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Messages - 3PointAntlers

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Oh, sorry. You're right, I'll fix that.
And hey, someone already tracked that down? That's awesome!

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There was once a show called American Dragon. It had a lot going for it, including frequent fire-breathing sneezes. One in particular I can't find on YouTube. I decided it would be exciting to try and remember it as best I could, enough to write it in detail. I found I still remembered it pretty well; hardly surprising, since I dwelled on it so often, the whole while saying to myself that it was just weird to be so fixated on Jake Long's helpless sneezing fit.

Scroll to the asterisk if you're in a story-skipping mood.
_____________________________________________

Jake Long, the American Dragon and most promising young guardian of the magical world, stepped into his testing arena. This was to be a Trial of Choice In Fire. His teachers were watching, and he was determined to show how clear-headed he could be in a fight.

Especially if he just so happened to do better in this than that Thad. He was such a little twerp last year, but now? Thad was getting real headstrong about much his dragon form had developed, and he was even challenging Jake. He needed a little putting in his place, something just humiliating enough to remind Thad he wasn’t any cooler just because his wings were a bit longer. And Jake was packing just what he needed to do that in his back pocket. Thinking of it made his stomach flip with excitement; it was going to be so much fun! He’d be sure to pull this prank in front of his partner-in-crime, Fu Dog; they’d both get a kick out of it.
But first, he had to ace this. He focussed his attention on the ice sculptures around him, moving in magically automated, unpredictable patterns. Even in all the intentionally disorienting motion, he picked out the details most important.

“Troll with a club? A threat.” He gathered his breath, and carefully directed his stream of searing flames to reduce his target statue – and only his target statue – to a steaming, sodden wooden base. Jake smirked at himself, then turned to the next turning sculpture. He held his throat, sparing this one. “Troll with flowers … ugly, but not a threat. Heh, this is easy – whoa!”

A huge lump of ice, curved in the shape of a benign ooze, swept by him and knocked into his tail. Jake shuffled, seeking his balance and losing it all the same. His great, heavy body tipped to one side, and landed on the hip of his fanny pack, directly onto that secret package he had planned for Thad. The pouch exploded in a cloud of powder – delicate, sparkling purple powder, rising in the air all around Jake’s head, sticking to his face. “Oh, ow …” he mumbled, and the dust began to swirl up his nose.
*
He’d asked his friend Fu Dog for something ‘like that joke shop powder that makes you sneeze, but strong enough to work on a dragon’ and his friend had never failed to deliver on mischief. Jake felt for himself exactly what he intended to throw in Thad’s face: the formula was alchemized specially to play on the nerves in the passages of his nose. Where the rough nasal hairs – on a dragon, nearly like steel wool and normally very protective against whatever entered his wide, front-facing nostrils – grew all along his nose, it started to tingle at the root. It dawned on Jake what might have happened, and, hardly thinking clearly, he took another quick breath through his nose to ‘check’. It wasn’t real yet that he’d screwed himself in such a dreadful way. A slight twitch ran through his face from the tip of his wrinkling muzzle before he consciously felt that mild tingle worsen.

“Oh no …” he muttered, finding the can of salts was empty when he groped for it. His nose felt so sensitive from that extra sniff that his sinuses were practically ticklish. He looked back to the troll sculpture before him … and the young dragon’s heart began to race. There were ice sculptures everywhere! He might sneeze flames on this one and get marks taken off. Jake’s face flushed, and he whimpered, “Not now …!” The sensation was only festering as those stupid, dumb, worst idea by anyone salts lingered in his body, and the dragon slapped a claw to his soft nostrils in a panic when the powdery tickle started to spread.

Scratching with his scaled knuckles helped quell the irritating reaction, just a little. Jake managed to take a breath. . “Don’t sneeze,” he whispered to himself, resolute. It always helped in training to visualize success. He could block it out. Just like sore claws or tired wings, it was best not to think about it, and it would pass.

The trouble was – and it was so minor that only a nose treated with such powerful sensitizing agents would encounter it, but here sits Jake Long – the word ‘sneeze’ was designed to involve the nose in saying it. Not only did he move a little air through it to make the middle ‘nee’ sounds, the drawn-out S meant the vibration of his speech buzzing up through his front teeth into that spot that would have quite a reaction to a ticklish buzz.

It was just enough to tweak Jake’s snout, and break his focus. He couldn’t block it out again, what the sneezing salts were doing to him. Just breathing made it tickle, and tickle again, again. “Heh – noo … don’t … s-s-sneehz …” His snout tilted up, of its own accord, and the young dragon could swear the feeling of those awful purple sparkles had gone deep enough in his face to give him a tiny itch in his sinuses, one just bad enough to drive him kind of, incredibly, crazy. An itch that did not care if a sneezing fit meant failing his test.

“Uh … a-Ah!” Tears dewed at his eyes, from the terrible, incurable tickle flooding his face, and from Jake finally rallying his thoughts enough to realize how this scene would look in mere minutes. A test of fire control burning to the ground around him, every ice sculpture, the acceptable and unacceptable targets all forming puddles, and him sniffling guiltily. His teachers would think he’d lost his mind, and that was bad enough, but Fu … Fu would see the crushed can of Soft-Ground Sneezing Salts and know exactly what happened. And the young dragon teared with embarrassment, as his chest finally began to heave.

“Uhhh … aaAAA …! AAAH – SHHHYOO!”

That poor flower troll. The gout of flame seared away all before him, as the thrashing of his head knocked the wobbly-kneed dragon backward. Jake could swear he heard Fu laughing. “You got yourself with the sneezing salts! Ah ha ha! Kid, I hate to say you had it coming … but you did, that’s the problem. So, what it says on the tin, does it deliver a big ‘achoo’?”

“Aaah, aaah AAHA – CHOOOO!” Fire was pouring out in waves, and that horrible concoction wouldn’t let his nose rest. The tickle wouldn’t soothe, his breath kept heaving, his poor flushed snout kept preparing another sneeze. “Nuh – aaAAAAACHhooo! HASHooo!” Jake felt his nostrils flaring, dreading that he was inviting in any of that evil purple dust still hanging in the air.

“AHhhCHOOOO! CHOO CHOOO!” The steam in the air grew thick. What was wood around him was burning, and dripping statues were rapidly evaporating. His own flames were causing terrible damage to this place, and he simply couldn’t help it. “HUhhh … Huhhh … no … aahh … aaAAUUHH –! Hih-CHYOOO! AH – CHOooo! Le –hih -! Let it … stop … Ah … ahhhh … AAA! …”

And Jake Long woke up, startling awake so suddenly that he sat up, with an odd, sympathetic breath left over from the nightmare. “Ah!”

He sat there, breathing deeply, with no torturous fits preventing it, until he believed he was awake. “Just a bad memory from school. Heh, that sure was … embarrassing … ugh, what’s with these dreams? It was bad enough going through it once. Hmm … hmm?” Jake noticed an odd feeling, and looking to confirm it only made his sweaty face even redder. He’d not only gotten a sleeping boner, he’d gotten the kind of boner that came from a full-scale wet dream cut short. “Uh … okay?”

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Hey, I'm glad you liked it! I was going for a sort of 'accidental fantasy', so he's kind of relishing the thought without realizing that's what he's doing.

and I'll admit, the Dimension 20 setting was a surprise but I love what you've done with it 😊

Wow, I fully expected to be the only person here who watches the show. I mean, not that it's not popular, but this has to be a tiny overlap.

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Alright, I’m just going to test the waters with this; how you like it, how I liked writing it, all of that. I have far more adventurous ideas for this tiefling warlock, and I think I’ll explore some of them. If you’re not here for any flavour text and you want to get right to the important part, scroll until you see the line of asterisks; I appreciate some of us can’t wait.
-
I’d always wanted to be a warlock; I could never have guessed it would look like this.

When I just so happened to stumble across the great devil, I fooled myself I had the upper hand. He was stranded in an impenetrable circle of runes, and that I had come across him was so laughably unlikely: his enemies had wisely built his prison in a corner of town that held nothing of interest. Construction in this area ceased a century ago, when some magical contract or another bade it so; we could ask why, but there’s always some burial ground or elemental ancestral home or structures supporting the earthly binding of a prison colony of ghosts. What mattered was, I was probably going to be Gorthalax’s only option for quite some time to come: in a town like Elmville, with so many infuriating, idle, comfortable humans and uppity elves, how many people would he get to talk to who had the guts to sell their very life essences? I count five possibilities in the whole town, and of all those guys, I’m the coolest. That’s just a fact.

But The Insatiable One still managed to bend me over a barrel. All he had to do was promise me more tricks, more power, if I would abstain from certain things. I ended up with a bag of tricks big enough to do everything I wanted … except one, and a humiliatingly important one.

I was permitted one ecstasy, the pleasure of serving my patron The Insatiable. And no other. No … physical peak of pleasure that might mean more to me than my orders.

I lay on my back, waiting for the throbbing down below to die down. Last night, it had taken what felt like an hour before I could stop thinking about it, and even then, it threatened to come back every time I let the number occur to me. The number …

“Sixty,” I mumbled. Then I bit my tongue and groaned. That horrible tingling started again, and my cock started to press, in vain, against the strap. This was to be the sixtieth night I had to get to sleep without jerking off.

Was it worse to lose masturbating, or worse to lose sex? I wasn’t allowed to orgasm at all, but it wasn’t just one thing to lose. The thrill of hookups and casual favours and the relaxation of self service were all lost to me. Now, I could throw enough magic fire to scare off any competition, but in the end …

“One, two, three …” Three out of ten times, counting helped. At an optimistic guess.

Don’t think about what you can’t do. Don’t think about pretty girls, or their mouths. Just put all that out of your head and go to sleep. And dream of … hmm … remember Goliath? That big, strong werewolf in your class when you were little? Geez, I followed him around constantly. I think he was my first crush. How did it take me so long to figure out I liked guys? No, no, that’s not a good line of thinking, la la, not thinking of Goliath’s strong jaw or big, beautiful eyes. Or if he’d be my pretty boy with a soft muzzle? Let’s pretend his teeth couldn’t infect me with lycanthropy for the moment.

*****************

Heh heh, remember when everyone snuck out behind the school to smoke some, and the guard was making his rounds near us and we all had to hide? I found a spot behind the dumpster, way better than where Goliath ended up, in the dumpster. The back was so rotted with rust, I could see him sitting there holding his nose. Why was he doing that, was it just because it smelled like garbage?

No … no, he was in there with Squirrel! Our alchemist could get us high in just about any circumstances, but he always stank of so many different kinds of herb that he kept on him all the time. He had a fistful of wolfsbane flowers in his breast pocket. Poor Goliath, how could I forget? He was stuck in a little metal box with the worse pollen in the world for a werewolf’s immune system. I sat there just frozen, watching him trying not to sneeze.
Hmm? Did I just … Oh, please don’t get hard again.

I really felt for him. In fact, I kind of couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel. Goliath’s face was always so flat, so stern, but his composure was melting before my eyes. His nose was actually twitching. He’d started biting his lips to keep his mouth closed, but I could hear his breathing shake, almost hitching. Those big, beautiful eyes sparkled with budding tears. His whole face grew weaker with every sniffle, trembling from … what sensation was he feeling? I could only imagine. That soft muzzle squirmed like something was tickling him. Was that what it was like, being … oh, wow … being tickled, but from the inside?

Ah! The goddamned (literally) strap was digging into me. I rotated my hips, trying to find a less-painful position, but it hardly helped. Oh, what was the point? I could be thinking about anything and I’d get hard for no reason.

But was that how it felt? Did Goliath’s nose tickle from the flowers? Fuck, that must’ve driven him crazy. I saw him pinching his nostrils shut, He tried not to let it happen – if he sneezed, we’d all be caught – but eventually he couldn’t … oh …

I really wanted to linger on this thought. That stoic werewolf who always bragged about his hunting skills, he couldn’t stay quiet. He knew how important it was not to sneeze, but with all that wolfsbane pollen in the dumpster, he had no choice. His mouth opened, his eyes fluttered closed … ‘Ah’ … The tiniest hitch in his breath, so nervous. So … embarrassed? He fought to reverse it, to close his mouth, but a second hitch hit him. ‘AHh!’ His big, black nose practically quivered … oh my embers, how much did his nose tickle? As if some mischievous imp had stuck a fluffy, soft feather down each sensitive nostril?

He whimpered and gasped … ‘Ahhhhh -!’

I opened my eyes, wincing from some pain down below. “Fuck, it’s hot in here. Hm – huh?”

The strap on my ‘chastity assistance’ had been pulled entirely free. My poor, neglected cock was harder than was probably medically safe. Somehow, I’d accidentally gotten so horny, I was almost dizzy. My face was already flushed, but now it felt hugely embarrassed. How weird and immature was it to get hard thinking about a guy …

My cock twitched in what remained of its bonds, I couldn’t stop it. A guy trying to stay quiet and in control, and simply unable to contain himself. When I phrased it like that, it was almost too obvious.

I sighed, too tired to muster anything more. “Gorthalax, this chastity thing is giving me new sexual obsessions,” I mumbled to myself, knowing he could hear me if he cared to. He didn’t, I was sure. “Oh, well. I’m up all night, now. Might as well enjoy it, as much as I can.

With my fingers laced behind my head as my last line of defense, I lay there, letting myself entertain this bizarre, embarrassing fantasy about Goliath’s nose. His twitching, helpless nose … oh, the smell of those flowers is tickling him, tickling deeper inside his nose than he could ever rub away …

And all night, I never lowered a hand to rub anything of mine. Likewise, my fantasy werewolf hunk never quite got to that catastrophic sneezing fit. We sat on the cusp, about to explode with conflicting desires and overwhelming physical instincts.

Tomorrow, I’d need to double up the coffee and get this bastard strap reinforced.

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I'm New Here / I'm here to get off.
« on: January 07, 2019, 01:54:35 AM »
Hi, I'm here for the sneezing smut. To be honest, I'm really more of a knismophile, and I think of this as more of a 'subset' of that, which is why Tickling is, naturally, my favourite part. You'll probably see a story or two from me, and they'll be a fusion of tickle torture and sneeze torture; that's what I'm into. I was quite happy to see there's a whole site for this.

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