房间中的挠痒人偶。娜娜在可预见的未来内，都不可能靠自己走出这种状态了……
第五章：一个实验性的动物
页码：27-30
在恶魔在人类世界的秘密基地中，设置了一间连恶魔信徒都很少光顾的特殊治疗室。
这是一处专门处理恶魔的敌人以及发现其秘密之人的设施，主要由低阶恶魔管理。这间牢房里的实验动物是著名驱魔师夜峰院家族的女主角夜峰院朱美。在被送往魔界之前，她必须在这里接受挠痒痒耐力实验。而这项实验并没有什么特别的目的，只是为了让她承受痛苦。
第六章：实验动物
页码：31-32
这间牢房里的实验动物是著名驱魔师八名院家族的族长八名院奈奈。
第七章：入侵魔界
页码：33
天才驱魔师八名院阳子为了拯救家人，潜入魔界，斩杀了无数恶魔，最终被魔族大军围攻，最终被魔族俘虏。
第八章：拍卖会 I 页数：34-35
无正文
第九章：马戏团 I 页数：36-40
欢迎大家！各位！这是著名驱魔师家族夜峰院的梓和焰的挠痒痒训练秀！各位都是他们的粉丝，希望你们喜欢！
嘿！忍不住了？这是你们未来的人生！必须在恶魔面前被羞辱到极限！像马戏团的动物一样，露出你们可爱的笑脸，让我们的观众看到你们！
看看这华丽的肉体！她们将被展示，并体验挠痒痒的痛苦……光是想想就觉得恐怖，不是吗？真正的地狱才刚刚开始。从现在开始，你们两个都是我们的摆设，一辈子……你们将在这个地狱里继续受苦！
第十章：拍卖会 II
页数：41-44
无正文
第十一章：魔界入侵 II
页数：45-46
夜峰院阳子在魔界。
第十二章：家族重逢
页数：47-49
夜峰院家族的五位驱魔师被押送到魔界，在那里成为了挠痒痒的奴隶。他们在各个地方、在敌人面前接受折磨和训练，并用他们极其怕痒的娇嫩双脚逗弄着魔物和怪物。
第十三章：家庭团聚 II
页数：50-53
近一年后……
第十四章：娜娜的服务
页数：54-59
娜娜的服务仍在继续，她是个挠痒痒的婊子……
第十五章：娜娜的胸部训练
页数：60-64
这位女士的胸部究竟有多敏感、多怕痒？
第十六章：衍生作品
页数：65-70
一些俘虏会成为恶魔的永久奴隶……即便她曾经是她家族的首领，也是一个非常强大的恶魔……
第十七章：下个月的拍卖
页数：71-73
无文本
第十八章：衍生作品 失踪的驱魔师
页码：74-84
多年来，全国各地都发生过一些强大的驱魔师失踪的事件。其中甚至包括几个著名驱魔家族的首领。事实上，许多因一时疏忽而失败的女性驱魔师被抓获，并被送往最近在恶魔中流传的“恶魔总部”，沦为奴隶。
这些驱魔师的灵力被封印，被用来招待各处的恶魔。尤其是那些斩杀过无数恶魔的强大驱魔师，被冠以“母猪”的称号，只能作为恶魔的奴隶生存。
这一次，恶魔们举办了一场搔痒臀部的盛宴来取乐。那些本应被恶魔处死的女士们，如今却只是无力且无望的供人取乐的肉奴。
（屁股上的名字：
土御门男、真峰院惠、榊七海、
东王美雪、阿部冬树、朝比奈光）
无论她们曾经多么强大，如今都不过是些肉玩具，只要轻轻一挠屁股就会勃起。
而这些驱魔师屁股上的每一寸肌肤都不会被忽视。恶魔的目标是彻底羞辱他们，让他们陷入永恒的绝望和痛苦。
这是他们的地狱……
他们最终会逃离这绝望吗？
还是走向一个更加绝望的未来？
第十九章：拍卖会上新获得的奴隶
页数：85-102
尖叫声、笑声和呜咽声在黑暗寂静的地下回荡。顽固的奴隶被留在地牢里，遭受搔痒和折磨。这会让这些叛逆的奴隶屈服，让他们知道，他们的训练将在这里持续进行，让他们意识到自己失去了人权。
他们会被关在这里……一整天不停地遭受搔痒折磨，如果她对主人有什么意见，甚至会持续一周……无论她如何恳求，折磨和训练都不会停止。
第20章：足部护理
页数：103-128
你明明是名门望族的桐王家小姐，却喜欢穿着这双破旧的草鞋到处跑。这么好的脚，却长满了厚厚的茧子，磨得这么粗糙，真是可惜了！
“啊啊啊……你们这群小怪物想对我做什么？”
“我们会给桐王小姐好好做个足部护理，让这双可爱的小脚恢复原状。”
这次足部护理要持续三十天，我们相信桐王小姐的脚会像婴儿一样娇嫩敏感。
“怪怪的……我的脚底……”
“第一天，我们会小心翼翼地磨掉她脚底的茧子。我们宁愿花很长时间，以免伤到真皮层。慢慢来就好。”
“嘻嘻……现在很痒。嘻嘻，你们想这样折磨我吗？”哈哈……”
“第二天，我们要彻底清洁她的脚趾，用磨砂膏去掉死皮，涂上润滑剂好好按摩一下。”
“哈哈哈，好痒啊哈哈哈！怎么会这样啊哈哈哈！停下哈哈哈！！”
第三天，先清洁她的脚趾缝隙，然后让她体验脚趾缝隙里的痒。
“哈哈哈，疼死我了哈哈哈哈！！！我忍不住啊哈哈！！哈！停下哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！停下哈哈哈！！哈哈哈哈不要！！”
第四天，该清理一些不太重要的部位了。两只脚的边缘都有一些死皮，必须清理干净。
“哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！！！停下哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！停下哈哈哈哈哈！！哈哈哈不！！”
第二天，再次清洁前掌和脚跟，这些部位需要软化处理，使其更加娇嫩。
“哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！！！哈哈！停下来哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！停下来！！哈哈哈！！不不不不不不哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！！停下来哈哈哈哈！！！求求你了哈哈哈哈！！”
第六天，桃王小姐要开始治疗她那怕痒的足弓部位了。
“哈哈哈哈，疼死我了哈哈哈哈！！！我受不了了哈哈哈哈！！哈哈！停下来哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！停下来！！哈哈哈不！！”
第七天，我们继续清洁她的双脚，力度适中，轻柔地抓挠和刷洗。此外，脚掌和脚后跟也要同时清洁。整个脚底可以清洁一天。
第八天到第九天，让她的脚趾（现在已经足够光滑）享受深度发育。
“哈哈哈哈！杀了我哈哈哈哈！！！不不不！求求你了哈哈哈哈！！！”
第十天，桃王小姐休息了一天，一整天，然后……我们给她的脚涂上了一些敏感度提升膏。这也是她足部护理中非常重要的一部分。
“你……你到底想干什么？你知道我是谁吗？你最好现在就杀了我……否则我绝对会杀了你们所有人！杀了你们所有人！杀了你们所有人！”东王一族也不会放过你的！
你现在已经拥有了一双美丽又怕痒的脚了！东王美代希小姐，请享受你的新生活！
从第十一天开始，她脚底的每一寸肌肤都可以被挠痒痒了。
“哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！！！？？不不不哈哈哈哈哈哈！！！停！哈哈哈哈哈哈！！不！哈哈哈……哈哈哈！！救命啊哈哈哈哈！！！不！哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！！”（“再也受不了了……脑子坏了！”）
她会成为一个好玩具的……
第21章：衍生剧：老奶奶们
页数：129-137
东家的藤王和西家的夜峰院是日本最负盛名的驱魔家族，近两百年间涌现出众多实力不俗的后代。随着时间的推移，妖怪的势力也日益壮大。几百年前，这两个家族就一直是妖怪们的眼中钉。于是，全国各地的妖怪家族联合起来，对付这两个驱魔师。
十年前，夜峰院的女主人（50岁）失踪，她的长女夜峰院奈奈成为新的女主人；七年前，藤王家最强大的驱魔师藤王美代希（43岁）失踪，这导致藤王家的实力急剧下降。
这两位驱魔师暗中成为了妖怪们的永久挠痒奴隶，被妖怪肆意蹂躏，让他们生不如死。许多深谙自身身份的高级恶魔，更愿意欣赏自己痛苦的外表。
被奴役后，他们被改造成了半恶魔。虽然没有获得怪物的能力，但却获得了极长的寿命。
而他们余生唯一的职责，就是用敏感的身体取悦俘虏他们的敌人——恶魔。
他们的性格和心态在被俘虏的那一天就被固化了，他们的不甘、屈辱、恐惧和绝望，才能为恶魔提供最多的食物。
但经过多年的训练，这具身体已经大不相同了。
“你的前半生是我最讨厌的驱魔师，后半生是我最爱的挠痒痒奴隶。”
“做了十年挠痒痒奴隶，你还记得自己是谁吗？”
“我们交换一下挠痒奴，享受不同的滋味吧！虽然都是老太太了，但皮肤依然细嫩！尤其是这双练过的脚，玩起来特别有意思！”
“你应该感谢我们给了你生命！”
“听说夜鸣忍家的本家已经被彻底摧毁了。说不定以后还能见到你的女儿们和其他的子孙后代呢。”
“听得懂我的话吗？算了，就当挠痒奴安安静静地过日子吧。对了，一会儿我会好好地挠你那淫荡的胸部。”
第22章：衍生作品：东王的训练
页数：138-149
“装腔作势？你早就知道自己的弱点了，肯定撑不住。”
“果然，这胸部也挺怕痒的。”
“这胸部应该被贴上乳奴的标签。”
“嘿嘿嘿！”
“不错，看起来很漂亮！”
“太好了，现在你是我们的乳奴了。”
“以后的日子，你好好反省一下以前对我们这些怪物造成的伤害，老老实实接受你的命运吧。”
“怕痒的驱魔师，我最喜欢了！”
“我们就让触手怪物们服侍你吧。这些低等怪物，吸收人类的痛苦，就能获得快感，而且不会感到疲惫。”
“毕竟，你是东王一族最强，最顽固的人。”
“时间还很长，你好好想想吧。”
“当然，我希望你的脑子还能用。”
第二十三章：触手地狱的家庭重逢
页数：150-157
几个月来，她们被关押在不同的地方，作为搔痒娼妓，遭受着不同的恶魔的折磨。夜峰院的长女梓、次女焰，以及她们的母亲娜娜，越来越绝望。之后，她们再次被拖入“触手地狱”，成为高级搔痒奴隶。
她们三人被绑在“床”上。束缚母女的并非绳索或锁链，而是肉色的触手。贴着肌肤的体温，耳后蠕动的“爬行”声，以及从床架上延伸出来的无数肉褶，都变成了无数的触手。
很快，她们的下半身就被肉色的触手“吞没”了。膨胀的触手从膝盖到脚踝吞噬了他们的身体，只剩下赤裸的双脚从床沿露出。
捆绑着他们上身的触手随着他们的蠕动发出嘎吱嘎吱的声音——
现场有三个人。母女间的捆绑和母女间的捆绑截然不同。肌肤上温暖的触手，耳边传来“匍匐”的动静，屏幕上可以伸展出无数的褶皱，还能听到几只脏兮兮的手在动。
阿福，三个下半身布满肉色触手的人。膨胀的触手直抵膝盖和脚踝，裸露的双腿从身体两侧伸出。
被捆绑的上身触碰着，互相摩擦……
肉色的触手舔舐着他们的薄弱点。痒痒的痒和恐惧交织在一起，让他们疯狂地扭动着。触手收紧，速度越来越快。
“停……！别挠我痒痒……啊！？”
濒临失去理智，从喉咙深处发出的声音已分不清是笑还是悲。
触手的尖端裂开无数张小嘴，发出一声响亮的“咯咯……”
她们被绑在黑暗的房间里，承受着“挠痒痒”的惩罚——无力的痉挛、喉咙里发出的狂笑，以及被摧残的神经，让母女俩与“怪物杀手”的过去渐行渐远。
怪物们低语道。
“这是因果报应……你们夺走的每一条生命，都将因这笑声而成为永恒的惩罚。”
尽管她们的理智已然混乱，但她们知道自己将面临什么，却失去了任何反抗的机会。
“哭吧，尖叫吧，咬牙切齿吧！你们的绝望会让肌肤更加细嫩，更加美味。”
“你们越是反抗，笑声就越能引领你们走向我想要的未来……哦……笑声真美。”
“永远像我们的玩具一样跳舞吧！”
“你们的身体不再属于你们自己。看，触手正像我们所愿般颤抖着！”
“神经将永远复苏——你们的挠痒痒永远不会结束！”
“你们的灵魂已变成挠痒痒的囚徒……永远受苦，这就是你们存在的证据。”
三位女士被无数触手挠遍全身，眼睛也被蒙住。
挠痒痒从脚底到乳房和乳头，不断蔓延————
呼吸和尖叫都被笑声压倒，只有抽搐的肌肉才能喊出“停！”
“你们应该想象，当你们的眼睛被蒙住时，成千上万的毛毛虫爬上你们的皮肤……哦，哭泣的笑声，对我来说是最好的赞歌。”
在这片黑暗中，当你的笑声衰落时，我们将把“一滴疯狂”倒入喉咙，让疯狂的笑声永远留存。 “蒙着眼罩是我们的恩赐——如果你看着那些触手，你的大脑可能会被笑融化。”
触手同时爬过母女三人的弱点——她们的侧腹、脚底和胸部都痒痒的，三个女人疯狂的笑声在房间里回荡，就像三人的眼泪一样。
触手被塞进母女三人的嘴里，一股紫色的液体被灌进她们的喉咙——粘液和液体混合在一起，迫使她们笑肌痉挛。最终，母亲嘶哑的笑声和女儿们尖锐的笑声在房间里融为一体。
“库库库库……哈哈，别说了……库库库库库……孩子们……啊啊啊！！”
母亲脖子上鼓起的血管随着每一次笑声而跳动。
“啊……啊……嗨！” ……杀了我吧！”
梓下意识地想咬掉自己的舌头，但恶魔的触手牢牢地抓住了她的下巴。
“嘿嘿嘿！真好笑！真好笑！哈哈！啊哈哈哈哈！！”
小焰的瞳孔被吸入了笑声的旋风中，瞳孔缩小成了针尖。
娜娜低沉的笑声与小焰的尖叫声交织在一起，而梓断断续续的呻吟声则构成了节奏。
那是被称为“家人”的乐器被恶魔之手撕裂的声音。
“母亲的笑声应该是用来保护女儿的‘咒语’吧？看来效果适得其反。”
第24章：在主人家的重逢
页数：158-162
上个月被买来的夜峰院明美，和她的女儿一起被当作“挠痒痒奴隶”折磨了大约一个月，每天被恶魔玩弄，她都狂笑不止。每天的挠痒痒折磨让她濒临崩溃。
“杀了我吧，哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈！求求你！杀了我吧，杀了我吧，嗯嗯嗯嗯嗯嗯……”
明美和阳子深深后悔当初没能除掉这些恶魔，但现在除了继续在恶魔手中狂笑之外，她们也无能为力。
脖子上的封印让她们无法使用力量，否则她们只需挥挥手就能消灭这些小妖精。而现在，这些小妖精竟然成了她们的“主人”，可以随心所欲地日夜折磨她们，让她们承受难以忍受的瘙痒折磨。
她们的思想对恶魔来说毫无意义。腋窝、胸部、腰腹的刺激让她们濒临昏迷。然而，下一刻，从更痒的地方涌出的电流，让她们连最熟悉、最有意义的话语都无法说出，只剩下歇斯底里的狂笑。
“呃啊啊啊！”太好吃了！吸溜吸溜，太好吃了，哦吼吼吼吼！我现在感觉无比幸福！你这个黑山家的贱人，竟然杀了我的兄弟们！竟然杀了那么多恶魔！嗯哦吼吼！太好吃了！我觉得……我觉得我可以永远玩这美味的脚，唷哟吼吼”
“杀了我哈哈哈哈哈哈！求求你！杀了我呃呃呃我不想啊噗噗噗哈哈哈哈哈哈——我不能，不能啊啊求求你！！杀了我，杀了我！！”
“求求你哈哈哈哈哈哈——我不想，不想笑啊啊哈哈哈哈哈哈……求求你啊噗噗哈哈哈哈哈哈——让我死吧啊啊噗噗哈哈哈哈哈哈！让我嘻嘻嘻嘻嘻哈哈！求你了哈哈哈……哈哈……
第二十五章：阿鼻地狱
页数：163-171
多年后，那些被恶魔变成了挠痒痒奴隶的驱魔师被送进了阿鼻地狱。
他们连同他们的生命维持系统一起，被活活地囚禁在特制的混凝土柱子里，被剥夺了一切反抗、挣扎，甚至感知外界的权利。
每天，在指定的时间，地狱之门都会敞开。恶魔们源源不断地涌入，夺走它们心仪的肉体，开始折磨她们。
从脚底到胸口，每一寸痒痒的肉体都成了目标。恶魔们精准地了解她们的弱点，并且极其善于利用它们，让这些女人体验到最真实、最痛苦的地狱体验。
“嘻……哈哈哈！”不，不……咿呀哈哈哈！停……停……哈——哈——哈——哈！！”
这些曾经威风凛凛的驱魔师如今无力反抗。他们颤抖的身体和无助地挥舞的双脚是他们唯一能做出的抗议。然而，正是这些举动反而让恶魔们更加兴奋。他们的笑声在水泥柱子间回荡，给折磨他们的人带来了更多的快感。
即使一天的“仪式”结束，这些恶魔们仍会伸出无意识的触手，持续不断地在这些女人最怕痒的地方传递搔痒的感觉。他们刻意不让她们有任何片刻的喘息。
她们将永远忍受着这种无休止的搔痒折磨，沉浸在痛苦和悔恨之中。
第26章：复仇
页数：172-181
“啊……你介意暂时死去吗？”
多年前，在近畿地区活动的恶魔被西部地区最强大的巫女率领的驱魔师团彻底消灭。青鬼一族几乎被彻底消灭，但一位幸运的年轻领袖在追兵逼近时被救了出来。
在组建全国联盟后，恶魔们甚至与外来势力勾结，最终引发了大灾变。驱魔师团在多个方面均被击溃，他们最强大的驱魔师也因遭到伏击而消失。
当恶魔们在群岛上织起暗影之网，与海外的实体缔结契约时，陷入混沌的命运已不可逆转——
她曾是正义的化身，铲除真正的邪恶，直到她的女儿们被劫持为人质的那一天——她独自走进了他们的陷阱，如今却成了恶魔们的玩物。
利爪刮擦着她裸露的神经，恶魔般的笑声淹没了她垂死的祈祷，血迹斑斑的獠牙在她耳边嘶嘶作响：“现在你明白了吗，亚米尼因？你称之为‘净化’的屠杀……催生了这场吞噬凡界的万魔夜袭！你有没有想过，在斩下我三百个同胞的头颅时，你那沾满鲜血的双手，终有一天会被你所孕育的黑暗吞噬？现在你的心中是否涌起悔恨？”
“你是说……正是操蛋的挠痒痒让你崩溃了——？”
他的爪子抓挠着她丝般柔软的乳房，她的脊柱像一张亵渎的弓一样抽搐着，“那些伙伴们用了挠痒痒……该死的幼稚的挠痒痒……”
唾沫溅到她的皮肤上，“让你——亚明音娜娜！这个屠杀我同族的冷酷无情的婊子——像个抓挠地板的疯女人一样乞求？！”
笑声凝结成神经静电的尖叫，仿佛蚂蚁的脚在她皮肤下跳舞——
“哈哈——停！求求你……现在就杀了我！”
瞳孔像神圣的镜子一样破碎，留下血淋淋的泪痕，尽管她知道恶魔的耳朵里没有怜悯，她的身体仍然像断线的木偶一样抽搐：“挠痒痒……不！杀了我！求求你杀了我！！”
“杀了你？真是可惜。”族长的爪子划过她乳晕密布的沟壑，“我可是花了不少钱才租了你三十天的……”
“如果挠你的乳头就能让你筋骨僵硬，那再加点脚底和腋窝怎么样？”年轻的族长招呼了两个脸颊上还留着干涸泪痕的孤儿鬼。它们的指甲一丝不苟地刮着女巫腋窝柔软的肌肤，手指则在她柔嫩的脚掌上爬行。随着复仇者们加紧抓挠她敏感的乳晕边缘和过于丰满的乳房，她那健康的女性身体顿时如玉石般紧绷，毛孔散发出类似哺乳的气味……让鬼的喉结微微颤动。
她悬空的双脚疯狂地踢动，十根脚趾在空中划出一道道苍白的弧线，脚底绷得像拉开的弓，汗珠顺着足弓滴答作响——就在孤女的指尖擦过腋下的汗水时，族长突然抓住她颤抖的脚后跟，冷笑道：“你看，这鞋底……比普通少女的还要软。”
两个孤女鬼一边用秒表嘀嗒嘀嗒地抓着她的脚底：“还剩717个小时！阿姨，在合同到期前，一定要保持健康，好好享受这痒痒的时光。”
娜娜拼命地挣扎，但粗糙的绳索深深地勒进她的手腕和脚踝。她只能像陆地上的鱼一样抽搐，肩膀在木架上划出一道道血痕。在蓝色恶魔抓挠的指甲下，她的脚底不受控制地蜷缩着，脚趾剧烈地扭动着，颤抖着。另一个恶魔用食指抠进她汗湿的腋窝，沿着汗湿的皮肤褶皱刮擦，断断续续的笑声从她喉咙里发出，唾液和泪水浸湿了她的太阳穴。
年轻的首领用指甲捏住她乳晕的脊线，快速摩擦。她的乳头硬得像鹅卵石。她的臀部突然向上拱起，但很快就又缩了回去。她张开的嘴巴吸不进任何空气——只有喘息的嘶哑声从她颤抖的胸膛里挤出来。
年轻的首领蹲下，手指抠进娜娜紧绷的侧腹皮肤，来回刮擦。她的腰部像触电一样抽搐，但钢镣将她牢牢地固定在刑架上，只让刑架剧烈地发出叮当声。
一条滑溜溜的舌头突然压在她的大腿之间。娜娜的身体痉挛起来——一声半尖叫从她喉咙中迸发出来——直到一个恶鬼的拇指重重地戳进她的后腰。这破碎的尖叫淹没在歇斯底里的笑声中。她拼命地抓紧大腿，脚踝的鲜血磨进镣铐，另一个恶魔的指甲抓挠着她的脚底，让她疯狂地抽搐。
汗水顺着她僵硬的大腿内侧流淌，与下方的湿润交织在一起。随着老大的舌头绕着她最娇嫩的肌肤打转，娜娜的背部猛地弓起，颈部肌腱鼓胀。束缚让她动弹不得。笑声和呛人的唾液从她的牙缝中喷涌而出。她扭动着身子想要逃脱，但抓着她腰肢的手指和两腿之间滑溜溜的舌头不断让她感到瘙痒，一滴一滴地消耗着她的力气。
“好了，我们也不能放过那对乳房。”年轻的首领召唤出两只蓝色的恶鬼，分别开始挑逗她的左右乳房。
娜娜完全失去了时间感——恶鬼的复仇似乎永无止境。只有当它们精疲力竭时，她才能喘息，因为家族的残余成员已经所剩无几。
然而，她从未预料到这些被诅咒的神器。三根黑曜石羽毛轻盈地盘旋在乳头上，一口嗡嗡作响的玉铃在她的足弓上方。每一次羽毛的颤动都让她的臀部猛烈撞击镣铐；每一次铃声的响起都让她的脚底摩擦着困在铁笼中的抽搐的飞蛾。
当第一波搔痒感像通电的电线一样点燃她的脊柱时，笑声从她的喉咙中迸发出来，融合着绝望的呜咽——她的身体被牢牢地固定在原地，如今，这些跳动的神器甚至连昏迷的资格都没有。
第27章：复仇II
页码：182-196
（五年前）“看来你费尽心思才把我和护卫分开……就为了抓住我，然后策划一些针对夜峰院家族的小阴谋，不是吗？”
“虽然我觉得我们家的驱魔活动相当……乏味，但请不要把冷漠和无能混为一谈。”
“真是可爱又可悲。”
受全国妖怪联盟操纵的堕落的山鬼，在城里埋伏了夜峰院集团的幕后黑手——朱美夜峰院。但即使成功引走了她所有的护卫，他们也神秘地被消灭殆尽。
这场莫名其妙的失败迫使联盟彻底重新评估朱美的威胁程度。一场新的、高度集中的行动被策划，目标是她本人，最终目标是彻底消灭西方的夜峰院家族。
被捕后，明美也落得了和姐姐一样的下场：沦为她们取乐的“挠痒痒奴隶”。堕落的山蝼蚁随后买下了她一个月的使用权。
“一个月。她是她们的。”
“整整一个月，明美都是我们的……呵，我迫不及待想看看她之后会变成什么样。”
“好吧，好吧，看看这只猫拖进来的东西。就算不是尊贵的她本人，那也太厉害了。真是个败类！既然你输得这么彻底，那就乖乖听话，在新生活中好好表现吧。”
“停！哈哈哈！别再挠痒痒了！求你了！啊哈哈哈哈哈哈！！啊哈哈哈哈我受不了了！啊哈哈！现在就杀了我吧！哈哈哈哈哈哈~饶了我吧！啊哈哈哈哈哈哈~~”
她脖子上的项圈，乳头上甚至阴蒂上的环——都是为了封印她的灵力，让她变成一个毫无抵抗力的凡人。
即使是最伟大的驱魔师，在这种封印下，也会沦为被妖怪饲养的牲畜。
“一个如此讨厌挠痒痒的女人，怎么可能杀了我们派去追杀她的同胞？让她笑着死吧！哈哈！”
“没用的贱人。既然你现在已经沦为挠痒痒的奴隶牲畜，你就接受你不可避免的结局——被挠痒痒致死吗？毕竟，这是所有挠痒痒奴隶的最终结局，不是吗？”
几只山蝼蛄爬上了她的身体，数十根手指探索着她的每一寸肌肤。她的脚底、腋窝、隆起的胸部、乳头——无处不被它们折磨。结果已成定局：她无法控制的歇斯底里的笑声激起了山蝼蛄强烈的复仇快感，驱使它们以更大的热情探索她柔软而紧实的身体。
明美的身体像一张拉开的弓一样向后弓起，猛烈地挣脱着项圈和某种无形的力量，将她牢牢地固定在原地。她拼命地扭动挣扎，皮肤在手铐上生疼生疼。汗水滑溜溜的锁骨和起伏的胸膛，勾起了一阵怜悯。
“嘿……嘿……停……停……求你了——！！”
“呵呵呵呵……我敢打赌，你妹妹现在肯定和你一样绝望，对吧？伟大的夜峰院真是可怜。很快，你们都会成为我们心爱的小‘挠痒痒玩具’❤️哦，对了，别担心你的女儿……我们还没抓到她。但我们一定会尽快让你们团聚……直到永远。”
一开始是一连串语无伦次、喘息的笑声，然后汇聚成一声撕裂的、混乱的尖叫。泪水不受控制地从明美的眼角涌出，混杂着汗水和唾液，毁掉了那张曾经只有傲慢和嘲讽的脸。
“啊哈哈哈哈！我——我受不了了……！你赢了！这是你的胜利！啊哈哈哈！我认输！我……认输！！”
她一边无助地狂笑，一边尖叫着承认，这几乎是她能做出的最接近求饶的声音。但这听起来不像是投降，更像是从边缘逼出来的愤怒宣言。
她的脚趾痛苦地蜷缩着，每一波新的痒痒都让她的肌肉痉挛，难以忍受地紧张。
“所以……停……让我停下来……我求求你……（喘着粗气）……就……杀了我……呃呃，等等！别停——不，我是说停！住手！！！啊哈哈哈哈！！！”
在痛苦中，她的话语变得混乱不堪，在绝望的求死和绝望的求停之间摇摆不定。最终，无尽折磨带来的纯粹恐惧淹没了她，她的尖叫声达到了顶峰，变得尖锐而狂乱，笑声也变得更加歇斯底里和破碎。
她的身体最后一次剧烈抽搐，然后像一个破碎的木偶一样完全瘫软，只有肩膀还在歇斯底里的抽泣和残留的痒感中颤抖。
然而，这并非结局，而仅仅是她沦为挠痒奴隶的序幕——而且是一个相对温和的挠痒奴隶。

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这东西咋评到四星的？？？？

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