A burglar breaks into the wrong house and gets tickle-torture interrogated by his intended victim in this classic tickling story originally published on the now defunct Jack's Male Tickling Rack. Art by BDManBrazil.
The Intruder - Page 1
by Bound2Tkl
Art by BDManBrazil
THE LATE-NIGHT MEETING
It had been a long day and all I could think of as I drove home was the comfortable bed awaiting my arrival home. My current assignment had required weekly travel out of town and this was the first Friday I'd made it home in weeks. After glancing at the day's mail and spending a few minutes with my neglected cat, I popped out my contacts, brushed my teeth, anxiously stripped to my underwear and plopped in bed. The support of the firm mattress felt so good on my tired back. I stretched my arms above my head, giving my weary back a good stretch, and closed my eyes. That was the last thing I remembered...
A noise awoke me from a deep sleep. I felt disoriented and confused trying to figure out why I was awake. What is that--a man staring at me, only inches from my face? No, couldn't be. I focused my eyes again and realized I wasn't dreaming. Then I felt a cold, sharp object press against my neck. A knife! The intruder spoke haltingly in a deep hushed voice.
"Make a move and I'll kill you!" he warned. "Where do you keep your money?" The blade pressed firmly against my neck. I swallowed hard and felt the pounding of my racing heart banging in my chest. My immediate thought was that I was going to die. My mind raced, trying to think of a way to save my life. Glancing up, I realized my right arm was still laying above my head. I remembered the heavy, crystal sculpture perched on my headboard.
"See the valet box on the dresser across the room?" I asked him, my voice quivering from fear. He turned to look where I directed him, squinting his eyes in the dark to identify the spot I was indicating.
"I don't see any...." he started to argue. I interrupted his statement by instantly grabbing the sculpture lying near my fingers and swinging it with all my might at my assailant's head. His lifeless body slumped onto the bed pinning me under the weight of his heavy body. The knife fell beside me onto the bed. I lay motionless, trying to regain my composure and half afraid he was faking. But after a moment, common sense kicked in and I wriggled quickly out from under the unconscious man. Grabbing the knife, I held it out toward him ready for him to raise up and come after me. My heart was beating so loud, I was sure the neighbors could hear.
When I finally convinced myself he wasn't going to move, my mind began to race thinking of what to do. "I should tie him up and call the police," was the answer that came to me from somewhere inside of me. Moving quickly to my dresser, I opened the top drawer where I kept my ropes. Funny, I had tied up plenty of guys before but never after having been introduced like this. This time wasn't so fun. It took some effort to pull his body up onto the bed and turn him over on his back. He wasn't fat, just heavy. He appeared to be a pretty solid mass of muscle.
I pulled his arms above his head, tied his wrists securely together, and then attached the rope to one of the posts in the headboard. Moving to the foot of the bed, I started to repeat the action with his ankles. Unfortunately, he wore long black boots. This taxed my rope and gave him too much leverage should he awake. So I quickly pulled his boots off before binding his ankles together and securing the rope to the foot board. I sat down beside my captive to catch my breath and assess the situation.
UNWRAPPING THE PACKAGE
Now that I was out of immediate danger and back in control of the situation, my fear turned to curiosity. I wondered about this intruder who threatened my life. I flicked on the bedside lamp to take a better look. He was tall (six feet plus), appeared to be about 30, and wore the regulation black turtle neck and black corduroys all of the bad guys on TV wear. Ironically, although I expected him to look like a crazed druggie, he actually looked very normal. A gentlemen burglar, you might say. He had dark, thick hair longish in the front and neatly trimmed on the sides and possessed dark, chiseled features. He was actually a very good looking guy--like you might see in the bar during happy hour, dressed in a crisp white cotton shirt and silk tie, looking as though he just stepped out of a fashion magazine. In fact, I thought to myself, he's the type I'd normally like to get to know better!
Feeling a little more relaxed and in control, my mind began to wander. The skin tight shirt he wore painted the image of a hard, sculptured torso in the classic broad-shoulder, tapered waist mold. He boasted a powerful chest and arms and a very flat stomach. Growing curious, I wondered if he sported any hair on that chiseled torso--a feature of particular appeal to me. My heart sped again as I contemplated the idea of exploring a little more deeply to find out. "Gee," I reasoned, "he is pretty helpless and he did threaten me--why not take advantage of a bad situation, I rationalized.
I gazed down at my captive's flat stomach bobbing rhythmically up and down as he slept. My heart started pounding quickly again, this time a reflection of me feeling a little naughty--it was that odd combination of being both scared and excited at the possibilities before me, kind of like when you were a kid and you discovered your dad's secret stash of Penthouse magazines. Very slowly, I reached my hand down to his waist pulling his shirt from out of his pants. ever so careful not to awake him. It seemed to keep coming and coming until finally the end popped out from his pants.
Now growing excited at my clandestine actions, I held my breath as I gingerly grasped the shirt edge between my fingers and inched it slowly upward, revealing his bare skin. I pulled his shirt up over his belly button and looked eagerly at what I had revealed. Sure enough, his rippled, rock-hard stomach was decorated with wisps of soft black hair, radiating out from his belly button and covering his belly. A thick , black river of hair cascaded down the center of his stomach, dipping into each crevice formed by his washboard ab formation, down into his belly button and disappearing into his pants. His sexy stomach moved rhythmically up and down with each breath he took.
I swallowed hard as I continued to pull his shirt up further, stretching the end up until I revealed his solid, muscular chest. Perfect! It was completely coated with a thick silky, soft matte of black hair too. This is precisely the type of guy I love to tie up and have some fun with. Suddenly, I started feeling as if my night might actually be lucky!
SURVEYING THE SITUATION FOR LAND MINES AND OTHER OPPORTUNITIES
Now my curiosity was raging. It was fine that he have "the look." But my sole reason for tying guys up is to test their threshold of endurance. But not of pain. Actually, quite the opposite. You see, I like to tie them up and tickle them mercilessly. Naturally, this presents it's own prerequisite--the guy must be very sensitive, yet I'm often surprised how many of them really aren't. And even more rare is the guy so damn sensitive that to tickle him is just about the worst torture he could imagine, so much so that he'd do just about anything to avoid it. I wondered if this guy, by any stroke of luck, was one of those rare gems. If so, I could turn the tables on him and give him a little taste of his own medicine--show him what it's like to be a victim, at the mercy of a crazed lunatic willing to do anything to get what he wants.
The ultimate test, I decided, would be to see if he displayed any reaction while unconscious. While his reactions might be dulled, his defenses would probably be down. And in theory, if he responds to my touches while unconscious, he should really be reactive when conscious.
I reached my index finger slowly toward his stomach. I carefully placed my finger nail on the invisible line stretching across the stomach on either side of the belly button--this line is like a string of land mines. On a ticklish person, contact with various points across this line causes an involuntary reflexive spasm (often followed by laughter--and begging in the case of some particularly sensitive guys I've met!). I stroked my nail across this line at an agonizingly slow pace. Sure enough, his stomach jumped reflexively from my touches. I stroked back and forth, witnessing constant reaction from my subject. Suddenly, I was startled by noise coming from his mouth. He was emitting soft giggles from his mouth but he didn't wake up. Bingo! I'd found a winner.
I was becoming excited at the prospect lying at my disposal. Since he was unconscious, another test should be administered to confirm my findings. I decided to test another area of extreme vulnerability on a ticklish person-- his feet. His feet awaited me, motionless and clad only in sheer, black socks. Sitting at the foot of the bed, I reached up and grabbed the top of one of his socks pulling it slowly down his hairy leg. I carefully maneuvered it over his heel and continued up his soft foot until it pulled loose in my hand, his toes springing free. Now his bare foot rested helplessly restrained on the bed. He had nice feet, about a size 11 with beautiful high arches.
I lightly touched his sole with my finger, noticing his skin was very soft and supple, free of calluses or other rough spots. To my surprise, I even noticed that his toe nails appeared to be manicured. This guy was into his feet! Once again holding my breath, I placed my index finger nail at the base of his heel and very slowly scraped it up the sole of his foot, stopping at his toes. His foot jerked at my touches, his toes wiggling frantically. Definitely a good sign. I took a couple more strokes, causing similar reactions and this time causing him to giggle and stir a little. I froze, afraid my victim was about to wake. But he remained unconscious.
That cinched it. I was going to have me some fun! This "Adonis burglar" was going to sorely regret ever invading my house, I vowed. Looking down, I realized I was still in my underwear, a hard-on stretching against the fabric. I quickly threw on some shorts and a shirt and grabbed some "tools" for my impending torture session. Scissors were used to cut away his shirt. I chuckled as he jumped reflexively when the cold metal of the scissors scraped against the skin of his armpit. I paused for a moment to drink in the sight before me, his incredible sculptured and hairy torso completely vulnerable to me thanks to his outstretched and restrained sinewy arms. Just to be on the safe side--in case he was as ticklish as I suspected--I reinforced my restraints with an extra length across his elbows effectively pinning them in place against the mattress. I added another across his knees, locking those in place as well. I looked at his one bare foot and one socked foot but decided to wait to reveal the other foot until he was awake. Now ready, I pulled up a chair bedside to await his surprised arousal. As I waited, gazing happily at my catch, I traced a series of random patterns across his immobile upper body with a long, ostrich feather. Not really to tickle him but in hopes of sensitizing his body for when he awoke.
A RUDE AWAKENING
Fortunately, it didn't take long for him to regain consciousness. I put my feather on the headboard (not wanting to tip my hand yet) as he stirred and slowly opened his eyes. He reacted immediately to the pain resulting from the knot I put on his head, moaning and displaying a frown on his face. He was groggy and disoriented, trying to comprehend the situation. But his lethargy soon turned to panic as he surveyed the strange surroundings and became aware of his helpless, semi-clothed state. He began to pull anxiously at the ropes and protest. "Hey, what the hell is going on here?!" he demanded looking more and more frantic.
I stayed calm, sitting relaxed and definitely feeling in control. "Well, my friend," I explained glibly, "looks like you picked the wrong house to hit tonight! And I've turned the tables on you."
"What the hell...?" he challenged still unclear of what was happening. His muscles strained and his torso twisted as he thrashed about trying desperately to free his immobile arms and legs. "Let me go now or I'll fucking kill you!" His face was turning red as his frustration grew stronger. He continued to yank wildly yet unsuccessfully at his restraints. While I was enjoying my dominance over this guy, I remembered the seriousness by which the evening begun and the way he threatened and held me captive earlier.
"Look, pal!" I challenged angrily, jumping up and moving to the bed sitting beside his rib. "You're in no position to threaten me. " I moved the knife menacingly to his neck mimicking his earlier move toward me when our positions were reversed. "If I were you, I'd be real nice to me. 'Cause now I'm the one with the upper hand."
He swallowed hard and nervous as his eyes strained to see his own knife perched precariously at his own throat. He backed off, feeling more and more desperate and out of control. "What...what do you want, man?" he stammered, becoming acutely aware of his vulnerability. "Money, jewelry, stereo?" he offered with a twinkle of mischief in his hopeful eye. I just laughed at his attempt to plea bargain.
"Nah, that would be too easy for you," I cajoled. "You see, I want you to see how it feels to be at the mercy of a madman. To be completely vulnerable. I want you to squirm like you've made others squirm." His eyes were wide open by this point, looking scared and confused. He swallowed hard again trying to appear tough but looking awfully pregnable and scared, his eyes fixed on mine for a clue as to what might convince me to release him. Dropping the knife on the bed, my hand moved down to his side. "You see, the way I see it you're in a pretty ticklish situation here." I punctuated my comment with a jab to his rib. He was so tense by this point that he jumped what would have been ten feet if he hadn't been tied down.
"Gee, speaking of ticklish!" I teased poking my finger again into his side, again producing a nervous responsive jump. I laughed and started rhythmically poking and stroking my finger tips against his rib cage. He burst out with laughter and tried desperately to pull his body away from my touches but the rope allowed him little movement. "Hey, a big strong tough guy like you isn't ticklish, are you?" He looked anxious and confused, not sure what I had in mind but plenty afraid he was in for some serious shit.
"Cut that out!" he cried in protest between giggles. God, I couldn't believe my eyes! Here was this strong, Greek Adonis writhing and giggling like a little boy. Normally the strong ones can tough it out a little, revealing little reaction and forcing me to really break down their defenses. But this guy was unusually sensitive, showing little resistance. I allowed my other hand to join in the fun by attacking his other side, really sending him into ticklish spasms. His body rocked back and forth attempting to break free of my dancing fingers but his movement was too limited offering him no respite. I slid my hands up his side attacking his hair-filled armpits. This produced an even wilder reaction from my victim. I laughed out loud enjoying the frantic reactions my devilish attack produced from my poor, sensitive, tormented captive.
Climbing on top of him straddling his waist with my knees, I settled in for a prolonged tickling attack. While one hand scraped across his rippling stomach the other explored his sides and arms. His torso wrenched wildly giving me quite a ride. It was like riding a renegade horse--I was really glad I had used extra reinforcements when tying him up. I couldn't believe how incredibly responsive this guy was, definitely one of the most ticklish I'd ever encountered. The room was filled with laughter and his threats had long since turned to pleading as I explored every inch of his vulnerable torso with my finger tips. After five intense minutes, I decided to give him a break.
As he worked to regain his breath, I moved to the foot of the bed sitting beside his helpless feet. "Man, if you're that ticklish up there, I can't help but wonder how sensitive you must be down here." I pondered aloud, gazing at his one socked and one bare foot. I glanced up at my victim, his face filled with panic and terror as he too stared at his vulnerable feet only inches from my hand.
"No, please, not my fee...ah...ha, ha, ha..." his plea turned to hysterical laughter as my fingertips began to dance unmercifully across his naked sole. I had obviously found a weak spot judging from his reactions. He exhibited absolutely no resistance roaring loudly with fits of laughter as my finger nails traced a slow, agonizing path up and down, back and forth across his bare foot. His toes wriggled and foot flexed uncontrollably but no amount of movement could provide an escape from my tortuous touches. My fingers concentrated on his one naked sole for several minutes before I decided to check out the socked foot. I stopped tickling and rubbed the top of his socked foot gently while he fought to regain his breath.
"Surely you must not be that sensitive with a sock covering your foot," I pondered. Instead of attacking his sole, I allowed my hand to slowly massage his whole sock-covered foot while he wondered what I was planning. A sock, even as sheer as this one, can dull the senses pretty well. But even as I ran my hand across the bottom of his foot not intending to tickle him, he would giggle occasionally. This dude was ticklish!
'Man, this...this is crazy!" he exclaimed now that his breath had returned. I said nothing, continuing my slow massage of his foot. "Listen, you're really fucked in the head!" he barked with frustration, "Jesus, why don't you just hurt me or something like a normal person would?" Mmmm, I thought to myself. Here's a guy who'd put up with just about anything not to be tickled. Looks like my lucky night!
"Because after breaking into my house and holding me at knife point, pain would be too kind. I wanted to find a weakness of yours greater than pain, something with a lower threshold, something that would teach you a lesson and have you begging for mercy, yet leave no marks!" My massage turned into scraping as my fingernails traced random patterns across his socked sole. He started laughing and squirming. Soon he was roaring with laughter and begging me to stop. But instead, I pulled his sock off and really started some rapid nail action on his now unprotected foot. "Looks like I found it," I added, my mouth curved into a devilish grin.
He squealed and yanked wildly at his ropes, his foot flapping uncontrollably. So much so that I was having trouble making contact. So I grabbed his foot around the heel with my other hand and held it firmly in place leaving the bottom of his foot completely vulnerable to uninterrupted tickling. He really lost it, howling and screaming. I was glad that my apartment building was new and nobody lived above or beside me yet, for my victim would surely have been heard.
CLARIFYING WHO'S IN CHARGE
I continued teasing his feet for a while and made another trip back to his torso for a recap. Finally, I looked up at the clock and was shocked to see the digital display reading 12:15. I couldn't believe it--I had been torturing this poor guy non-stop for nearly an hour and a half! We both needed a break. So I stopped and went to the bathroom. Returning to the bedroom, I examined my captive. I actually felt sorry for him. He looked worn out, his eyes swollen and cheeks wet from tears (I'd actually driven this grown man to crying!). Still, it was an awfully delicious scene, this incredible hunk tied up and totally at my mercy. But I needed my sleep.
"OK, time for some shut eye!" I announced. "Lights out." I quickly undressed and moved to the other side of the bed. He stared at me as moved around the room.
"Hey, man!" he argued. "You're not going to leave me tied up all night are you?" He pulled at his restraints punctuating his question.
"Well, you don't expect me to untie you so you can fucking kill me, do you?"
"Look, you've had your fun. Now let me go, faggot!"
He was yelling now, obviously frustrated. His attitude was really starting to get to me; it was time for a dose of reality. I was lying on the bed beside him by this point. I rolled over resting my elbow on his chest, my finger pointing menacingly at his nose, my eyes meeting his. "Let's get something straight, here," I lectured. "You are my prisoner. I'm the one in charge--you take orders, not give demands. You're lucky I haven't called the fucking police. Or killed you, for that matter. Now if you're cool, we'll have a few laughs and you'll stay out of prison. But if you keep being a pain in the ass, then you'll leave me no choice but to call the cops." He stared intensely at me, obviously pissed at my smugness but realizing he wasn't in a situation to argue.
"You know what those boys in prison will do to a good-looking thing like you?" I continued. "I guarantee it won't be a little tickling. Let me put it this way, you won't be laughing, I assure you. Now, let's get some sleep. Understand?"
He maintained his cool stare at me, speechless. "I can't hear you!" I prodded, jabbing my finger into his rib.
He cried out, surprised by my move. "Y-y-yes," he stammered.
"I can't hear you!" I cajoled louder mimicking an Army drill sergeant, giving his rib another jab. He screamed again and repeated his answer a little louder, obviously pissed off at my relentlessness. "I still can't hear you!" I insisted, poking and twisting my finger non-stop into his jumpy ribcage.
"Yes...hah, hah...yes...hah, hah, hah....YES!" he was yelling by now between fits of laughter, trying to answer loud enough to satisfy me and end my tickling attacking.
"Yes, what?" I barked, keeping the pressure against his rib.
He looked confused at first, unsure of what I was looking for. And then he caught on. "Yes, SIR!" he hollered. But I was having too much fun now to stop. "Please...hah...hah...stop...please, sir!" he begged pathetically. I was still propped up on his body, and his laughter and pulling made for a wild ride. I finally took pity on him and stopped my assault.
"That's more like it," I offered softly. "Now, are you ready to get some sleep?" He nodded and I turned out the light. My head no sooner hit the pillow than I was out, exhausted from the unexpected twist in the evening. I imagine he fell asleep pretty quickly, having endured a much harder workout than I did.
A SURE-FIRE CURE FOR SNORING
I woke up, the room still dark, the clock reading 3:12. Still groggy, I looked over at my prisoner. No wonder I had waken--he was snoring loudly, enjoying a deep sleep. I propped my head up on one arm and gazed at my sleeping beauty. A full moon shone through the picture window illuminating the bed amazingly well. I had totally forgotten to cover his body leaving him lying on top of the covers, his shirtless upper body and bare feet exposed. Fortunately it was summer so he hadn't been too cold to sleep. Or snore!
The moonlight bathed his body, the hundreds of silky hairs covering his stomach and chest glistening in the light. His stomach bobbed rhythmically moving upward with every snore. He looked so peaceful. Reaching down, I felt my dick getting hard as I gazed at this helpless hunk and remembered his wonderfully violent reaction to my tickling attack earlier that evening. God, was he ticklish! As I lay there admiring his bulging, well-defined muscles I wondered how many more marvelous weak spots on his sensitive body I'd not even discovered yet. But there was still plenty of time.
I glanced up at the thick patch of hair lining his armpit, each hair sparkling in the moonlight. I've always enjoyed photos in ads of a guy's exposed armpit. It represents such an incredibly vulnerable spot when exposed and helpless to tickling touches. Now here was this armpit staring me in the face. And his powerful, sculpted arm made it that much better. I reached my hand over to his side and gently stroked through the long, luxurious hairs bursting from his armpit. As my mind wandered, my thoughts were interrupted by the obnoxious noise of his snoring, growing even louder. That was it! He deserved it...
I reached up to the headboard and dragged down the feather I'd placed up there earlier. I carefully pulled it down to his arm, allowing it to hover and twist for a moment just centimeters above his arm. I bet his eyes would have popped out of his head had he been awake. But now he was asleep, completely unaware of the menacing dagger spinning in the moonlight so close to his ultra-sensitive skin. I made contact with his arm just below his elbow, dragging it agonizingly slowly down the soft underneath side of his pec. It bounced into the hair of his armpit as I swirled the feather around inside his armpit, scraping the tentacles menacingly against his skin. He squirmed a little but didn't awake.
The snoring continued with just a little sputter of interruption. So I moved the feather back up his arm and dragged it repeatedly up and down his arm, dipping it into his armpit when it reached bottom and then repeating the path. I twisted the shaft, scraping different sides against his skin. Again he sputtered and giggled a little but still didn't wake. I bet he wished he wasn't such a sound sleeper, as my tickling was obviously integrating into his dream yet the sensations proved not to be strong enough to wake him.
Finally, I moved the feather down his side to his belly, dragging the point over his firm skin. The point dipped into his belly button and sprang free as the feather roamed across and down his other side. As I dragged it back and forth tracing a horizontal line running perpendicular to the dark line of hair running vertically through his belly button, his stomach spasmed uncontrollably at the feather's touches. He spurted and giggled between snores and even mumbled the words "cut that out" but still his mind wouldn't release his body from the deep dream he was in. Poor guy, it wasn't enough that his waking reality was filled with uncontrolled tickling but his dream state was subjected to relentless tickling also!
I increased the pressure on the feather poking the shaft into his skin. This produced even more violent spasms, finally stirring him awake. Of course, I kept stroking his touchy skin while he begun to wake. "No more...please," he murmured softly, still a little dazed. He was giggling now as I moved the feather back up his side to the underneath side of his upper arm, brushing the feather back and forth across his sensitive skin. His eyes were still closed yet he was laughing and his body began to wriggle from the touches. "Th-th-that really tickles!" he admitted, still not fully awake.
"I know," I answered with a smile, "I noticed this was a real weak spot for you." His eyes sprang open, his mind startling awake to reality. His body was now really twisting and reacting to my touches. His giggles grew to full bodied laughter.
"Hey, cut that out!" he protested, now fully awake and aware of what was happening. I gave a few more strokes before stopping. "Why'd you wake me up? Didn't you get enough last night?" he asked sarcastically.
"Well, first of all, I don't think I'll ever get enough of tickling you. You're just too damn fun! But the reason I woke you is because you were snoring so loud you woke me."
"I only snore when I'm on my back. If you'd just untie me...ha, ha...I could sleep on my side or stomach and...ha, ha-ha...you wouldn't have a problem." He was really starting to squirm from the feather's touches, intermittent fits of giggles exploding from his mouth.
"Yeah, right. Like you'd just casually roll over and go back to sleep. Nope, I like you just the way you are-- helpless and harmless. Except for a little snoring. And I've obviously found a sure-fire way to stop you from doing that. So, let's go back to sleep." I patted my pillow fluffing it into a big ball. "Oh, and if I were you, I'd try not to snore. 'Cause I get meaner every time I'm woken up! Comprende?"
He shook his head uneasily. I turned over and closed my eyes. "Uhh, listen, I'm a little cold," the intruder noted. "I guess it'd be too much to ask to get my shirt and socks back on?" I just laughed. "Well, how 'bout a blanket then?" I appreciated his new humbleness and got up to get a blanket out of the closet. I was actually starting to like him, not really a bad guy once he calmed down. I moved to his side of the bed and draped the blanket over his feet and legs pulling it up until it covered his stomach just to his ribs (I wanted to keep my options open).
I playfully tucked it in around his sides seizing another opportunity to poke his ribs with my index fingers. He jumped and laughed heartily as I allowed my finger nails to scrape around his rib cage for a moment while I ever so carefully tucked the blanket in. "Sleep tight! And remember, no snoring. Unless you want another rude awakening!" I admonished with a wicked smile on my face as I gave each rib another jab and then moved to my side of the bed.
ANOTHER RUDE AWAKENING
5:16? I stared at the clock somewhat in disbelief. But this is Saturday, I thought to myself. And then I heard that awful noise again, the stranger lying in the bed beside me was snoring loudly, deep asleep again. I normally can sleep through the night, often without waking once. And now this was twice I'd been awakened in the same night. "That does it," I decided, "time for some snore prevention." Poor guy. Although he HAD been warned.
Grabbing the feather from the headboard, I slid my body to the foot of the bed this time, my feet laying at my pillow. Propping my head on one elbow, I used my free hand to gingerly lift the blanket covering my prisoner's feet. I moved the end over his toes and laid it resting on his ankles, leaving his bare feet exposed and vulnerable to the early morning air. My heart started beating fast as I exchanged glances between those beautiful size-11 feet and my handsome prisoner's face, peaceful and deep in sleep, completely unaware and unprepared for another tortuous tickling assault on his tender and sexy soles.
A lot of people's feet aren't quite sensitive enough that the touches of a single feather are enough to break down their defenses. But something told me this guy was different, so hyper sensitive that I could probably produce a reaction just by blowing on them! As I stared at his feet contemplating my plan of attack, one of his feet jumped and his toes wriggled. I shot a glance back at his head to see if he was waking up. But it must have been a dream for he remained soundly sleeping. Now I was about to turn his dream into a nightmare. I reached my hand down to massage my rock hard dick as I grew more excited by the raw power at my disposal.
I slowly lowered the tip of the feather to the bottom of his foot until it touched. I began dragging the feather up and down the delicate skin of his sole, twisting the barbs around to keep the maximum feather surface in contact with his skin. His foot writhed reflexively, his toes wiggling, yet he remained asleep. I brought my dagger up his foot to his toes where I scraped it back and forth along the ridge connecting his toes to his foot. He giggled softly and moaned in his sleep but his stubborn mind refused to release him from the dream, forcing him to endure prolonged tickling sensations on his weakest spot.
I was surprised that a full minute of feather torture on both of his naked, ticklish soles pushed him only to murmuring and quiet giggles. I'm sure that were he awake, his reactions would be quite different. I decided to try a little more aggressive techniques. Placing the handle of the feather between his big and second toe, I pulled up on the shaft of the feather dragging it through the opening between his toes, each tentacle scraping against the underneath side of each toe and then springing free on the other side so that it tickled the top of each toe for good measure. His foot squirmed anxiously at the touches and he snorted with laughter.
I repeated this action with his other foot. This seemed to be more effective at waking him. So as he began to awake, I returned the feather to the bottom of his feet and scraped up and down his sole with the dozens of diabolical tentacles. His whole body began to twist and move in reaction to the tickling assault on his feet. He laughed out loud now but still wasn't quite alert.
"Hey, cut that out man!" he whimpered. But I kept up the slow, agonizing strokes up and down his feet, my head nonchalantly propped on my hand and gazing at his face watching earnestly for that moment of reality to hit him. Suddenly he came to with a jerk. He began pulling at his ropes and laughing hysterically. I kept up a steady, deliberate pace with the feather, like I was painting the bottom of his foot with the feather.
"Awe, come on!" he pleaded between laughs. Then it hit him why I was tickling him. "Look, I'm sorry!" I kept tickling.
"I'm sorry I was snoring." No relief. "Please, I won't snore again." More tickling. His face was looking more and more pitiful, his eyes pleading with mine. "Oh please, stop. Stop ti-i-ickling my f-f-feet. Ple-e-e-ease!" he begged, now roaring with laughter.
"Look, I warned you," I argued, "that's twice tonight, and I told you I'd be more determined this time to teach you a lesson." I continued stroking the feather with a nonchalant attitude, as though I was just fulfilling an obligation. My outer cool masked my inner excitement and disbelief at how incredibly sensitive this guy was, a single feather driving him insane and turning him into a babbling idiot! I increased the pace a little, causing him to laugh even harder.
"You promise you won't snore anymore?" I asked.
"Y-YES!" he yelled. "I won't! I promise! Just sto-o-o-op, please!" I stopped tickling for a moment, his laughter dying down, a look of relief in his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know," I pondered, "I don't know if I can trust you." I moved the feather back to his sole touching it against his skin.
"YES you can!" he cried out desperately. "I promise.
Aeeah!" he cried out as I started the feather moving again, obviously not convinced by his coerced commitments.
"Let me leave you with this warning--no more. Understand?" I pressed the feather firmly against his foot and stroked it up his skin.
"Yes, yes!" he laughed. I withdrew the feather and slid back up the bed. He was breathing heavily trying to catch his breath after my attack. I could tell that had been pretty intense for him. I was beginning to feel sorry for this guy, his attitude having done an about face, his sad blue eyes pleading for mercy.
"Man, you have about the most goddamn ticklish feet I've ever seen!" I commented. "You must have been a constant target for the other kids when you were horsing around while growing up."
"I was," he answered softly, sadly, "I was. And still am," he admitted with a frank sense of humility. My mind wandered for a moment fantasizing him and some buddies horsing around in the pool, when one of them grabs his ankle, holds it above water and starts tickling as he cries out. I looked at my pitiful looking guest.
"Well, we're done for now, my friend," I assured him softly. "But I'm going to keep your feet uncovered as a reminder and warning of the next attack if I'm woken again. This time it won't be feathers!" The poor guy looked petrified, realizing that he really couldn't prevent himself from snoring. I turned over and went to sleep. I really didn't expect him to be able to sleep again out of fear he'd snore.
TICKLISH COWBOYS AND DEVILISH INDIANS
Fortunately for him, the next time I awoke I did so naturally. The clock read 9:08 and sun streamed through the blinds. I looked over at my sleeping beauty, his face serene and slumbering. My eyes wandered down his body, confirming what the lamp had teased me with last night--he had an absolutely perfect body, muscle-bound, finely sculptured and adorned in soft, silky black hair. I glanced down to his bare feet protruding from under the blanket. My night session began coming back to me, my dick becoming hard fast.
The blanket still covered his stomach so I lightly picked it up and dragged it down his body until his pants popped into sight. His rippled stomach was moving up and down with each deep breath, the matte of thick hair glistening in the morning sunlight. My eyes roamed back up to his solid, hairy chest. I reached my hand over to his chest and began lightly running my finger nails through the lustrous hair. I traced a random path through the thick coating of fur fanning out completely across his firm chest, around his nipples (which grew rigid from my soft touches) and then followed the path painted by the thick, dark line of hair running from the center of his chest down his stomach through his belly button and disappearing into his jeans. I backtracked following the same path back up before veering off the clearly defined line, careful not to tread into that incredibly susceptible mine field I'd identified last night radiating out from either side of his belly button. I continued tracing a random pattern outlining the thick coat of hair on his belly spraying generously out from the center thick line of hair, enjoying the feel of his sexy hairiness. The flat shelf of his stomach, cutting a natural ridge down either side, also formed a natural boundary for the hair.
Even though I was not trying to tickle him, the sensations managed to get to him and he began to stir. I continued running my finger nail across his stomach. Feeling a little devilish, I allowed it to dip down into the ticklish zone around his belly button, producing a reflexive spasm from his flat stomach. He jumped and his eyes opened.
"Good morning," I greeted him softly, my finger nails still tracing a pattern across his belly.
"Good mo-OR EEH-ning," he replied groggily. Apparently I had hit a sensitive spot while he was answering me. I lightly massaged his stomach and chest with my finger tips occasionally purposely dipping my fingernails into a ticklish spot, on his stomach, ribs or even down into his armpit. He jumped and giggled with each callous dip.
"Sleep well?" I asked.
"Yeah," he answered grumpily, stretching his body out as much as his restraints permitted. His stretches were continually cut short by a reactive jolt each time I hit a sensitive spot. "God, my arms are sore," he complained, "think I could have a break, man?"
"Well, I'm not surprised your arms are tired, the way you pulled at those ropes last night." I gave his rib a jab, causing him to yank against the ropes and yelp like an injured dog.
"C'mon, asshole!" he barked. "Cut it out!"
"Hmm, perhaps you've forgotten the importance of manners. And who's in charge." I twisted my fingers into his armpit, again causing him to twist and shout.
"Look, O.K., you've had your fun. You've proved that I am ticklish. Ha. Ha." His voice was sarcastic and caustic, obviously departing from his humble attitude earlier this morning. "Please, move on to something else."
"Oh, I don't know. I have a feeling I've just begun to scratch the surface of your sensitivity. I'd like to get to know you even better!" My fingers stepped up their tickling, concentrating on his ultra sensitive belly. He began laughing wildly, his torso twisting and moving.
"Hey!" he managed between laughter. "I'm warning you, you'd better stop. I'm about to piss my pants!" Now that's a threat I was willing to heed. I stopped tickling. "I have to go to the bathroom."
"In a minute," I responded, picking up the phone receiver on the headboard and dialing a number. "Hello, Brian? It's me. Listen, what would you say if I told you I have a gorgeous, awesomely-built hunk lying here in my bed, tied up and completely helpless?"
"I'd say I'm interested," was his response. Brian and I shared this passion for enforced tickling, with Brian sometimes even playing the victim. And a fun one at that. We shared many similar preferences in our victims and I knew he'd love to join me in some fun.
"And what would you say if I told you he had a perfectly hairy chest and stomach, as good as if not better than Dan's?" Dan was Brian's favorite tickling victim, incredibly built with a wonderful hairy chest (also a favorite of Brian's) and the single most ticklish person he'd ever found. Perhaps until now.
"I'd say I'm definitely interested."
"O.K., and how 'bout if I told you he was insanely ticklish, so sensitive he absolutely hated to be tickled?" I began scraping my finger nails on my bound victim's stomach, eliciting movement and a raucous laughter I was certain Brian could hear on his end of the line. . "Maybe even more sensitive than Dan?!" I teased.
"I'd say I'll be over in 15 minutes!"
"C'mon over, man! It's all true and we have some information to pry out of him. Like his name, for starters!" My victim's face looked ashen at the thought of another aggressor tickling his sensitive and vulnerable body. I had maintained my gentle stroking of his belly and it was beginning to really get to him. He was arching his back completely off the bed now, trying desperately to escape my dancing fingers. He was laughing hysterically. "Hear that? And wait 'til you hear his reaction when I tickle his feet!"
Brian hung up anxiously. I knew he'd waste no time in coming over. I stopped tickling for fear I'd push my victim to piss in the bed. Now to take care of that little problem. I went into the kitchen while he regained his breath. First I poured myself a frosty glass of orange juice. Then I grabbed my rubber sink cleaning gloves and a jar with a wide rim. Pulling the gloves on, I returned to the room with the other two objects.
Sitting the empty jar down on the bedside table, I moved near his side reaching the glass down to his side until the ice cold glass touched his skin. He jumped like crazy. "Jeez, you're not tense are you?" I teased him. "Hmmm, then this should really get an action then." I moved to the foot of the bed and despite his begging for me not to, I touched the glass against his bare foot, a wicked smile on my face. His foot jerked so strongly that I almost spilled the glass of juice. I touched it to the other foot observing a similar reaction. He even giggled with each touch--now that's sensitive!
Taking a big gulp and putting the glass on the night stand on the other side of the bed, I knelt on the bed beside him. I disconnected the two ropes holding his body down at his knees and elbows. Reaching my arms underneath his back until my hands reached the other side gripping around his rib cage (which of course caused him to jump), I gave his torso a hard yank twisting his body onto its side, his back now to me, his wrists and ankles still securely tied. Moving to his front side, I unbuttoned the button of his jeans. I teasingly pressed my palm against his zipper feeling the bulge underneath. "Hmmm, that is full, isn't it?" He looked very nervous, not quite sure what I was planning.
His zipper opened easily revealing his cotton boxers.
I reached in with my gloved hands opening the material until his enlarged cock sprang free, saluting me. "Hmmm, very nice," I commented, much to his dismay. Holding the jar up until the head of his cock was safely inside. "OK, let her rip!"
"You've got to be kidding!" he demanded, obviously not approving of my method of penile relief. "Why don't you just let me go to the fuckin' bathroom?"
"Because I have no way of making sure you won't try to kill me. I can't take any chances and untie you at this point. Just do it and stop arguing."
"No fuckin' way!" he argued obstinately, trying desperately to protect his dignity.
"Aw, c'mon, man!" I was losing patience. "It's no big deal, we're grown boys." But he still refused. Not sure what to do now, I glanced around and spotted the glistening white feather on the headboard. I smiled and grabbed the feather. Feathers are amazing tools at overcoming inhibitions. "This should do the trick," I stated teasingly as I lowered the tip of the feather to his extended shaft and began stroking the feather up and down his cock. "Kitchy, kitchy, koo," I mocked.
"No, c'mon, hey stop that!" he cried out desperately, obviously in distress trying to hold back his piss while I fiendishly tickled the hell out of his swollen shaft ready to burst. He giggled and shook uncontrollably but finally couldn't hold it back any longer and burst, his piss shooting into the jar. I laughed and stopped tickling him so he could finish his business. He went for a long time, filling about a third of the jar.
"You know," I said after he finished, "if you'd just stop resisting so much, you'd make it a hell of a lot easier on yourself." I reached in and shook his retreating dick to make sure all extra drops were in the jar, setting the jar down beside the bed. "Is there any place on your damn body that isn't ticklish?" I pondered, stroking the feather up and down his now relaxed cock. He started laughing and it began growing like Pinocchio's nose. I dipped the tip of the feather inside his underwear tickling his swollen balls. This really caused him to giggle and twist. "Well, we'll have plenty more of this when Brian arrives."
I put the feather down and pushed his body back down on the bed flat. "You know, it occurs to me that we've not been properly introduced. I'm Fred. What's your name?" He just looked at me, a snarled look on his face. "Now there you go being uncooperative again," I mocked. "I know, let's play cowboys and Indians. I'll be the Indian and you can be the cowboy." I moved to the closet removing an authentic Indian headdress, lined with dozens of colorful stiff-barbed feathers.
His face filled with panic as I moved toward the bed holding the headdress in front of me. "You see, I've captured you and have you tied to the stake. But instead of something mean like burning or scalping you, I'm going to be nice and even have a few laughs!" Now standing beside him, I lowered the menacing collection of feathers towards his petrified face. "Now you can get a reprieve simply by telling me your name. But until you do, you're going to practice an ancient Indian dance called the Yatchy-yitchy-kitchy-koo, known in English as the Ticklish Cowboy!" I laughed out loud at the devilish scenario I had just painted.
He burst into laughter as I slowly dragged the line of feathers down his body. The headdress was long enough that feathers extended completely across the width of his torso and dipping down each side, ensuring that every inch of his ultra-sensitive skin was tickled simultaneously by more than a dozen feathers. As I crossed his stomach, I applied a little more pressure causing the feathers to bend slightly and press even harder into the hypersensitive skin of his abdomen. He cried out with laughter, screaming for relief, and arching his torso off the bed. I had forgotten to reattach the extra two ropes so his body had a greater range of motion which he exercised fully, at times making it difficult to keep the feathers in contact with his body.
I continued down his body allowing the feathers to graze over his cock, protruding from his open pants and fully erect. I moved down his pants legs offering him a quick respite before hitting his bare feet, helplessly perched at the foot of the bed. He yelled, almost as in pain, as the feathers grazed across the top of his feet heading uncontrollably for his far more sensitive soles. I pulled the headdress up and down and back and forth across the bottom of his ticklish feet, ensuring every single feather made contact at least once with his shuddering skin. He roared loudly with laughter, tears streaming down his face. Again, the lack of restraints across his knees allowed him greater movement. He yanked wildly, until I began to worry about him breaking lose (or breaking the poor bed!).
"Remember, you can easily stop the tickling madness, just by telling me your name," I reminded, hoping he would comply. I even held the feathers still trying to give him some time to think. But even the simple touching of the feathers against his feet were too much for him and he continued laughing and pulling, but not complying with my demands.
Concerned about him breaking loose, I just set the feathers down on the bed at his feet, folding the ends together to place the maximum number of feathers against his soft and vulnerable skin. The feathers engulfed his poor feet, every single inch of his sensitive skin touched by a feather. With each movement of his foot, he managed to actually tickle himself by pressing his skin into the bank of feathers. While he calmed down some, he kept giggling because he couldn't stop his feet from wriggling from the overload of feathery sensations against his tender soles.
So I let him tickle himself--an incredibly funny and outrageous situation as far as I was concerned--while I moved to reattach the extra ropes at his elbows and knees. He moaned and giggled as his feet bounced among the feathers. He tried desperately to hold his feet still but the unbearable tingling sensations proved too much and his foot would instinctively flex, brushing against the feathers and providing an even greater tickling sensation. I stood back and watched with amazement as he struggled with his self control and grew more frustrated at his inability to stop punishing his poor feet.
"Listen, I'm going to give you a few minutes to think about it," I explained, moving next to his side. "I'm going to take a shower. Meanwhile, I'll leave you in auto-tickle mode. And if you change your mind, just holler." I jabbed his rib with my finger causing him to jump and plunge his feet deeper into the feather bath. Which caused him to burst out laughing and wriggle his feet, and only proved to tickle him more. What a vicious cycle. I thought about really being mean and really give his upper body a quick tickling session-so that his reactive yanking and wiggling movements would naturally jostle his feet deeper into the feather forest engulfing his bare soles--but decided to give him a break and leave him to himself.
Even with the bathroom door closed, I could hear his occasional giggling from the bedroom. I stripped and entered the shower, turning on the water. As I soaped up, I thought about my captive's ticklish situation. While I could no longer hear him laugh, I could still see him in my mind. What a fun night it had been. Soon, my cock was standing at attention and my soaped hands were stroking it. It didn't take long to explode. I leaned against the wall and caught my breath, the water still running. It was going to be a fun day!
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