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Heather, the Cute, Metalhead Raccoon Girl

Heather's headphones drowned out the roaring hurly-burly that was the cafeteria of the Liberal Arts Building. A short grindcore song came to an abrupt stop and the frigid, chainsaw buzz of a black metal riff kicked in against her eardrums as she tossed her knife and fork onto her plate, the droning, indistinct chatter of freshmen and seniors alike muffling the sharp clank of silverware on porcelain. She crossed her jet-black feet and leaned back in her chair, stretching her jean-clad legs under the table as she wedged her paw into her backpack on the chair next to her. Just as she fished out her textbook on Norse mythology, a white flash of motion tore her out of her musical reverie. The raccoon girl's head spun back--Heather winced as an earbud snagged on her necklace and flew out, its rubber tip popping her ear with a painful pluck. Like a paperboy running late, a canine in a white lab coat and cream-colored paws tossed pamphlets of some sort left and right to every cafeteria table he came across.

She pinched the squishy tip of her earbud and jammed it back into her ear as she narrowed her eyes at the corner of her own table--she, too, had gotten a leaflet. Heather got up and leaned over with the palms of her black paws flat on the table and eyed the black on white text, two locks of hair that her ponytail holder couldn't restrain dangling from the sides of her head, just grazing the pamphlet's paper.

LOOKING FOR FEMALE TEST SUBJECTS OVER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN

Fetish adult entertainment often features actors, mostly females, being forced to experience gargalesis (laughter-inducing tickling) after sexual climax. In these films, it is shown that sensitivity to tickling is greatly enhanced because of orgasm, but this has never been tested scientifically.

Are you willing to make science progress in this area in exchange for undergraduate credit? Are you a female, ticklish, an adult, a college student here at Pawston and enjoy having orgasms?

Show this leaflet to Mrs. Fangmouth, the undergraduate lab supervisor, on the first floor of the Science Building and she'll begin taking your details!

Heather's eyes narrowed. She scanned the cafeteria--no one seemed as shocked as she was. People kept eating their meals, chatting away with classmates and friends and finishing coursework in a mad dash. Her eyes went back down to the brochure. Orgasms?_How could they pass out stuff so ... explicit? A smile crept on her face, the toes of one paw curling. _What if I sign up for this? It did say I could get undergrad credit. She grasped the leaflet and yanked it off the table with a swish and sat while crossing her stretched, denim-covered legs. Warm blood rushed to Heather's cheeks, her muzzle twisting into a shy yet sultry smile. Wouldn't mind being made to cum. The single raccoon's mind wandered to those nights where she'd lie on her back in her bedroom and lose herself to erotic bliss, two of her fingertips jackhammering her nub with the most delectable circular motions. The intense clit massage would eventually crescendo into orgasm--as blaring heavy metal music played in her ears, Heather's toes would curl, her back would arch off the bed, and her pussy would throb exquisitely as the raccoon girl smiled to herself, completely lost in the waves of sexual ecstasy.

Wa-Wait. Tickling?_She tucked her feet under her chair. She'd have to be ... tickled if she wanted to cum? Her eyebrows squeezed together. _Good thing Tim's in the military now, she thought with a sigh_._ Tim, her older brother, would subject her to the most abject tickle torture--two fingers drilling into her sides that would knock her off whatever she was sitting on with an embarrassing squeal, a set of fingers wiggling under her arms to get her to do his bidding, and, dear Lord, that one time the brat convinced her to get buried under a mound of sand with her bare hind paws sticking out ... The flashback of that last event alone made Heather shudder and the fur on her tail stand on end.

Heather's nose wrinkled as she held her head in her hand, her gaze directed upward. How is it that they're passing this out in public? Orgasms? Doesn't anyone else here find this weird? She tapped on the paper with the tip of her index finger. What if they record me? And I'm all ... naked. The thought made her toe claws scrape the linoleum. I guess I could give this a shot under one condition ... Though I wonder if they can still make me cum that way.

---

The Lab

After arriving in the afternoon at the door Mrs. Fangmouth had told her about, the first-year college student was asked to follow a graduate student with cream-colored paws and a messy lab coat to the innards of the university's medical testing facility. After his grip slipped a few times, the student managed to get the door leading to the darkened laboratory open. She shuffled her way in. Damn, it's chilly in here. The raccoon turned around, but before she could get a word out, the disheveled canine nodded briskly and closed the door.

Heather pursed her lips. OK, then. The soles of her feet squeaked against the cold, polished epoxy floor as she twirled around, loose strands of black hair soaring through the air as she blinked and narrowed her eyes. A few seconds later, her vision adjusted to the dimly lit test center. The slick floor, a flat-screen panel that hung from the wall in a corner and faced down, the table roughly the size of a single bed to the left with what appeared to be padded leather cushions, a two-way mirror to the right, and the room's two doors, one of which she'd come through behind her and the other next to the two-way mirror--everything in the square, roughly 10 feet by 10 feet room was bathed in a futuristic blue-violet light that seemed to have no source.

As the laboratory's overall appearance registered in her mind, Heather remembered Mrs. Fangmouth's instructions--upon entering the testing facility, she was to make herself comfortable on the table and wait for the research staff to introduce themselves to her. The raccoon took a step back, her paw leaving an evanescent, three-toed imprint on the glossy, smooth surface beneath her, and turned around to eye the door she'd just come through. She jammed her fingertips into her muzzle to bite down on her claws, but her teeth chomped down on empty air. Ugh ... Of course. Heather quickly retracted the paw when she remembered she'd just trimmed her claws short this morning. Could definitely use those credits, she thought. Letting out a deep breath from her mouth and stretching her fingers, she padded towards the table.

"I'll see what I can do. I think there shouldn't be an issue ... I'll make a note of it down here on your form." That's what Fangmouth had said the other day when Heather requested that she be allowed to wear a single layer of undergarments--Heather slipped her tank top and denim jeans off and lay on the padded table, a cameltoe forming in her black, low rise bikini panties as she angled her legs onto the leather surface and sat on her ass, the soles of her black feet flat on the dimpled surface, her shaggy, ringed tail stirring between her legs.

---

Meeting Dr. Softpaw

As she tugged on her underwear to get rid of the imprint of her pussy lips, a hydraulic hiss made her head swivel to the right, her tail now frozen stiff. She narrowed her eyes as the metal door adjacent to the two-way mirror disappeared into the wall, just like one one of those science-fiction shows. A twentysomething female cougar emerged from within the darkness. Her white lab coat flowed freely behind her as she sashayed towards Heather. With a crisp nod, she extended her paw and shook the raccoon's vigorously. "Heather, right? I'm Dr. Softpaw," said the felid in a boisterous tone, her features warm in the high-tech light.

"Oh!" Heather let her legs glide down the table as she brushed away a lock of hair. "I saw your name down below on the leaflet." A slow smile appeared on her face.

"Indeedy!" The cougar leaned in and placed her hand around the raccoon girl's upper arm. "Hmm, I see you're quite the bashful type!" The corner of her maw curled as her eye's darted back and forth between Heather's bra and panties. "Don't like showing off, huh?" she asked with a chuckle, fist-bumping the raccoon on the arm while standing on one paw and the tips of the toes of the other.

Heather's ears prickled with heat and her toes curled. "Well, I mean, I've never done anything like this before, you know, doc?" She rubbed the back of her head as her chin dipped down. "I mean, I can still, like, orgasm with this on, right?" With burning cheeks, her thumb and index finger twirled the thumb ring on her other paw, the Norse runes that were inscribed on the silver band serving as traction--it wasn't usual for her to talk this frankly with someone who was a perfect stranger.

Dr. Softpaw waved her hand dismissively with a twinkle in her eye. "I'm just messing with you, honey." She took a step back and pointed at Heather's tail with the sharp claw of her index finger. "But we gotta get that cute lil' thing of yours out of the way." The procyonid gasped and flinched as the felid scientist grabbed her tail by its jet-black tip. "With other girls, we've noticed that tails sort of interfere at, well, key moments, shall we say," said the scientist with a grin. "All right," she continued. "Spread your legs."

"Uh, OK." Grabbing the sterling silver charm that hung from her necklace to keep it from jostling around, she slid up the table's dimpled surface with the characteristic low-pitched squeal of fur rubbing against leather as the cougar held her tail by the tip.

"So, you see this hole here?" Softpaw's index finger tapped on a particularly prominent dimple on the table near Heather's panty-covered ass--it was an orifice with a circular, rubbed down mouth. Heather craned her neck towards it and before she could see how deep it was, the cougar shoved the end of her tail through the opening and kneeled on the epoxy floor, disappearing from Heather's view.

"What kind of 'key mom--'" A gentle yet decisive grip yanked the rest of the girl's bushy tail through the hole as if threading a needle; the raccoon's eyes bulged as she clutched her chest. "Wow, hey!" Her other hand grasped the side of the table as she watched her furry appendage vanish down the hole.

"All righty!" Softpaw pushed herself back up from under the table. "All done," she said, dusting her knee off. "Now that won't be a problem." The scientist cocked her head at Heather's stiffening features. "I'm sorry, I should have told you I was going to tuck your tail under the table." The cougar took the raccoon's hand and gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Look, you'll be totally fine, all right?"

Heather wiggled her toes and let out some of the stress with a long nose-sigh. "Yeah, I guess. I-I just got a bit freaked out." Her stern features softened and gave way to a sheepish smile. "This is, like, all new to me." The eighteen-year-old's heart eased its thrumming in her head.

The scientist flashed back a smile at her. "First time for everything, honey." The scientist walked towards the head of the table, the bottoms of her round, weighty hind paws slapping the epoxy flooring with low-pitched thuds. "OK--last thing before we get this show on the road." She motioned Heather's torso into a supine position with repeated waves of her clawed fingers. "Now the arms, honey." The raccoon girl's eyes twinkled in the unusual light and her large tail flicked under the table as Softpaw guided her arms into a loose V-shape, her black hands balled up into fists next to the sides of her head with her underarms exposed. The feline furrowed her brow, looking up with her tongue sticking out, and reached under the table--a mild humming sound made Heather's whiskers twitch. She turned her head and looked at her fist with narrowing eyes, her tail freezing in place below her. What was that tingling?

"Yeah, that's to keep you restrained. It works with biomagnetism--I've tuned it to what's found in the radiocarpal joint."

Heather rotated her forearm but found that an intense force kept her wrist pinned to the leather. She gasped as her butt muscles clenched. The gray and brown belle angled her neck past the black cotton covering her tits--Softpaw was now ushering her legs into place, tapping the raccoon's calves with her palms.

"Relax and bend your knees just a bit. I need you to be comfortable."

With a meek mm-hmm, Heather's ass groaned and squeaked against the leather as she bowed her stretched legs, her knees separating about a foot and a half, the girl's toes spreading each time she angled her pelvis to get into position.

"Same deal for your ankles, yeah?" Softpaw got down on one knee, her claws clicking against the epoxy as she slapped a button under where Heather's feet were.

As Softpaw came back into view, the raccoon wiggled her toes, her soles wrinkling.Guess I can't move my legs anymore, either. Heather pursed her lips and nodded to herself as she confirmed her own suspicion: her legs were, indeed, locked in the bandy-legged posture. Her toes could bend, and her butt allowed her some freedom to move her upper legs if she swayed her pelvis around, her restrained tail surprisingly not hindering her ability to undulate her hips, but her knees stayed in that slightly bent position since her ankles were stuck. The girl's abdomen heaved from a sigh, and as she felt some of the lingering tension leaving through her O-shaped lips, she bent her neck and glanced; her black claws poked out from the tops of her bra, each pair aligned perfectly with the center of each breast, the pointy tips protruding from where her nipples were under her bra--while she kept her forepaw claws short, like many females of her world, she didn't mind long claws on her toes. She curled the digits of her footpaws, watching the claws pop in and out of view behind her brasserie.

"And this magnetic field detects the tibia, fibula and talus." The scientist approached Heather's torso and set her paws, palms down, on the table at the height of her ribs, the textured leather yielding to her considerable weight. The girl's nostrils flared as her abdomen flinched, her muscles clenching under the thin coat of fur on her tummy--Softpaw's drooping lab coat had grazed the side of the raccoon girl's ticklish torso. "Those are the bones in your ankles." The female cougar placed her hands on Heather's ribs, just below her bra, with motherly, assuasive pressure as the researcher and the student locked eyes. "All right, so I'm gonna slip back into the analysis room and keep an eye on you when the procedure starts. Mrs. Fangtooth probably told you exactly what's going to happen now, so just before I leave, I'll remind you since you've probably forgotten because of how nervous you are--I can feel your ticker going nuts on my hand!" Softpaw gave the sides of her ribs a playful open-handed slap.

Heather's toes curled in embarrassment--indeed, her heart was racing, its drumming almost drowning out Softpaw's voice and tinging the blue-violet surroundings with a reddish tint, her gaze darting back and forth between Softpaw's eye. "I-I'm sorry. I know I keep saying that." The girl gulped, her larynx bobbing in the dim light. She shook her head with her eyes closed, her heartbeat pumping with less zeal in her head thanks to the comforting warmth on her ribs from Softpaw's palms. "Ye-Yeah. OK, go ahead. What were we going to do today?"

"Right." The felid nodded. "So, there's two sessions--one today, and another on Wednesday. We've divided it that way to focus on the two main ticklish areas people tend to have: the lower body and the upper body. By lower body I mostly mean the plantar region." Softpaw leaned in close to the girl's cute, masked face, the corner of her mouth curling. "By that I mean, of course ... the bottoms of your tootsies."

Heather's fingers fidgeted. "Look, doc, I, uh, I don't know about all of this," she said with a shaky quality to her voice, her toes bending as her legs gave the magnetic doohickey one last tug.

"Relax, Heather," she said, rubbing her palms up and down the girl's abdomen. The area of furry skin that had been covered by her hands for a few minutes met the laboratory's 18°C air. The refreshing feeling of cooling fur combined with Softpaw's warm palms stroking Heather's torso coaxed a sigh of relief out of the raccoon. "I think you'll really enjoy what happens after the first round of tickling."

"Yeah. You're gonna make me cum, right?" Her feetpaws angled back as much as the magnetic restraint would allow, the black claws on the tips of her toes glowing eerily against the luminol-colored backdrop of the laboratory.

"Please, honey. This is a science experiment. We prefer the terms 'orgasm' or 'climax'." The corner of Softpaw's mouth curled into a smile, one of her fangs showing as she tapped Heather's button nose with the tip of her fingers and rested her folded arms on the side of the experiment table. "But I guess you prefer just having them, whatever they're called. Am I right?" The two females laughed in unison, the felid's eyes sparkling in the hazy illumination as the raccoon's breasts bounced, a sheepish smile on her face. "But yeah," she continued explaining. "After a bit of foot tickling, we'll induce one orgasm."

The thought of getting a bunch of credits while cumming seemed appealing to Heather--she just hoped the tickling wasn't that bad. "When your climax is over, we'll test the gargalesis response in the same area. Before we made the experiment public, every female we tested was significantly more sensitive after orgasm." The raccoon girl frowned. Softpaw's words were technical, but her tone was suggestive and singsongy.

The raccoon pressed her lips into a fine line. "Is it real bad? The sensitivity, I mean." She turned her head to face away from Softpaw's eyes.

"Well, Heather, I think that's only something we can find out when the time comes." The felid reached over and, with half-unsheathed claws, let her fingers trail down the raccoon girl's neck.

Heather's head shivered from the impromptu tickling, her chin instinctively clamping down on Softpaw's fingers.

The lab coat-clad feline was unfazed, her feminine yet hardy paws barely registering the pressure. "Oh, relax, honey," she said with a chuckle that tapered off in catty growl as she retracted her paw from under the girl's head. "I still do need to show you one last thing." She pointed up with her index and middle fingers, and Heather's gaze followed suit. "Keep an eye on the screen during the experiment. I think you'll find the readout useful!" chirped the scientist, flashing a smile at the captive raccoon.

"And, this isn't strictly necessary for the experiment," Softpaw continued, "but at the end of each of the two sessions, I like to leave things on a ... positive note." Heather's ears perked, looking sideways at Softpaw as the feline strutted back to the entrance she'd come through. She raised her head off the table and opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, Softpaw spun around as the silver door hissed open. The scientist pointed at Heather's crotch with her hand curled into a ladylike fist. "And yeah, you most definitely can orgasm with your panties on." Softpaw disappeared back into the darkness with a soft giggle, the door's hydraulics kicking in and leaving Heather alone once again.

---

Her Poor Paws

As soon as the felid left the area, the screen suspended from the corner flickered. Sharp, white letters appeared on the screen, cutting through the blueish hue the room was immersed in.

SUBJECT: Procyon lotor ("Heather")

AGE : 18

AREAS SENSITIVE TO GARGALESIS : Axilla, neck, sides of torso, plantar region.

Heather cleared her throat and tore her eyes off the white text. She knew where she was ticklish--she didn't need a damn computer telling her!

Relax, Heather. It's just what you wrote on the form--that's all._She closed her eyes and waited for her bout of irritation to disappear, mildly embarrassed at having lost her temper because of a computer screen. Just as she let out a sigh to regain her composure, a mechanical whirr coming from the foot of the table made her twist her neck to the side, her torso bending elegantly. Two spinning brushes that were attached via mechanical arms to the bottom of the table were revving up--Heather's eyes widened, and her lips parted. _The fuck? Shit, they weren't there before!

SPINUP CYCLE COMPLETE. TRANSLATION TOWARDS PLANTAR REGION INITIATING

The spinup reached a high-pitched whine that went over the young raccoon's hearing limit, the bristles seeming static in the hypnotic light. To her chagrin, the mechanical arms bent at the joint and thrust the bristly rollers forward towards the bottoms of her feet. No! Heather's footpaws bent, twisted and writhed, the furless soles wrinkling and creasing as she fought the absurdly strong magnetic force that allowed her to do almost everything yet frustratingly kept her ankles and feet pinned in place.

DISTANCE TO SURFACE OF PLANTAR REGION: 3 INCHES

For fuck's sake! Heather gave the screen a death glare and shook her head to get rid of those stupid, annoying locks of hair that refused to behave. It's like the computer was laughing at her with its pedantic, robotic sentences.

DISTANCE TO SURFACE OF PLANTAR REGION: 1 INCH

The raccoon girl clenched her stomach muscles, an ephemeral six-pack forming in her abdomen from sheer nervous strength as she craned her neck and pointed her adorable, ever so slightly upturned snout towards her feet. No! Get the fuck away from me!

DISTANCE TO SURFACE OF PLANTAR REGION: 0--CONTACT

It started with a tingling sensation dab in the middle of her soles, where the slight arch was. Heather's head slammed back into the padded leather, her fingers gnarling and curling up into tight fists. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, the same goddamn butterflies that pranced around in her belly when her goofball of a friend did something hilarious in class and she had to will away the desire the dissolve into pure hilarity. The corners of her maw curled up as the taunting heat reached her chest. The more Heather tried to block out the unnerving sensation, the more she thought about it, and the more she thought about it, the more her lips would tremble and the more her feet would try to angle away from the grinding bristles--something that worked against her, as this only stretched out the skin under her feet.

All it took was a split-second distraction. Heather's willpower faltered as an image of Tim popped into her head--the asshole was making the wiggly _cootchie-cootchie-coo_fingers at her.

T-bag. That's what she called him.

The raccoon girl's rhythmic peals of laughter echoed around the laboratory, her tummy heaving with each loud, childish guffaw as the spindly mechanical arms maneuvered the rotating bristles up and down her soles, from the slightly coarser hide of her heels all the way up to the excruciatingly, baby soft skin between her toes and the rest of her paw.

INTENSITY OF GARGALESIS: 8.76

LAUGHTER LOUDNESS LEVEL: 75dB

The blue-violet light itself was quite something. "Semi-sentient." That's what the article they got published said. The high-energy, futuristic tinge didn't serve just to make their lab look cool. Nope. It could accurately map nerve activity down to the millivolt. With the help of an overhead camera and superimposed, real-time generated CGI, Dr. Softpaw and her team could plainly see the bright, purple jolts of electricity shooting up Heather's legs into her brain and then needling into her stomach to the muscles that cajoled the howls of laughter out of the poor girl. Complicated algorithms involving these potential differences were used to arrive at the INTENSITY OF GARGALESIS value--a reading of 10 was the maximum before nervous system shutdown ... that is, before passing out.

Heather's abdominal muscles were getting the workout of a lifetime as her pelvis swayed left and right, her tail flailing away in helpless mirth under the table. Her cheeks reddened as her uvula swung erratically in the back of her throat. She shook her head, desperately trying to deny that the one weakness that had dogged her since childhood was getting the best of her. The girl's laughter wasn't unlike her voice--silvery yet unrestrained with a pleasantly singsongy cadence.

AVERAGE VALUE OF GARGALESIS INTENSITY (8.76) RECORDED

Just before a salty tear was about to detach from the corner of her closed eye and streak down her face past her open muzzle, the spinning brushes ceased their merciless onslaught against her bare, sensitive paws. The robotic arms moved them away from her as they began to spin down, the high-pitched whine descending to a roar and then to a shaky, mechanical rumble as the brushes briefly entered their resonance frequency. The mechanical limbs hoisted them under the table as they came to a standstill--the devilish bristles vanished as quickly as they'd appeared.

GARGALESIS PHASE COMPLETE

Heather's reactions were noticeably lagged--the remnant tingling was enough to keep her hysterical inertia going, but after a few seconds, the raccoon's deep belly laughs dwindled into sweet tittering as her chest heaved, her lungs drawing in much-needed oxygen from the sterile, dry air. Her toes curled and her foot flexed as much as the biomagnetic restraint allowed, attempting to dispel the residual itch.

Her body shivered as the last of the leftover ticklish sensations dispersed. Her belly swelled as she drew in a massive breath, her innie bellybutton stretching along with her fingers, and a good part of her nervous energy dissipated with the long, drawn-out exhale. Heather opened her eyes and frowned, blinking a few times to absorb the tear that hadn't detached and was clouding her vision.

INDUCTION OF CLIMAX PHASE COMMENCING

With her eyesight now restored, Heather scanned the display above her and sighed with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Her lips mouthed what she was thinking: Finally. The girl's heart still pounded in her chest from the ticklish workout. She crooked her neck to peep past her tits, her tummy sucking in as her tail instinctively pushed against the top of the table. She could just see her low-cut panties, the black, cotton fabric seemingly completely separating her sex from the rest of the world. How exactly are they gonna make me cum?_As she finished the thought with a pensive toe curl, the rhythmic, mechanical clanking of a robotic arm moving something into place grabbed her attention. Heather squinted at the spherical object as the three-fingered, robotic hand guided it past her feet, her knees, her thighs, and finally reached the height of her pelvis. _Wow, what the fuck! The tendons in her calves jerked under her now slightly clammy fur as the pincer pushed the sphere into her panties, an inch above where her cunny was, right on her clit. A spherical indentation formed in her underwear.

LOWER EXTREMITY MAGNETIC LOCK MODIFIED: FIBULA AND TALIS FREE, TIBIA RESTRAINED

Heather glanced at the changing display and, sure enough, only the top part of her ankle tingled--she pushed her foot forward and discovered she could now completely point her feet forward. Phew. OK, I needed that ... Was kinda cramping up. Her eyes swiveled back to the orb-shaped object pressed against her pudenda. But what the fuck is this thing?

---

Heather Gets to Cum like Never Before

VIBRATORY STIMULATION COMMENCING

FREQUENCY MODE: AUTOMATIC (MAXIMUM PLEASURE DETECTION)

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 0%

The raccoon girl's muscles went rigid, and her furry tail slammed against the bottom of the table.

Oh, jeez, that feels gooooooood ...

Heather's eyes closed sweetly, her raised head settling back into place. She wrapped her fingers around her thumbs and squeezed hard. The ball jostled furiously against her nub, its vibrations traveling through the air to her flattening, relaxing ears as well as through her body, the swirling fire of sensuality in her crotch tugging out a slow gasp.

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 23%

Her only experience with vibrators were with cheap ones that were too weak and only served to tickle her clit. The annoying kind of tickle at that. And that was if she used it on her bare, unexposed nub--she couldn't feel anything through any form of clothing. Both massagers she'd ever tried led to the exact same experience, so she developed a meh attitude towards them, preferring generous clit massages with her fingers. But the vibrations from today were way different, far removed from the irritating massagers she'd tried; it was like the best massage she'd ever gotten and the most intense clit rubdown ever, all in one.

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 41%

As her tail wagged and kicked up dust that had accumulated under the table, she finally understood what her friend meant when she'd said that a vibrator is a girl's best friend.

Mmmmmmmm ...

The raccoon girl couldn't understand how something could feel this good.

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 69%

Heather's tummy undulated as her face turned to the side and rested on the cheek, the errant lock of hair that often annoyed her now flowing down her muzzle, her face locked in a smile that made one tooth peek from under her lips.

Oh, fuck... Oh, my ...

She stopped herself from mentally betraying her favorite pantheon, the Thor's hammer charm that usually hung just above her cleavage lying on the table, inches away from her darling, masked face, its black leather cord still wrapped around her neck. Her thumb knuckle popped from the sheer pressure from the rest of her squeezing paw.

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 85%

In the control room, Softpaw motioned to her colleague and pointed a claw at the screen. Bright, gold-colored currents flowed out of her clit, accumulated in her pussy and shot up to her head where they caused the most ecstatic feelings. Another scientist tapped on the display at the girl's crotch--the pleasant yellow color had turned into a shade more appropriate for burning embers. "Oh." The felid placed her index finger on the corner of her muzzle. "Keep watching, guys. She's almost there."

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 92%

The captive raccoon girl's toes spread as far as they could.

Shit, I'm gonna ...

Her ass started grinding against the thrumming, droning rubber ball, but as soon as her pelvis started swinging, the robotic arm matched her rhythm--the computer knew exactly what she needed to climax as hard as possible.

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 97%

Heather's tail started whipping around chaotically under the padded leather as her love button tingled horribly under the vibrator, an unbearable heat stirring in her loins.

I'm--

Lost in the bliss of what was going to be the most intense orgasm of her life, she didn't even notice the cramping in her curling footpaws. Her hands jerked open, her black fingers gnarling into the shape of bird talons.

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 99%

Heather's back arched off the table, her butt pushing into the leather with squeaky groans. Her body froze, mouth wide open, her pendant dangling half an inch off the coarse leather surface. The girl's tail curled up into a spiral about a fifth of its size, the pointy tips of the claws on her toes nearly touching her soles because of how curled they were.

OH, FUCK, I'M CUMMING!

PROXIMITY TO CLIMAX: 100%--CLIMAX PHASE COMMENCING

The striped, furry appendage under the table uncoiled and whiplashed around with dangerous randomness as explosive ripples of ecstasy washed over Heather, soft, melodic, feminine moans of orgasmic relief being wrenched out of her as the vibrating orb kneaded her nub. Usually a quiet cummer, the utter intensity of the climax forced her to vocalize her supreme satisfaction. Her groin clenched under her bikini panties--before, she was only aware of those pleasant waves of pleasure when she came, but now, for the first time, she actually felt everything throbbing down there.

Softpaw smiled at her screen as orange-colored bursts fountained out of the raccoon's crotch, each surge coinciding with a fresh eruption of toe-curling delight. "I told you, Heather," said the felid scientist with a smirk. "Told you I could make you climax with your underwear on."

Heather's toes grasped the end of the table, her claws managing to dig into the rough leather as her tail continued its maniacal thrashing, slamming into the table's metal legs with a resonant, gonglike bong. Her cheeks flushed with blood as the agonizing tidal waves of bliss slammed into her. Each erotic inhale was exhaled as a drawn-out gasp-groan of gratification, her toe claws pulling out of the leather with successive pops, the cute raccoon's nipples throbbing in tandem with her heartbeat and poking against the inside of her bra.

The powerful carnal tsunamis ebbed, and Heather's back gradually straightened out, her silver Mjolnir pendant tintinnabulating amidst her softening moans as it eased onto the table, landing in one of its many depressions. Her tail's frenetic flapping died off as the appendage stretched and curled, her feet twirling and her toes splaying. The raccoon bit her lip and clenched her stomach rhythmically as the spherical massaging head yanked the last few waves of pleasure out of her.

CLIMAX PHASE CONCLUDED

NORMALIZED PLEASURE: 9.22

LENGTH OF ORGASM: 23 SECONDS

CONTRACTIONS: 16

Heather's breaths were heavy, each exhale ending in a soft, feminine whimper. The girl's stomach and chest rose and fell as the vibrating sphere whirred down to a static ball of rubber--she licked her lips, enjoying the brief resonant frequency of the powering down massager as it pounded and rubbed up against her clit a few times before the robotic arm pulled it away.

For the first time ever since her nub felt the overwhelmingly pleasurable vibrations, Heather opened her eyes. It took a few seconds for her pupils to adjust to the blue-violet tint--her eyes dreamily swiveled up the monitor. Wow. Twenty-three whole seconds? It felt like much longer. She chuckled to herself. Sixteen contractions? Shit, I had no idea it squeezed up so good like that. The post-orgasmic raccoon shivered as she remembered the pure pleasure, but then a familiar sensation snapped her back to reality.

---

Her Poor, Poor Paws

LOWER EXTREMITY MAGNETIC LOCK MODIFIED: FIBULA, TALIS AND TIBIA RESTRAINED

Ugh. Not this bullshit again. Heather fanned her toes out, trying to relieve the tension from the intense toe gnarling and curling, her paws stuck in a straight position with the soles exposed.

SPINUP CYCLE COMPLETE. TRANSLATION TOWARDS PLANTAR REGION INITIATING

Heather pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. Not even gonna bother this time.

DISTANCE TO SURFACE OF PLANTAR REGION: 3 INCHES

All right._She blew out a loud breath from O-shaped lips, her eyes fixed on the screen. _You can do this.

DISTANCE TO SURFACE OF PLANTAR REGION: 2 INCHES

It's just a little tickling. You're not even supposed to be ticklish, Heather. Only lil' kids are ticklish.

DISTANCE TO SURFACE OF PLANTAR REGION: 1 INCH

Heather glanced sideways away from the screen as the spinning brushes drew near--the cool current of air around them hit her soles. It wasn't the wind, but the realization of how close the goddamn bristles were to the insanely sensitive bottoms of her footpaws that made her crack up. _No! Stop it, Heather!_She snickered horribly, her tail fluffing up and undulating. She was embarrassed that she'd succumbed to her childhood weakness without even being touched.

DISTANCE TO SURFACE OF PLANTAR REGION: 0--CONTACT

It was as if a supernatural force grabbed her lungs and squeezed the air out. Heather's eyes clamped shut, the blue tinge of the laboratory disappearing, replaced with the red surges of blood that were being pumped up to her head. Her laughter was maniacal and unhinged, like that of an incipient psychotic break. The veins in her neck stood out as she whipped her head left and right, her necklace swinging to either side of the table, the Norse charm occasionally settling on her chest.

INTENSITY OF POST-ORGASMIC GARGALESIS: 9.41

LAUGHTER LOUDNESS LEVEL: 80dB

Heather's howls resonated against the two-way mirror, the reflective smooth surface quivering in unison with the gales of laughter. Behind the mirror, Softpaw and the rest of the research team nodded crisply at each other as they pointed at their CGI-enhanced video feed, purple bolts of nervous electricity emanating from the bottoms of her paws exactly where the spinning bristles would make contact in their maddening up and down motion. "Yep, typical response," said Softpaw. "In a way it's nature's punishment for having an orgasm." A female colleague tittered at the lead researcher's wit while a male canine in his twenties gulped and adjusted his pants, awkwardly crossing his legs to conceal the black spot that had appeared on the crotch of his beige pants.

Each time the rotating brushes went up her soles, another raucous roar of laughter came out of the girl, her puffed up tail pounding on the floor in desperation. Heather's tear-streaked face made those pesky, unruly locks of hair cling to her cute visage. Her obsession with Norse gods and goddesses, the toe-tapping gusto she experienced during a rocking guitar solo--even that earth-shattering orgasm from five minutes ago were all forgotten as her mind clung to the last remnants of her sanity, her torso muscles on fire from the sheer exertion of forced hysterical laughter.

AVERAGE VALUE OF POST-ORGASMIC GARGALESIS INTENSITY (9.41) RECORDED

It wasn't enough for the diabolical brushes to stop their vexatious spinning. It also wasn't enough when the robotic arm hauled them away from her--the wild, uninhibited laughter akin to that of a child being pinned down and tickle tortured by cruel siblings continued for a good half-minute after the brushes had stopped touching the bare bottoms of her sensitive paws.

GARGALESIS PHASE COMPLETE

It was only after she shook off the lingering prickling with lots of toe curling that she managed to pull herself together, forcing the merriment down to wide-smiled chuckles and eventually willing away the unnecessary laughter altogether.

Heather's face burned. The band of muscles just below her ribs were overwhelmingly sore. Her pussy juices had soaked through her cotton panties, the sopping wet fabric making itself know in the cold, air-conditioned air of the laboratory. The raccoon opened her eyes, a tear streaming down her temple and disappearing into her now disheveled, ponytail-bound hair.

---

The Return of Dr. Softpaw

As the dazed college student forced oxygen into her lungs with pained breaths, a familiar hydraulic hiss came from her right, followed by a pair of padding, feline hind paws. "Heather." The voice seemed to come from a distance. "Heather, honey." A warm paw gave her thigh a squeeze--the deafening whoosh of her own heart in her head subsided as she saw Dr. Softpaw's jovial features looking down at her.

"Oh!" Heather cleared her throat, noisily swallowing saliva. "I-I'm sorry. That was quite a lo--"

"Yeah, I know." Softpaw pushed herself up onto the table with her muscular arms, her legs now dangling off the edge. "I'm here for a couple of things."

"A--Allright, doc. Lay it on me."

The scientist reached over and plucked her Mjolnir pendant off the table and settled it back onto her heaving chest. "There. Well, first of all--you did great. You gave us a very common, typical response, so you're not an outlier. Your data will be useful for the article we're about to try and get published."

Heather smiled wryly. Great. A glorified guinea pig. "That's awesome, I guess. So, I can go home now, right?"

Softpaw chuckled and crossed her legs. "Not so fast, honey. You do remember I told you I like to leave things on a positive note, right?"

Heather zoned out--she remembered. She was going to ask what Softpaw was talking about, but she'd since disappeared behind the sliding sci-fi door. "Y-Yeah. I remember." The girl's toes twitched.

Softpaw glanced back at her cute feet and smirked. "Relax. I took the hold off, so you can bend your tootsies a bit. I want you to be as comfortable as possible now."

"But comfortable for what? Don't I get to go home now?"

"But you enjoyed your orgasm quite a bit, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, I did, doc. But I already came, right?" Heather cocked her head at Softpaw.

The feline bent over, her paw disappearing under the table. A rhythmic unscrewing sound could be heard. "Yes, that's not wrong. You did orgasm." Her massive hand emerged with the rubber sphere the raccoon had enjoyed before--in the blue-violet light, Heather could see her pussy lips' imprint on its rubbery surface. "And I find it helps if instead of a machine, an actual person provides stimulation."

"Wh-What do you mean?" Heather's eyes darted back and forth between the ball and Softpaw's eyes.

"Heather, would you like to orgasm again?" She wedged her meaty paw into the device and tapped the ball's bottom with the tip of the index finger of her free hand. The felid's entire arm vibrated as the ball came to life, droning and vibrating with a vengeance.

Back in the control room, the other scientists exchanged confused glances. "I don't know why she always does this," said one data analyst. "It's not in any of the protocol books, and she always tells us to not put any of this in the article."

"Dr. Softpaw, i-is that even, like, ethical?" Heather's handpaws balled up into tight fists. "I mean, I thought you meant like more credits. Like you'd leave things on a positive note by making the university give me more credits."

"Heather, what's a couple of classes you don't have to take compared to the pleasure of a good orgasm?"

Softpaw's question wasn't a bad one--Heather did enjoy her orgasms.

"Well, I mean, I don't want to get in trouble, and are you sure this is ethi--aaaaaaaaaaah ..."

The intense vibrations blindsided Heather. Softpaw's outstretched paw was on the girl's stomach, her palm centered on the rocker's navel. "Don't fight it, Heather." Her other paw, jammed into the vibrating sphere, kneaded her clit. "Let it out."

The raccoon girl's mind, for a second time that afternoon, tumbled into an erotic lull. As her tail flicked under the table, the world faded out--nothing but that pleasant prickling on her clit existed.

"Don't be shy," said Softpaw, applying reassuring pressure with the tips of her fingers on Heather's tummy as the purring ball on the other paw cajoled the sweetest gasps and moans out of the girl. Toes curled up into impossibly tight hind paw fists and then released and wiggled in the most sensual fashion.

The wetness of her panties combined with the remnant heat of her previous orgasm propelled her to the edge of climax so fast that her train of thought couldn't keep up. Heather's tail went stiff as a board. Her hands opened with her palms stretched. With her face flushed and her teeth clenched, loose hairs going every which way, she lifted her chest off the table, her abdominal muscles quivering under her gray, sweaty coat of fur. This time, her claws managed to touch the bottoms of her feet, the tips just resting on the smooth skin.

"Good girl. Let me hear how good it feels."

Heather's fuzzy, cute tail went ballistic as another set of lovely contractions ripped a groan of sheer relish out of her soul. Her back arched into the delightfully potent vibrations, her hind paws slamming flat on the table, and her toes dug into the same holes her claws had made before. The girl's ass grinded into Softpaw's massage, and the felid helped by rubbing her love button in a relaxing, circular motion.

"Wow, that's a good one."

The slightly vibrato-laden feminine grunts of erotic pleasure reverberated throughout the room. Her cunny lips and taint throbbed with passion in the cameltoe that had formed in her pussy juice-soaked panties. Heather's teeth glinted in the strange blue light of the lab, the shockwaves of pleasure frying her brain. The never-ending climax was a lingering, white-hot burning in her vibrated nub that would crescendo dramatically into a pulse of blinding ecstasy that traveled up the length of her pussy each time her cunt clenched, each throb sending her tail soaring in a frenzy.

"Mmm, you were really looking forward to that, huh?"

Heather held the graceful pose as the colossal orgasm continued, her handpaws relaxed and slack; in contrast, her toes clenched and curled as tight as her muscles and tendons would allow, another everlasting howl of erotic satisfaction filling the room as the puissant vibrations on her knob yanked out more and more forceful contractions.

The satiated girl melted back onto the table as the throbbing between her legs finally waned. Heather licked her lips, grinding her pelvis into Softpaw's spherical, vibrating contraption, reveling in the last of the orgasmic twinges.

"Yeah, you enjoyed that, huh?" The felid clicked the vibrator off and removed her hand from it, letting the cool laboratory air meet her clammy hand.

Heather let out a long breath. "Shiiiiiiit. That was amazing." She angled her toes back to get rid of some minor cramping.

"And we got proof of that, too," said Dr. Softpaw, pointing up at the screen.

CLIMAX PHASE CONCLUDED

NORMALIZED PLEASURE: 9.75

LENGTH OF ORGASM: 30 SECONDS

CONTRACTIONS: 21

"Holy crap. I came for thirty seconds?" Heather's achy abdomen heaved as she chuckled.

Softpaw's hand was buried beneath the table. "Yep."

Hmmm. I could get used to this. "Doc, can I also orgasm twice on Wednesday? Like, when I come back for my next session?"

The scientist smiled warmly as she emerged with her arm free of the pulsing sphere. "I guess I do think we can arrange that--oh! And speaking of ... Just as a brief reminder ... We'll be working on your upper body on Wednesday. Your axilla among other places."

Heather frowned. "My axilla?"

"Oh, of course ... Where are my manners? I mean here!"

Softpaw reached over and placed her fingertips on her smooth, shaved underarms--Heather threw her head back and scream-laughed.

INTENSITY OF POST-ORGASMIC GARGALESIS: 9.70

LAUGHTER LOUDNESS LEVEL: 81dB