|
A ticklish straight uncut 19 year old
tennis instructor named Dave suffers through an intense tickle punishment
and orgasm denial as a lesson for getting to touchy-feely with
his male 18 year old pupil. |
Dave's Punishment
by Eddie
The match had left Dave feeling alive and ready
for anything. Life was good; he'd recently been promoted to Senior
Tennis Coach at the club - at 19, the youngest ever. He loved the
game so much that he thought he'd do it even if he didn't get paid
for it - a lot. He was young, good-looking, had managed to buy a
nice house in a good part of town and, although he lived alone, he
had many admirers and some very interesting friends.
Dave was happy. As he'd been jogging home, he'd been thinking about
what to wear when he went out to the club tonight - and it wasn't
until he put his key in the lock of his front door that he realized
he was no longer alone. He heard a footstep behind him. Startled, he
began to turn, and suddenly everything went black as a loose canvas
hood was dropped over his head. His arms were seized and handcuffed
behind him and his legs were strapped together - all this before he
knew what was happening. He heard the door opening and then felt
himself lifted and carried through into his house.
Struggling and shouting, he was taken upstairs and dumped onto his
bed. Then, while being held helpless by several pairs of hands, he
was strapped spead-eagled and face up, to the corners of the bed.
Next, his trainers and socks were removed. All he was wearing now
was his jogging shorts - not even underwear (he'd got a thing about
shorts and took every opportunity to wear them with nothing
underneath).
During all of this, Dave had struggled to get free and shouted blue
murder into the hood. Who were these people? What was happening? Was
he about to be robbed - or killed? He lay trembling on the bed,
unable to see anything and not knowing what was going to happen to
him. He was still trying to get free but he knew that he wasn't
going to be able to get out of his restraints. He was stretched out
on the big double bed and couldn't move an inch.
He felt hands at his neck and a moment later the hood was roughly
pulled off. Dave blinked in the light for a moment and then saw his
captors. There were three of them and they were all dressed
identically - leather biker jackets, tight leather jeans, bike boots
and black ski masks. Only their eyes were visible. On each one's
jacket was a badge depicting a feather, a pair of handcuffs and the
initials "S.Y.T.C."
One of them had a star beneath the symbols.
The one with the star moved closer and stood looking down at his
captive. "Does the name 'Colin Lee' mean anything to you?" he asked.
His voice was gentle and friendly.
Dave frowned inside the hood. Colin was one of his pupils at the
tennis club - eighteen and very promising - and very sexy. "We're
friends of Colin. He's told us a lot about you. He says you're a
brilliant coach and he likes you a lot." Star sat on the side of the
bed. "Don't worry, we're not here to hurt you," he looked at the
others, "are we, boys?"
The other two shook their masked heads slowly. Star laughed gently.
"The thing is, you see, that although Colin thinks a lot of you, he
reckons you're getting just a little bit too - physical - with him.
He's not gay, you see, and although he doesn't mind at all if you
are - and we don't mind, either - he's asked us to have a friendly
chat with you about it. Obviously a tennis coach has to touch his
pupils from time to time. Colin understands that, but it's the other
stuff you do to him he wants us to talk to you about. The trouble
is, you see, he is so very ticklish." Star picked something up from
by his feet and held it out so Dave could see it. It was a long,
stiff, wickedly-pointed feather. "Now," Star continued
conversationally, "Colin knows that the three of us are members of a
certain club and thought we might have the perfect skills to -
persuade - you to lay off him a little bit." Star touched the badge
on his leather jacket. "The letters stand for 'South Yorkshire
Tickling Club'."
Oh no. Please God, no. Dave shook his head slowly and despairingly
from side to side. He'd fancied Colin for ages and took any
available opportunity to make physical contact with him. One way
he'd discovered recently was to tickle him. Colin went completely
and utterly helpless when tickled and it was an excellent way of
touching him very intimately but under the guise of horseplay.
Lately his tickling of Colin had become more sexual, more frequent
and more intense - until last Friday he'd actually made the boy cum
in his shorts.
Now here he was, wearing only his shorts, completely helpless and at
the mercy of three anonymous guys in his own bedroom.
Star drew the feather slowly through his fingers, playing with the
pointed tip teasingly. "Now, tickling is something that is
completely unconcerned with the sex of the - victim - in the club we
tickle females and males, whether we're gay or straight. So,
although we happen to be straight, we all know exactly how to tickle
boys - and we're very good at it."
Dave was really trembling now. He couldn't stand being tickled. He
was the most ticklish person he'd ever known. Even the threat of
being tickled would make him immediately curl into a tight ball, his
hands trying to cover all his sensitive spots - but there were so
many of them he still felt vulnerable. Hell - he was so ticklish he
could even tickle himself. If Dave had been free he would have run
as fast as he could, or at the very least locked himself in the
wardrobe and curled up inside - but he wasn't free. He was in what
was just about the most vulnerable position he could imagine -
strapped down spread-eagled to a bed, unable to protect a single
inch of his hyperticklish body, and about to be tickled by several
guys - guys who, from the sound of it, were experts.
Star leaned over and blew very gently onto Dave's right armpit. The
boy felt his hairs move in the breeze and drew an involuntary sharp
breath. Even that tickled. He began to moan quietly. There was no
way he was going to be able to stand this. Could a person go mad
from being tickled? He didn't know, but thought it was very likely.
His whole body cried out to be somewhere else - somewhere far away,
enclosed in protective layers that would keep fingers and feathers
out - but here he was, helpless and horrifyingly vulnerable. His
worst nightmare was about to begin.
Smiling under his mask at the reaction caused by his breathing on
the boy's armpit, Star stood up. "My, you are ticklish, aren't you?"
He looked at the other two. "This is going to be fun."
The taller one of the other two boys opened a black bag and took out
a hairdryer. He plugged it in, switched it on and directed its hot
air onto the soles of Dave's feet, working first on one and then on
the other. Dave lifted his head so he could see what was going on.
His foot moved convulsively as the blast of warm air hit his soles,
but he relaxed again when he realized it didn't tickle.
As if reading his thoughts, Star laughed. "Oh, that's not intended
to tickle you; it's only preparation." His voice dropped, became
cunning. "Warm air on the feet makes them much more sensitive. Can
you feel them getting more ticklish? Just imagine what it would feel
like if a finger tickled that foot now - the nail scraping across
the sole from top to bottom. Or a feather inserted carefully between
the toes, tickling, tickling. It's going to happen and there's
nothing you can do to stop it."
Dave had been listening to that voice as if hypnotized. He felt as a
mouse must feel when confronted with a snake, its will taken away,
its ability to move gone and knowing with dreadful certainty the
terrible fate that is only moments away. Suddenly he lost control
and, screaming "NO! NO! PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALONE! I'M SORRY - I'LL
NEVER TOUCH HIM AGAIN! I PROMISE!", he thrashed about in his
restraints, using every ounce of his strength to escape. But the
straps held him down; he couldn't move.
Star waited until he became quieter, then shook his head slowly.
"I'm afraid it's too late for that. Colin has given us very precise
instructions and we've agreed to carry them out for him. You
wouldn't want us to let a friend down, now, would you?"
Dave tried to control his trembling. "Wh-what instructions?" he
whispered.
"Colin asked us to tickle-torture you for fifteen minutes. No more,
no less. He thinks that is about right for the tickling you've done
to him - given that what we're going to do to you is going to be a
bit more - intense - than what you did to him."
The third boy had a bottle of massage oil and began to spread it
over Dave's bare skin with his hands. Again, Dave tensed, expecting
the tickling to begin, but the boy was using straightforward, firm
strokes - in fact, being careful not to tickle him while he rubbed
the oil into every square inch of exposed skin below the neck. After
a couple of minutes, the only bits of his body that weren't
glistening with oil were his face, his feet and the area under his
shorts.
"Wh-what's that for?" Dave asked hesitantly, afraid of what the
answer would be even as he asked the question.
"The oil lets our fingers slide over your skin better," he grinned
under the ski-mask, "makes it tickle more." He looked round at the
other two who were now finished with the oil and the hairdryer.
"Okay - I think we're about ready. Clock, please."
One of the others took a large photographic timing clock out of the
bag and handed it to Star, who placed it on the bedside table where
Dave could see it clearly. He set it for fifteen minutes. "There.
That will tell you how much longer there is to go before the torture
ends."
He paused for a moment. "Now there's just one more thing and we can
begin." Slowly, he reached down and picked up the canvas hood.
It took Dave a few seconds to realize what that meant and when he
did he began to shake his head slowly from side to side. "Oh no," he
whispered, "don't put that hood on me. Please. I won't be able to
see the clock..."
Star was playing with the hood. "No," he said thoughtfully, "you
won't, will you?" He looked up from the hood and smiled brightly.
"But you'll be able to hear it - that is, when you're not making
enough noise to drown it out, of course. But you won't know how much
longer there is to go till the torture stops." His voice was now
gloating.
"You'll lose all track of time. You'll never know if there's another
ten seconds to go or ten minutes. It'll seem like hours to you."
Dave was really sweating now. He stared fixedly at the canvas bag
being lovingly stroked by Star's hand. He tried to speak but
couldn't. He swallowed hard and tried again. His voice came out as a
desperate whisper. "Please, do anything you like to me but don't put
that hood on me. I need to be able to see."
"I know you do," Star was gentle, concerned, sympathetic. "I know
you do. If you can't see, it would be ten times worse." He paused,
as if deep in thought, his eyes gazing at the hood. Abruptly, he
seemed to come to a decision. "You're right. It would be wrong to
put this hood on you."
For the first time, Dave began to relax a little.
Star handed the hood to the boy who'd been putting the massage oil
on Dave's body. Unseen by Dave, he gave the boy a deliberate wink.
The boy smiled, understanding exactly the signal he'd been given. He
placed the hood in the bag - and handed Star another. "So,"
continued Star, "I'm going to use this one on you." He held the new
hood up so Dave could see it. Unlike the canvas one, this was no bag
- it was a purpose-made heavy black leather device with studs and a
strap at the collar to prevent removal. It looked like something out
of a medieval torture chamber. Star moved closer to Dave. "It would
be wrong to use the other one for several reasons: you could have
shaken it off in time, but once this one is on you it will stay.
Also, whereas the canvas one is only meant to make the abduction of
a victim easier, this one is specifically designed to make tickle
torture much, much more difficult to stand - as you will see."
Without taking his eyes off Dave's, Star opened the hood, lifted it
slowly over the helpless boy's head and smiled. It was the last
thing Dave saw for some time.
He fought with all the strength he had, thrashing his head from side
to side in an effort to prevent them from getting it on him, but
with very little effort Star got the boy hooded. He zipped up the
back, laced the sides very tight, and fastened the strap at the
collar. Standing up, he puffed out his cheeks and blew. "Right, now
we can take these things off!" The boys removed their ski masks with
sighs of relief - they were very hot. "And I don't think we need
this, either." He tossed the timer clock to an assistant who put it
away in the bag.
The leather hood came down over Dave's eyes. He felt Star lift his
head and fasten a zipper at the back. Then the hood became tighter -
there must be lacings at the side. Finally the strap at the neck was
fastened.
For a moment Dave panicked. He was blind, deaf and he was
suffocating. He couldn't get any air. The hood was two thicknesses
of leather - heavy, stiff leather on the outside and very thin, soft
leather on the inside, with the shiny side facing in. Every time he
tried to inhale, the thin leather clung to his face, covering his
mouth. And he couldn't hear anything - the sides must be padded,
cutting off nearly all sound. Dave thought he was going to die. He
was desperately gasping for air. Then Star's voice close to his left
ear was shouting, "By the way, breathe slowly. That way you'll get
enough air. If you try to breathe fast, you'll suffocate."
Dave filled himself to calm down. He controlled his breathing and
found that he could indeed get air provided he inhaled slowly. He
heard Star shouting at him again. "The clock starts in sixty
seconds." "Oh God.
Oh no. Please don't," Dave pleaded into the hood, but he knew they
couldn't hear him.
Actually, he was wrong. Built into the hood was a small microphone
and a tiny transmitter of the type to which any FM radio could be
tuned.
The boys had such a radio and were now grinning as they heard Dave's
desperate plea come out of the small speaker.
Dave had been counting seconds. He tensed himself as he got to 45.
It could be any second now. He could have been counting too slowly -
or too fast.
50-51-52-53-54-55-
Every muscle in Dave's body was tensed. He was shaking.
56-57-58-59-
60. NOW!
Nothing happened.
He strained to hear what they were doing. Where were they?
Nothing.
He let out a scream and almost jumped out of his skin as something
pointed or slightly sharp raked across the sole of his right foot.
He fought against his restraints, trying to move his foot, but the
feeling came again. God it tickled.
A finger touched his left elbow and tickled in the crease of the
joint. Dave threw back his head and moaned. Now the finger was
making its way very slowly up his arm from the elbow to the
shoulder. Slowly but surely it was moving toward his armpit. He
shook his head from side to side. "No. Not my armpits. PLEASE, not
my armpits."
The boy working on his foot was beginning to increase the speed of
the tickling. Suddenly he changed to the other foot, then back to
the first. Dave started to laugh. Slowly, the pitch of his voice
rose and the laughter became more urgent. As the boy practiced his
art on Dave's helpless, vulnerable bare feet, the laughter gradually
developed into little screams. When the finger at his shoulder found
his armpit and tickled it, the screams became shrieks.
Dave thought this was as bad as it could get - but he was very
wrong.
There were three more hands that weren't being used yet. One of them
started on Dave's other armpit, causing renewed shrieking from the
boy. Both his pits were being tickled and both feet. He didn't think
he could stand much more of this.
The hood pressed over his face, the thick black leather molding to
every contour. It wasn't fair - he could only get enough air if he
breathed slowly, but what they were doing to him made him need to
breathe fast. And if only he could see them, where they were, where
they were going to tickle him next, he knew he would be able to
stand it better. He had to see. He willed himself to be able to see
through the hood but the black leather blindfolded him completely.
He felt so unbelievably fucking helpless.
On the other side of the hood, Star had been watching the boys at
work. The one enjoying himself with Dave's feet was Gary - so far
he'd been working on the soles with a couple of feathers, using the
sharp, horny ends and the soft, pointed ends alternately. Each of
the boys had a specialty (which was why Star has chosen them). Gary
was an expert foot-tickler and he knew exactly how to cause maximum
stimulation with feathers, brushes, a dry ball-point pen, other
implements, or just his fingers. He knew that the feet, although one
of a victim's most ticklish places, tended to desensitize with too
much constant stimulation, so he worked first on one foot, then the
other, giving each one frequent rests to maintain maximum
sensitivity and ticklishness. Gary particularly loved to work on
toes. He had developed a devastatingly effective technique, and used
a specially-made device which was the size and shape of a pointed
feather, but which was made of stiff leather. He used this to reach
right in between the victim's toes and tickle the space between with
the pointed end. Or he could insert it flat between the toes and use
a sawing motion. Or he could use the point to work on the base of
each toe or right up under the nail. Each of these techniques caused
Dave to struggle, arch his back, scream into the hood and
desperately try to get his feet away from the unbearable tickling.
Gary worked carefully and precisely, always watching his victim's
reaction to anything he did, so that within a few minutes he knew
exactly which techniques caused this particular victim the most
distress. Once he knew that, he used those techniques without mercy.
Cheow was Chinese and his specialty was armpits, sides, ribs and
stomach, down to the groin. He used no implements, only his hands,
and boasted that he could get a victim to the point of begging for
mercy in less than thirty seconds. It was he who was currently
working on Dave's armpits - but he was holding himself back at the
moment, and only tickling gently. Of the three boys, Cheow was the
most cruel and sadistic - he loved to see a victim writhing in an
agony of ticklishness, and the more desperate he or she became, the
more it turned Cheow on and the more mercilessly he worked on his
helpless victim. The problem with this was that it often turned him
on so much that he came in his jeans and once he'd cum , he lost
creativity in his work. For this reason, he always put a condom on
before beginning to tickle-torture someone - and this was why he was
holding himself in check for the time being. Cheow had worked on
hundreds of victims and, over the years, as his skill had gradually
increased so had his obsession with upper-body tickle-torture. He
was now so accomplished - and dangerous - at it that Star had to
keep a eye on him to make sure he didn't go too far. With Cheow, the
phrase "tickled to death" could have an actual possibility of
becoming literally true. Star watched him at work on Dave's armpits.
His technique was to identify the exact centre of the armpit, then
begin with large circles, getting very slowly but inexorably closer
to that centre point, with many false starts and beginning again at
the outside, but always getting nearer to the "sweet spot" as he
called it. The effect on the victim was to make that spot - which
hadn't even been touched yet - the most ticklish place on his entire
body. When the Chinese boy's fingers actually got there, the effect
was devastating. But as much as Cheow loved tickling armpits and
ribs, some victims could, with sufficient effort of will, stand it.
Sides, however, were a different story altogether. Cheow had not yet
met one victim who could steel himself against stiff, skillful
fingers probing deeply into the sides of his waist. His technique
here was to work on the victim's sides, pressing, probing and
stabbing, moving his fingers millimeters at a time until he found
the "sweet spot" - the one spot that was so ticklish to the victim
that he couldn't fight it. Having found this spot on either side of
the helpless body, he would stimulate it unpredictably, digging in
hard, moving his fingers in small circles for a while, until the
victim was hysterical, then he would gently and lightly stroke the
spot with his fingertips while the victim tensed in panic waiting
for the next onslaught. Sometimes he would keep his victim waiting
for minutes, never knowing when the fingers would dig in again and
send him into screaming, shrieking paroxysms of hysteria.
This was the part Cheow liked best - the mental anguish he could
cause with just two fingers.
Star was really an all-rounder. His was a natural talent and he
loved to tickle any part of a victim's anatomy. However, he had a
special skill - he could sense the exact moment when a victim was
about to cum . Because of this, he had found himself specializing in
the tickle-torture of the area normally covered by a victim's
shorts.
Thighs, testicles, perineum, cock, vagina, clitoris - these were
Star's territory. He was also very good on knees.
Gary was having a brief rest and Cheow had Dave in hysterics as he
tickled the boy's ribs. Gasps, moans, screams and pleading were
relayed from the microphone in the leather hood to the radio and
Cheow's tight leather jeans were bulging with a rock-hard erection.
Star was interested to note that Cheow was not the only one with a
hard-on; Gary was gently playing with his own, Star himself had one,
and Dave's loose shorts were being pushed up into a pyramid by what
lay underneath. They had been torturing the poor boy for ten minutes
and it was time for Star to join in.
Star, like Dave, had a fetish for shorts. He particularly loved
loose shorts and liked nothing better than tickling a boy up the leg
of them. In his experience, he had found that more often than not a
victim actually felt more vulnerable and ticklish if he were worked
on in shorts than if he were wearing nothing at all. From the bag,
Star took a long, curved, stiff feather with a sharply pointed tip,
and a paper clip, then positioned himself at the foot of the bed
between Dave's widely spread legs. He reached out and pulled Dave's
shorts down a couple of inches onto his hips. This effectively made
the shorts looser, increasing the spaces between the boy's thighs
and the legs of the shorts. He pulled the inside of the shorts' legs
together and fastened them together with the paper clip. Now,
looking along Dave's legs, he had a clear view of, and good access
to, the boy's balls and cock up the legs of the shorts.
Star glanced at Cheow, who had been giving Dave's ribs a thorough
workout and was ready to begin on the boy's ticklish sides. "Okay,"
he said. Cheow stopped and Star waited for a few moments to give
Dave a chance to recover, get his breath back and wonder what was
going to happen next.
Then, being extremely careful not to touch either the boy's skin or
the shorts, Star slowly inserted the feather up inside the left leg
of the shorts. Of course Dave, being blindfolded, was unaware of
what was happening and it wasn't until the pointed tip of the
feather made contact with his testicles that he felt anything. And
when it did, he let out a scream that echoed from the radio round
the room. With all his strength he tried to close his legs together
to protect his sensitive boy-parts from the tickling feather wielded
by Star, but of course he couldn't. His legs were strapped wide
apart and there was nothing he could do but lie there and take it.
The tip of the feather danced over his balls, across the front of
them, up and down the sides and right into the crevice where the
scrotum joined the very top of his thighs. The curve of the feather
also allowed Star to reach the back of his balls and the boy's
perineum. He worked on the testicles, the tops of the thighs and the
perineum for five minutes or so, during which time Dave's hysterical
laughter and screams of ticklish agony reached new heights. Dave had
never had his balls tickled before and he had never imagined that
anything could tickle so much. Under the black leather hood, he came
close to fainting many times, but Star was careful never to allow
him to escape the torture that way. He would tickle the boy for a
while until his screams and desperate gasping for breath told him he
couldn't take any more, then he would pause for a moment to allow
Dave to recover a little so that he could continue.
Dave's eyes were wide open and his head was thrown back in extreme
torment as he willed himself not to be ticklish, not to give them
the satisfaction of seeing him react violently to the tickle-torture
- but there was nothing he could do to fight it. He realized now
what Star had meant when he'd told him that the hood would make the
tickling much worse. The leather cut off all sight and almost all
sound. Denied the distraction of these two senses his brain was
forced to concentrate all its perception on what he could feel - and
that made him 1000% more ticklish. In addition to that, the leather
enclosing his head and pressing tight across his face made him feel
unbelievably helpless and more horny than he had ever felt in his
life. In spite of the fact that what was being done to his balls
tickled like nothing he'd ever experienced before, it was also
incredibly sexy, and he desperately needed to cum . As he lay on the
bed, strapped down helpless, he was moving his hips up and down,
desperately fucking his shorts, trying to bring himself off. There
was nowhere he could move, nothing he could do, to stop that
tickling. It felt like a butterfly flapping its wings against his
balls and walking over them, getting deep into all the nooks and
crannies - not a single square millimeter was protected.
Dave used every ounce of his concentration to fight against it, to
try to alleviate that unbearable tickling, that unbelievably urgent
need to cum - but all his efforts only served to make him feel more
helpless, more vulnerable, and even more damnably ticklish. Several
times he thought he was going to faint, and he longed for
unconsciousness, but whoever was working on him knew exactly what he
was doing - he would always stop for just long enough to deny him
that relief and then the infuriating, frustrating tickling would
begin anew.
During this unbearable torture, in a small part of Dave's mind which
was not occupied with dealing with the barrage of ticklish
sensations which were flooding it, a thought occurred which chilled
him to the bone: he'd better not allow himself to cum - his mind
recoiled from the thought of how much worse it would feel to be
tickled like this after he'd had an orgasm. He'd once let a guy tie
him up and wank him off, but the guy had been some sort of sadist -
after Dave had cum and he'd thought it was all over, the guy had
immediately started to wank him again. The feeling had been
absolutely unbearable. And that had been only wanking - what it
would be like to have these expert fiends tickle-torturing him after
he'd cum didn't bear thinking about.
He would die. He knew he would die, or go mad.
While Dave had been thinking these thoughts, during one of Star's
pauses, he had been whispering them to himself inside the hood. The
radio faithfully relayed his words to the boys, who grinned at each
other knowingly. Some victims thought of this, some did not. It was
good when they did, as it enabled the boys to work on that fear,
which is exactly what they did now. Star knew that one of the
reasons wearing shorts made boys more ticklish and horny was the
feeling of invasion - of their one remaining defense being violated
- as a hand or feather made its way up inside. With this in mind,
Star put the feather down and slowly inserted his whole hand up
Dave's shorts, using his fingertips to tickle the thigh and his hand
to move the shorts about. He ran his hand round the front, back and
inside of the boy's thigh, repeatedly withdrawing it and inserting
it again. Each time his hand was fully in, he tickled Dave's balls,
paying particular attention to the back of the testicles, which he'd
found to be an especially sensitive place on most boys, before
withdrawing it again, tickling the thigh on the way. He worked up
one leg and then the other, and finally both together, his fingers
tickling every square inch under the boy's shorts. Dave was
delirious. He arched his back, laughed, screamed, shrieked, begged,
pleaded and cried - all the time gasping to get enough air into his
lungs past the black leather over his face.
So far his cock head had not been touched. Star had made sure that
his shorts were sufficiently loose to prevent the possibility of
bringing himself off against them, but now he was going to encourage
the boy to want to cum . He signaled Gary to begin gently tickling
Dave's bare feet again and for Cheow to work very lightly on his
armpits. Then he took the feather once more and began to work on
Dave's rock-hard cock.
He started at the very base of the shaft and drew the feather
lightly and teasingly up towards the tip, always stopping short of
the glans.
He worked round the boy's cock, tickling every bit of the throbbing,
aching organ. To make it even worse for his victim, and even more
impossible for him to resist, he inserted his other hand up the
shorts and played with the boy's vulnerable and ticklish balls at
the same time. Dave's hip-thrusting became more urgent, more
desperate, and Star felt him getting close to orgasm.
Dave apparently felt the same thing, because in between the screams
and laughter they heard him pleading. "Oh God, don't let me cum -
PLEASE don't let me cum . AAAAhhh! No! N-n-n-no! N-not my
armp-p-pits! Hahahahaha!!! Aaaaahhhh! No! NO! Eheheheheheheh
hahahaha HA! Heeeeeeeee!!! Ho haha. P-p-p-please, n-n-n-not THERE!
Oh God, my feet - my f-f-feet! It t-t-t--t-t-t-t-TICKLES!!!! Oh GOD
- please STOP! I'll d-do ANYTHING!! PLEASE S-S-STOP. Oh no.. Oh no.
I'm gonna cum . I'm gonna cum . M-mMUSTN'T CUM !!! I M-M-MUSTN'T CUM
!!!!!!
Star stopped and signaled the others to stop, too. Dave's violent
movements gradually subsided as he cooled down and the threat of
orgasm receded again.
Dave lost count of how many times they did this to him - brought him
to the very edge of orgasm and then stopped just in time so that he
couldn't cum . The was the most exquisite mental torture - on the
one hand he was absolutely desperate to cum , but at the same time
he knew that whatever happened, he MUST NOT ALLOW HIMSELF TO CUM .
If he did, if he lost control , he would face a fate far worse than
death. But he also knew that these boys could easily make him
instrument, having fun with him. If only he could see the clock.
Surely the fifteen minutes were up by now? He had no idea of the
time - it could have been five minutes or five hours since they'd
started. Again he cursed that clinging, blindfolding, black leather
hood. In desperation he shook his head violently to dislodge it, to
try to get it off so that he could see, but it was immovable,
strapped onto him to make him helpless.
He steeled himself again as he felt his shorts move - but this was
something different. He felt the leg being raised and his cock and
balls pulled out the bottom. Now he was completely vulnerable. The
air felt cool on his steel-hard cock as it stuck vertically upwards,
being held in position by the leg of the shorts pressing against the
base. He felt precum running down the shaft, at first warm, then
turning cool after a few seconds. He was not circumcised and the
foreskin covered the hypersensitive tip, protecting it. God help him
if they started to work on the tip.
The tickling bean again, fingers moving on his armpits - but they
didn't stay there - they were moving downwards. "Oh no, not my ribs
again. I can't stand having my ribs tickled again. Please, not my
ribs." But Cheow's fingers were not aiming for his ribs. The Chinese
boy had been given the go-ahead to work on his favorite spots - the
victim's sides. The bulge in Cheow's tight shiny black leather jeans
doubled in size over the next few seconds as he contemplated
tickle-torturing Dave's sides. His fingers came to rest at the sides
of the boy's waist and began to probe, gently at first, exploring,
seeking out the spots which were connected directly to the "tickle
centre" of his victim's brain. He watched the boy's reactions with
so much concentration that he was oblivious to everything else. It
was almost as if his fingers were having a conversation with Dave's
nervous system:
"How about here?" "Hmm, not quite. Down a bit." "How's this?" "Aaah!
Yes, better, but still not quite there." "Here?" "I'm not going to
tell you." "Oh, yes you are." He pressed harder. "How's that?"
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT!! YES, YES, YES, YES!!
THERE!! JUST THERE!!!"
Cheow smiled. Once again, his expert fingers were exactly where he
wanted them - precisely positioned on a victim's most devastatingly
ticklish nerve centers. Every time Cheow, who was otherwise a very
pleasant, kind and considerate boy, was in this position, he changed
into a cruel, sadistic torturer who knew no mercy. His pupils
dilated and a dangerous smile grew on his lips. Star nodded to Gary,
who went to work on Dave's toes with the pointed leather feather and
his soles with the other hand. At the same time, Cheow dug his stiff
fingers into Dave's sides and, with expertise gained by torturing
many previous victims, began to torture Dave.
Star knew he would only have a short time before Dave fainted, so he
took the boy's bare cock between his fingers and began to slide the
foreskin back and forth over the very tip. His free hand was up the
other leg of the shorts, tickling the back of the boy's balls
mercilessly.
At the very moment they all started, Dave let out a shriek that made
the radio speaker rattle. Every muscle in his body tried to escape
his restraints. He tried to close his legs together, tried to lower
his arms, tried to curl up into a ball, tried to get the hood off -
and most of all, tried to stop himself cumming. With terror he felt
his spunk leaving his balls, entering the bulb and getting ready to
shoot out of his cock. At that moment the tickling, which until now
had been unbearable agony, turned into something else - his entire
body became one big erogenous zone - one big cock - and it was the
most shatteringly sexy thing he had ever experienced in his life. He
made one last desperate effort to stop himself from cumming, but he
knew there was nothing he could do. The tickling of his feet - the
soles and in between the toes - sent electric currents up his legs
and straight to his cock, encouraging the spunk on its journey; his
sides - his sides - the tickling of his sides was pure torture, but
it lifted him to heights of horniness he had never before suspected
existed; and the fingers on the tip of his cock, tossing him off
while he helplessly tried to resist, and the hand up his shorts,
between his thighs, tickling his balls - and the black leather hood,
blindfolding him, gagging him, making him absolutely and completely
helpless - all this made it impossible for him to fight it. With a
scream which almost deafened him inside the hood, he let go, lost
control , and came.
Star felt the spunk begin to rise in the helpless boy and his
fingers immediately slowed down. As the hot, sticky cum began to
pump out of the boy's cock, his fingers slid over the
spunk-lubricated glans in slow motion, prolonging the boy's orgasm,
stretching it out, making it last as long as possible. Dave's spunk
continued to pump out in hot white gobs, covering Star's face and
leather jacket. It didn't stop - it carried on cumming for ages, the
boy's cock jerking and bucking under Star's fingers. Dave was
struggling, screaming, thrusting his hips and crying, all at the
same time.
At the same moment, Cheow also came. The shiny black leather bulge
between his legs jerked in and out as the Chinese boy released his
own spunk into the condom inside his jeans.
Gary, who had been kneeling behind Star and working flat out on
Dave's bare feet, gripped Star's boot between his thighs and,
pressing his crotch hard against it, shot his own load into his
jeans. Unlike Cheow, who had been prepared for this, Gary had never
cum in his jeans before and didn't have a condom on. His spunk shot
out into the leather and ran down inside, over his balls and thighs.
As he came, he reached forward between Star's legs, grabbed the
boy's cock bulge and, with three short strokes of his hand, made
Star cum .
Star moaned as his orgasm shook him, but he didn't allow it to
interfere with his concentration on Dave's cock. He continued to
toss the boy, milking every last drop of spunk out of Dave's aching
prick.
Everyone relaxed - everyone, that is, except Dave, who was terrified
that they'd start tickling him again. He knew he wouldn't be able to
stand it now he'd cum - not that he'd been able to stand it before.
But the boys weren't that cruel. They cleaned themselves up, leaving
Dave to wonder what was going to happen now, and grinned at one
another. "Wow!" said Gary. "That was amazing."
"Yes, he sure is a good subject," replied Star.
"What now?" asked Cheow. Gently he ran a single finger down Dave's
side. He would not have objected if they'd decided to tickle him
some more.
"No, Cheow," laughed Star, "that's enough."
Cheow looked slightly disappointed but then smiled. "Yeah, I suppose
so," he said, grinning.
"Okay," said Star, "masks on."
They put their ski masks back on and packed up their gear. Star
lifted Dave's head and removed the hood. Dave blinked in the light
and took deep breaths, relaxed for the first time since they'd
arrived now he knew that the torture was over.
Star sat on the side of the bed. "Now David, I hope that's taught
you a lesson. If you don't lay off tickling Colin, you'll get
another visit from us - and next time the torture won't be so mild."
Dave stared at Star. "That was mild?" he asked.
Star smiled. "Oh yes, that was mild - and short. We can make it much
worse for you and make it last a lot longer."
Dave considered this in silence. He looked at the three sexy boys.
"Can I make a request? Can I see your faces, please?"
Star shook his head and smiled under the mask. "Afraid not. Sorry."
He desperately wanted to see what these sexy torturers looked like -
he was sure that Star, at least, was beautiful.
"However, there's a little present for you in the top drawer of the
dressing table. You can have it when we've gone."
"How are you going to go? You're not going to leave me tied up here,
are you? I'll starve to death."
Star laughed. "Don't worry." He untied Dave's left hand.
Dave ran it slowly over Star's leather jacket, staring thoughtfully
into the blue eyes visible through the openings in the mask as the
boy looked down at him. He whispered quietly, "That was the best
orgasm I've ever had."
Star held his wrist. "I know, " he said.
Gary had been taking socks out of a drawer and putting them over his
hand, one inside the other. He now took them all off together and
handed them to Star, who put them over Dave's free hand, fastening
them with a piece of duct tape. "You'll be able to untie yourself,
but it may take you a little time - enough for us to get away
without your following us."
Dave's mind was working. He'd use his teeth to have that off in no
time.
But Star shook his head and smiled again. "No teeth." He ripped a
large piece of tape off the roll and stuck it firmly over Dave's
mouth. "Bye," he said, and the three boys left.
It took Dave eight minutes to get himself free of the restraints and
the first thing he did was to look in the drawer. There was a
cassette inside. He took it down to the living room, taking the
stairs three at a time, and popped it into the cassette player. His
own voice, muffled by the leather hood, filled the room:
"Oh God, don't let me cum - PLEASE don't let me cum . AAAAhhhhh! No!
N-n-n-no! N-not my armp-p-pits! Hahahahaha!!! Aaaahhh! No! NO!
Ehehehehehehe hahahaha HA! Heeeeeeeeeeee!!! Ho haha p-p-p-please,
n-n-n-not THERE! Oh God, my feet - my f-f-feet! It
t-t-t-t-t-t-t--TICKLES!!! Oh GOD - please STOP! I'll d-do ANYTHIG!!
PLEASE S-S-STOP. Oh no. Oh no. I'm gonna cum . I'm gonna cum .
M-m-MUSTN'T CUM !! M-M-MUSTN'T CUM !!!!!!"
Dave sat down slowly in the armchair and played the tape through
from beginning to end. He closed his eyes, imagined being back on
the bed, helpless, hooded, being worked on by those three sexy boys
- and had a long, beautiful wank.
"Hi, Colin." Dave threw his towel onto the bench and sat down beside
the boy. "How're you feeling? Ready for the match?"
Colin looked at him sideways. "Yeah. You're in good spirits. Have a
good evening yesterday?"
Dave smiled. "Oh, yeah." He jumped on the boy, slipped his hands up
the youth's T-shirt and dug his fingers into the ticklish sides.
Colin collapsed in a heap onto the floor laughing hysterically. Dave
was on top of him, holding him down with the weight of his body. He
used his own feet to force the boy's legs apart, slipped his hand up
the leg of Colin's shorts and began tickling his balls. The helpless
boy's cock got rock-hard in seconds flat. His screams of laughter
reverberated around the bare locker room as Dave's hands were
everywhere - tickling his sides, tickling his armpits, his feet, his
thighs, knees...
"L-l-l-looks like you need another lesson from my friends," Colin
managed to say between shrieks of hysterics.
Dave paused for a moment, grinning at the boy. "You could be right.
You just could be right."
Eddie
dave-ed@dircon.co.uk
|
