Poor sensitive wuff want a break from those mean brushes? You've earned it.

Layer after layer of oil, scrubbed off repeatedly with hairbrushes and backscratchers. So much scratching. He looked ready to pass out, all that laughing.

So it was time for a break from the tickle torture. It had been nearly two hours already. And so the crew went to the metal cabinet behind the interrogation table. These couple of minutes were perhaps the most savory of his entire life. He even had the mercy of some water trickled into his mouth behind the gag. But while he slowly hydrated, gloved hands massaged a foreign substance into his feet. It was too prickly to be comfortable though. Just a massage that left agony in its wake. They'd rubbed a potent itching powder into his taut feet, sensitized and overstimulated already from hours of ticklish torment. This was a military grade product however. Itchweed from Venom, transferred from the botany bay for interrogation purposes. It was thought that itching could be an effective torture technique that wasn't necessary inhumane. Not in a way that cripples at least. The itch was severe however. Even more so when one couldn't as much as scrunch their skin, much less even scratch it.
They'd thought that this would help preserve his voice some, but the apocalyptic itch drew out desperate whines and shrieks all the same. One would feel sorry for him, had they not just become so familiar with the tickled screams of laughter so recently.

Layer after layer of powder, scrubbed off with nothing, wishing for the hairbrushes and backscratchers to return. But there was no scratching. He looked desperate to pass out, all that itching...