Monster March Part 1/4 - Arena of Humiliation (Patreon)

The gladiatorial arena is a place of blood, sweat, tears and beasts. Many courageous warriors enter - as punishment, as a trial to prove their worth, or merely as a way to show off their prowess and drink the cheers of the audience while standing over the fallen heft of the monster they've triumphed over.

But those who gloat in the arena rarely prosper. The sandy pit favours humility, honour and respect for the art of combat, a degree of dignity and regard for both the audience and the beast they fight. Gladiators who swagger in, underdressed and overconfident, are always sure to find themselves on the wrong end of the monster's fangs, claws or tendrils.

The mohawk-haired beast master's apprentice with the chip on her shoulder had made a huge fuss over how she could tame any monster with only her wits and a weapon. No fancy words, no spells, no bait or beast-whispering. Eventually, her tired tutor suggested that she prove it in the arena, in front of all the knights and mages and beast-handlers in town - maybe then she'd be allowed out into the mountains to see to that dragon problem they'd had lately.

When she strode into the arena, arms outstretched, bragging that she needed no armour, only a shield and sword, she was expecting a different kind of beast. Maybe a manticore. An amphisbaena. Possibly even an ogre or medium-sized dragon. The sun beat down; she was already sweating a little. The crowd murmured as she came to the middle of the arena.

A booming voice cried out "Unleash today's beast!"

She grinned.

"The Humiliator Abomination!"

Her face slackened. What? That wasn't a creature she was familiar w-

Oh god what the fuck is that

From an open gate, a thing poured out; a gross misshape the colour of tongues. It moved like a sack full of thoughts, rolling over itself to approach her. In her shock, she almost buckled and stepped back, but she quickly swallowed the thought and thrust her blade into the air with a triumphant cry, rushing the creature as it yawned its many toothy mouths.

It took the abomination about ten seconds to overwhelm her. Falling onto it was like sinking into a beanbag or a water bed. Her legs splayed sideways; she couldn't find purchase on its soft, yielding body, she couldn't achieve the leverage to get back up. It was warm, a living warmth, and vibrating slightly as if purring. Her face flushed a little as she realised her sweat was starting to make her white top turn transparent.

A wet tongue wicked the sweat away from her exposed armpit.

Involuntarily, she squealed, earning a roaring laugh from the crowds. She tried to slash at the thing, but it wrapped a tendril around her elbow, pinning the arm in place. Another tongue began to lave at her navel, tickling the sensitive flesh, and she began to thrash harder as a third tongue poked and prodded at her side.

"N- nohoho! How dare y- you! No tickling, you dirty cheating be-hehehe-east!"

The crowds jeered again as the mouths closed around her feet. Those slippery tongues were beginning to slaver over her feet; her soles, between her toes, along her arches, tickling every inch of skin they could find as the other tongues targeted her upper body, driving the boastful gladiator to hysterics. 

"N- hah! It tickles! St-hahahap! This isn't fahahahair! I'm going c- crazy! One of you, c- call it off!"

Her audience only laughed at her plight and her pleas, luxuriating in her helpless giggles as the tongues dove into her pits, bellybutton, ribs, toes, every ticklish spot on her trembling body. Panting, she shuddered as she felt a tongue slip between her thighs.

Oh god, it was making her wet. Being humiliated by this ticklish beast in front of an audience - it was turning her on.

Her squirming increased tenfold.

Cheers filled the arena as she bucked her hips over the wet tongue, whining as it rubbed her soaked slit. It tickled. It tickled too much. She tried to hide her face to no avail; tiny tears began to bud in the corners of her eyes as she squirmed and hoarsely laughed. The sun continued to beat down; the beast continued to lick away each droplet of sweat from her ticklish skin; the crowd continued to laugh at the boastful apprentice's desperation.

They'd let her go soon, before she passed out, and scold her for being so boastful. She'd have to come back each week to fight the abomination until she managed to use her skills and triumph over it. That'd prove that she'd learned her lesson.

Of course, it'd require a lot of training in the interrim, between each test in the arena.

Like tickling endurance training.

Every day.

For hours.