A kinky stranger picks up a hot rough street hustler and pushes his limits in several intense bondage and tickling sessions.

Tickling Joey D
by Pete Roc
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I could tell you where I met Joey D, but the name escapes me. Names are not big at this place to begin with. I never used my real name, and Joey never said the rest of his. If even that much is true.

More important than Joey's name was his price. Cash only, no gifts, checks or plastic. To those of you in the know, this marks Joey as not exactly at the top of his profession. Fine. The first class boys demand kid glove treatment, and I had rougher handling in mind.

Now don't think Joey was a second rate physical specimen. But he lacked the polish of the corporate callboys. He was 'street' through and through. Which also suited my taste.

Here's what I mean by 'street'. (Don't worry. I know you want details. I didn't sit down to write this to be coy.) Picture him with a slick black cap of hair perched on the top of his head. The sides and back are razored to mere stubble. There's a few strands of moustache beneath his elegant straight nose. If by accident Joey smiles, you notice that his teeth, though clean, should have been braced at an earlier age.

I would be happy to tell you how old Joey is but I have never asked him. If by some chance it is revealed someday that he is not yet 'legal', I don't want anything to interfere with my ability to appear shocked.

No secrets about his body though. Joey's clothes spill all the beans. He lets nothing camouflage the results of his workouts. The black motorcycle jacket is draped over broad shoulders and hairless chest. The ragged blue jeans have artfully placed holes so that prospective buyers get glimpses of the merchandise. Underwear none.

The tough-guy swagger caught my eye first. I'd always wanted to get hold of a guy like that to see how deep down the attitude went. How many layers have to be scraped away before something more raw surfaces.

When we first talked, Joey's contempt for me was obvious. I didn't take it personally. From seeing the guys who were renting him out, it was clear they wanted to spend the night receiving thrilling kicks from those oversized boots of his. But it didn't take Joey long to realize that I was not going to be another in the long line of grovelers. He quickly adapted to a cagier stance until he had a grasp of what I wanted. Seeing the wheels turning behind those ink-black eyes set my cock growing. The smarter the opponent, the better the game.

Laying out the terms to Joey, I made it clear about the bondage, about the nylon ropes and leather shackles. I made sure he knew that I was into tying up and hurting. He wasn't surprised. I got the feeling he knew about that scene from both sides. Beyond that I wasn't specific.

I couldn't be more precise, until I knew Joey. The whole point, for me, is crossing the line. I didn't want to do what I wanted. What I wanted was to do what he didn't want me to.

This process requires an investment of time. Which, in the pay-for-playland of the Joey D.s, requires an investment of money. Fine. Hobbies can be expensive.

The first night I brought Joey back to my place I started him out easy. I led him into the bedroom, his heavy boots like horses hooves clopping. I pointed out the tangle of ropes, leather cuffs and restraints in the center of the mattress. My orders were direct. "Get undressed and put those on." I headed off to the shower without even looking back to see if he was obeying. Assume they will and they usually will.

I came back from the shower. Through a cloud of steam, I saw Joey naked on the bed. I wish I could say that I was coolly indifferent to his choice flesh, but the sight of this prime specimen made my mouth go dry.

He had strapped the black leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles. The shimmering white nylon ropes dangle from the shackles, waiting to be fastened beneath the bed frame. I take care of that without delay. Always the split-second of fear that the prey will bolt from my grasp. But once the knots are secure the rush of possession floods me.

All Joey all mine looked even better than he had in his barroom showcase. His complexion was olive-tinted, with dusky rose mixed into his lips, nipples and genitals. And here and there surprising patches of white talc. I almost felt flattered that he should have taken the trouble.

I stood over him awhile just to stare. This freaks a lot of them out.

I circled the bed glowering, refusing to look Joey in the eye. This was easy for me--there were so many other incredible parts of Joey to focus on. There were the taught abdominals with the defined and delineated ridges. There were the coltish legs with the sprinkling of hairs below the knee. There were the broad shoulders rising from the collarbone to delicate points. Breathtaking.

But here was the best thing about Joey. He got hard. Once the knots were yanked tight his cock and balls began to stir, roll and plump up. The rosy cockhead moved with its own life to the beat of Joey's heart until it flipped backwards onto his stomach. Then inch by inch it stretched itself upwards to tower over Joey's hairy groin.

His first few times with me he blushed as his excitement made itself obvious. I think it enraged him that his body gave the lie to his studied attitude of contempt and superiority. With such an unexpected bonus to the package I had bought, I made sure to include it in my plans.

I approached Joey. Grasped in my hand was a small square of medium grade sandpaper. Joey saw too, and a grim look came over his eyes as he watched to see which of the splayed out portions of his anatomy would be the first target of the abrasion.

I sought out the delicate floweret of his right nipple. The rough black square began to inch closer to the warm pinkness of Joey's tit. In a typical show of macho he thrust his chest upward to meet the sandpaper full on. He was determined to not be cowed by my first assault. For a few minutes the loudest sound in the room was the scraping of the mineral against the animal. Until Joey's breathing quickened. He was fighting hard now against the pricks of stone on his tender nubbin. I could see the lock of the muscles in his jaw as Joey exerted every effort to make sure that no grunts or groans of pain escaped his lips. He was determined not to give me the satisfaction.

We'll see about that. I gripped his boy-tit with the scaly paper and tugged.

Joey exploded with a dozen curses. "You cocksuckin' faggot--this how you get your kicks ! You make me sick you fuckin freak--do your worst I been worked on by real men not flaming queers like you! You can kiss my ass you motherfuckin' leather queen!"

Like the Indian warrior whooping his way into battle, Joey spit, spewed and sputtered his defiance right in my face. His arms and legs may have been useless, but by god he would make up for it with his mouth. The bravado speech continued "Shithead faggot with your baby toys, you think you're scarin' me? You'll know what it is to be scared when I get the fuck outta these ropes and meet up with you. Piss on it you lame homo!"

The sandpaper had scored white lines into Joey's pretty tit. I gave a twist to see if blood would start.

Joey's head snapped back against the bed. A yelp almost escaped his throat. "Red!", he cried out. Immediately I stopped what I was doing.

Did I forget to mention about that? Well, Joey absolutely wouldn't come home with me unless I agreed to his ground rules. (Would you follow a stranger back to a room of ropes and chains without being sure you had a deal? If you would, please call me.) The rule was plain and simple: Anything goes until he says 'red'. Then nothing goes until he says 'green'. Since I wanted to see Joey more than the one night, I was scrupulous in observing this rule. Stop-and-go-traffic has never been more fun.

We went on like that for some time. Joey took all the time he needed to recover from each attack. I put the time to use by giving him sadistic glares. But all through the 'green' periods, he kept his foul mouth moving.

"Whats a matter, faggot? This the only way you can get it up, huh? Tying up and working over guys like me? What a sick fuck you are, y'know! What a perv! This is the best he can do to get his nut! I'd like to see how tough you are when I don't got these ropes on me, asshole."

When it was all over and I let Joey up, he snatched his clothes off the floor and marched into the shower like he owned it. The door shut. When he came out he was back in his "work clothes" looking as if nothing had happened here at all. His erection had subsided. I never knew any other details about that process. And instead of the foul-mouthed demon, he was the savvy businessman I had picked up in the bar.

I don't think it would be possible for me to overstate my lust for this boy. Everything about him turned me on. His looks, of course. His street attitude. And definitely his foul mouth, that pressure valve that saw him through our stress inducing scenes.

But more than anything else, were his rules. I was frantic to get beyond the rules, and the game and his professional shell to who lay beneath: the real Joey D.

Joey and I had gotten together several times since then. Things had gone more or less the same as that first night. (Although the sandpaper had been replaced with, alternately, hot wax, cat-o-nine tails, nipple clamps, etc.) Some nights were worse than others on Joey, but he always came back. The price was right and he had this confidence that he could take whatever I could dish out. Infuriating.

Everything clicked one night about six months after our first time. A plan evolved. And everything was in place when Joey showed up to the room.

Joey arrived at the appointed time. After the briefest of conversations he headed to the bedroom to undress and shackle himself. Our routine was set, and I was happy that he suspected nothing. When I exited from my customary shower, I completed fastening Joey's choice frame to the bed. Right on schedule, Joey's hardon appeared.

I circled Joey and the bed a few times, not tired of the spectacular view. Then I ambled over to the nightstand with its "toy drawer"--the place where I keep all the necessities for my fun and games Joey barely bothered to glance to see what was in store for tonight. He was that confident of himself.

I pulled out two long red feathers. Joey snapped his neck to confirm that he saw what he thought he saw. I looked in his eyes and saw doubt. For the first time in our meetings I was presenting Joey with a toy that he had no experience with. I pressed my advantage.

"So, Joey...are you ticklish?"

"Fuck you!"

The same posturing. Good. I didn't want it to be too easy. I climbed on the bed and positioned my knees on either side of Joey's hips. His breathing had quickened slightly from his uncertainty. Those tight abs were rocking gently. I focused on his arms stretched over his head to expose his downy pits. Moving the two feathers in tandem I brought their fluffy tips to rest right at the crook of Joey's inner bicep.

Joey recoiled from the lightness of the touch. He was startled that it didn't hurt and he wasn't sure what was coming next. But the steel inside his eyes returned and he waited on my next move.

He didn't have long to wait. I began to move the feathers, skating them along the pumped-up veins sketched in blue on Joey's olive flesh. As the silky points drew more and more close to the hollows of Joey's armpits, his fists began to open and clench faster. Contact. The red feathers slid into the dark valley of Joey's armpits. Explosion.

"Faggot! Cocksuckin' faggot! What is this sick shit this feathers bullshit! Whoever hearda this shit! Get those things off a me! I'm warnin' you, asshole!"

This was music to my ears. And it contained notes I had never heard from Joey before: panic and fear. I couldn't resist mocking him.

"Jo-ey is tick-lish. Jo-ey is tick-lish." I quietly chanted.

Meanwhile the feathers were investigating his armpits thoroughly. Stroking the silky hairs and teasing the soft skin. Faster. Faster.

"I'm serious asshole! Get them off a me--ha ha ha--faggot bastard you just wait--ha ah aha oh mn, oh shit--hee hee hee aha ah ah--no don't tickle me there motherfucker--RED!"

I stopped. A deal's a deal. And everything's negotiable. I reached into the nightstand drawer.

Out came a crisp brand new one hundred dollar bill. I slapped it onto the bedstead right above Joey's head. There it hung, attached by the piece of tape I prepared it with. Goggle-eyed, Joey stared at the bill. He had never seen one this close before. "Oh shit" he gasped.

"Okay Joey, here's your chance to be the highest paid hustler you know. You get the hundred dollars if I get to keep going with what I was doing for another 100 seconds." Out from the drawer came a timer-clock with a gold sweep-second hand. "A dollar a second Joey. Nobody you know gets that price."

Joey was trying to calculate. "Waitaminit. Let me think.."

"No. This offer expires at the count of three. One..two..th.."

"Green!" said Joey.

I pounced. I tossed the feathers aside and went straight for Joey's ribs with my fingers. I wiggled them mercilessly against the tender flesh at his sides. Joey flopped and jerked like a fish hooked on a line. His muscles were popping and pulling as they strained to avoid my tickling touches.

"HA HA HA You bastard faggot--oh no oh no HA HA HA--can't ... breathe..motherfuckin creep--HEE HEE HEE AHA AHA AHA--wait'll I get my hands on--HA HA HAHAHAHA oh shit!"

My index finger was twirling around in Joey's navel where it tickled him so much that drool was rolling unchecked down his chin. Just when my tickling fingers were staring to torment his stomach the timer passed the hundred second mark.

"RED!!" shrieked Joey through his choking laughter. Now he was laughing because he had made it through the hundred seconds and had scored extra cash off me.

In a second I had pulled another hundred dollar bill from the drawer and stuck it right up next to the first. "Again!" I barked.

"Are you fucking nuts??!" Joey gasped when his jaw stopped dropping.

I wiggled my fingers inches from Joey's tender belly. "Going once...going twice.."

Joey was terrified. He was scared of me, scared of the tickling, scared of the money, and mostly scared of himself. Not-quite-believing he said it, Joey whispered "Green."

The soft tips of my fingers got busy upon the satiny flesh at Joey's midsection. Tracing the creases of the taut muscles was especially rewarding and soon Joey was shaking the entire bed in his effort to escape.

As his head jerked from side to side, droplets of sweat flew from his matted hair. But the excruciating sensations didn't shut up that mouth. Hoarsely he cursed...and laughed.

"HAHAHA faggot bastard...die! You’re gonna die HEE HEE HEE shitshitshHAHAHA! No no don't tickle me! Please I can't HEE HEE AHHAHA HA HA HA !"

It was time to savage Joey's feet. I scurried down to the bottom of the bed for a close look. Moist and uncalloused. They got good protection from those extravagant boots of his. No protection now...

I pressed the flesh of Joey's olive-tinted foot to my mouth. I lapped at it with my tongue. The pink sole was so succulent, I began to nibble with my teeth on the tickle spot in the center.

Joey screamed. His feet were super-ticklish! I used all my strength to yank his two feet together in the center of the bed. Then my tongue and teeth began their feast. Nipping and licking at the balls. Sucking and slurping at the toes. Lapping at the insanely ticklish sole. Cannibal me.

But no matter how involved I became, I kept watch on Joey. I didn't want to miss a moment of his suffering. It was with a sudden shock that I realized what I was hearing: demented laughter ... and nothing but!


Now it was my turn to be scared. He was trying to say 'red'--but couldn't get out the word! He was so hysterical he couldn't say the one thing that would make his torment stop. I checked the timer. The second 100 seconds was long past, but Joey hadn't said the word.

Rules are rules.

"Kitchy kitch koo, Joey! Kitchy kitchy koo! What ticklish feet you have! And how you must love it so much.. or you would say the word..!"

Joey was a blubbering maniac. His sides and stomach were collapsing and expanding twice their normal size as his lungs pumped all the air to power those belly laughs, And in between cackles was, "R-R-R-..."

My laughter of triumph joined with his.

Who's the best?! I'm the best!!

Joey's pulsating cock had also expanded beyond its normal size. And the purple head was frothing over with drippings. A rivulet of lube joined the sea of sweat that darkened the mattress beneath my victim.

Tortured.. yet excited. My image of Joey came into sudden sharp focus.

Without letting up for a millisecond on Joey's writhing feet, I deftly retrieved one of the red feathers. It was just long enough. While gnawing and slobbering on Joey's most ticklish spots, I was just able to flick the feathery tip against the shiny skin of Joey's taut scrotum.

Joey screamed. Like he was suffering a seizure, every muscled went rigid until his torso was inches above the mattress, his weight supported only by his wrists and ankles. His cock erupted with a geyser of gism that rained down on him, me and the cash taped to the bed.

I counted 7 strong volleys of juice before the flow dried. For minutes Joey was someplace else, his body racked with the jolts of the orgasm. Tears were barreling down his cheeks to splash the pillow beneath his head.

When he came to himself, I watched Joey turn redder and redder as he realized what had happened. And when he saw the look in my eyes, he turned white.

Making one last attempt to discount events, Joey insulted me with a voice now weak. "faggot".

I left my position of crouching by Joey's feet. And stretched up while brushing the sweat from around my eyes.



Pete Roc

1 Comment

  1. scotts60143 - May 15, 2015, 9:08 pm

    Excellent story! I can tell you from experience with a guy I knew in college…tickling someone who is uber ticklish while being held down by 5 or 6 guys can be the worst form of torture! Especially if you keep it up for any length of time!

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