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 - and he got paid very well indeed. 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 lost in his own world, 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 realised 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 speadeagled 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 these 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 dressd 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. Colin was one of his pupils at the tennis club - seventeen 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 - pursuade - 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 t 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 wardobe 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 spreadeagled 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 t 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 hypnotised. 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 waitied 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, sympethetic. "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, and wrestled it onto the helpless but struggling boy's head. As he did so, he 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 tke 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 one of the boys 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 saying, "By the way, breathe slowly. That way you'll get enough air. If you try to breathe fast, you'll suffocate."
Dave willed himself to calm down. He conrolled 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!
Nothig 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 retraints, 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 practised 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 moulding 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, but the black leather blindfolded him completely. He felt so unbelivably 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 speciality (which was why Star had 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 betwen 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 casued 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 speciality 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 begining to tickle-torture somene - 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 and 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 tickling 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 betweenthe 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 hooded, was uaware 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 hewilled 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 isolated and unable to communicate with his torturers, 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 concetration 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 t allow himself to cum - his mind recoiled from the thought of how much worse it would fel 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 withdrwing 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 delerious. He arched his back, laughed, screamed, shieked, 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 signalled 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 heqard 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 signalled 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. It 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 cum whenever they wanted. They were playing his body like a musical lnstrument, 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 someting 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 agaist the base. He felt precum runing 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 moing 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 favourite 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 concetration 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 centres. 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 countless 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 own orgasm shook him, but he didn't allow it to interfere with his concetration on Dave's cock. He continued to wank 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 we can also 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."
The End