It was a close thing: five minutes to go and both teams were neck and neck with 23 points each. This match meant a very great deal to Craig Benton - possible promotion for his team the Wasps, and if they won, it would be the tenth consecutive win with Craig on the team, and a commendation.The ball was in touch and Craig was part of the line-out. He pushed himself to his limit and was first to reach the ball. He looked for his scrum-half - yes, there! He would be in perfect position in just a few seconds - all he had to do was pass the ball to him and the winning goal was in the bag. He must stay on his feet - just a bit further, just acouple of seconds. "Concentrate," he told himself, "stay on your feet - stay on your feet." The opening was almost there... "stay on your -"
The next thing he knew he was on his knees in the dirt, screaming in hysterics as stiff fingers dug into his sides from behind and tickled.The ball was gone, the opposition had it, and a moment later it was sailing between their posts in a perfect drop goal. 24-23 to the Dragons.
Craig looked up, to see the grinning face of Paul Connelly, his opposite number, who winked at him before jogging off to the drop out. He grabbed a handful of turf and slammed it down in frustration. "Shit, shit shit," he swore, then heaved himself to his feet. The end-of-match whistle blew and it was all over.
"What the fuck d'you think you were doing, Benton?" Screamed the coach."You had the fucking ball goddammit! You just lost us the fucking match!"
Craig flopped down onto the bench, grabbed a towel and wiped it over his sweating face. He dropped it into his lap. "Save your screaming, coach, it wasn't my fault," he said. He didn't even have the strength to shout back, he was too tired and disappointed. "I was fouled. One of their guys fucking tickled me just as I was lining up to pass."
The coach's jaw dropped. "He what?" This sort of thing did not happen in League Rugby.
"He tickled me. He came up behind me, and dug his fingers into my sides." Craig was getting angrier by the second. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm fucking ticklish, Okay? Up to now I haven't found it a handicap for playing Rugby, but I can't concentrate on passing a ball when I'm on my knees in hysterics."
The coach softened. Once, many years ago, he too had suffered the same indignity - albeit on a school playing field - and he knew exactly what it was like. "Okay, okay, you're right - it's not your fault. Did you see who did it?"
"Yeah - their number eight, my opposite number."
The coach picked up a clipboard and ran his eyes down the list of names."Connelly - Paul Connelly." He glanced around at the rest of the lads."Anybody else see it?" There was general shaking of heads. "Shit, and Connelly'll never admit it. Useless lodging a formal complaint."
Steve, a dark-haired boy at the back said, "Coach, my sister knows his girlfriend. It's just a thought, but..." In a tentative, uncertain voice, he outlined a possible plan of vengeance. Slowly, as he spoke,the expressions on his team mates' faces changed from confused frowns, to delighted - and sadistic - grins.
The coach remained frowning. "You, Steven, have an evil and wicked mind.That is both unsporting and unfair." His frown was suddenly replaced with a large, wide smile. "And I like it." He looked at his watch, then appeared thoughtful for a moment. "Okay," he said, "here's what we do..."
* * *
The groundsman knocked, opened the door and stuck his head through thegap. "Is there a Paul Connelly here?" He asked.
The team were dressing, but Paul had been talking and hadn't showered yet. He'd stripped, and thrown his socks and jockstrap into the washing bin, and looked up now, holding his mud-stained shorts in his hand. Paul Connelly was 19. He stood six foot two inches, his golden blond shaggy hair fell in a fringe over startlingly sky-blue eyes, he was obscenely good-looking, in a very boyish way; his lithe, muscular body was about as perfect as it's possible to get - and his cock was huge. He didn't drink, didn't smoke, and got through girls like they were going out of fashion. He was reasonably well liked (and desperately envied) by the rest of the team, but he knew he was stunningly attractive, he knew he was one of the best league players around, and he knew that he was no bimbo. Unusually for someone as physically perfect as Paul, he was also quite intelligent. His teammates forgave his occasional arrogance as, it has to be said, there was some justification for it.
At the sound of his name, he looked up. "Yeah, here."
"Telephone call, sir. A young lady named Dorothy."There were whistles and cat calls from his mates. Paul's rapid turnover of girlfriends was a continual source of delight to the others. This one, Dorothy Perkins, was an air-headed brunette with unusually large boobs. She was doing quite well - she'd lasted over a week so far - but it now seemed possible that the fact that Paul had started to see another girl as well had not escaped her attention.
"She says it could take some time, sir."
More whistles and delighted laughter followed. "You're in for it now!"Someone said.
Paul smiled embarrassedly. "Shut up you lot." Then, to the groundsman,"OK, thanks. Where can I take it?"
"If you'd like to come with me, sir, I'll show you where the phone is."
"Be right with you." He looked around, confused, then pulled his shorts back on and slipped his bare feet into his trainers.
"They'll be locking up soon - better take your clothes with you," said the team coach. "We'll be down the Black Swan. Know where it is?"
"Yeah, at least I'll find it. See you there." He grabbed his jeans, boxer shorts and shirt, and followed the groundsman out to the sound of more jokes of a sexual nature.
"You can use that phone," the elderly man pointed to the instrument, then with a nod, he left and closed the door. The phone was in the centre of the short wall separating the locker room from the showers,with access to the showers at either end.
"Right, thanks." Paul frowned - there had been an identical one on the wall of his team's locker room. He wondered why he hadn't been able to use that one, but then he smiled at the idea of talking to his girlfriend while surrounded by his team mates. That would not have been a good idea, and that's undoubtedly what the groundsman had thought too. He smiled and picked up the receiver. "Hi Dot. We won. I'm as horny as a fieldful of rabbits, and I'm gonna fuck you senseless tonight."
He paused, still smiling, but there was silence at the other end of the phone. "Dot? You there Dot?"At that moment a movement caught his eye and he turned to face three athletic young men in rugby shorts who appeared round the end of the wall together. Paul's jaw and the receiver both dropped simultaneously. "What the fuck ...?"
"Hi Connelly," said Steve, in the centre of the three. "We'd like to have a few words with you." They continued to advance until they were within arms' reach, then they stopped.
"What the fuck're you talking about? What is this?"
"This is revenge, Paul. This is a lesson about fouling one of our players by tickling him."
"I don't know what you're fucking talking about."
"I think you do." That voice was Craig's, and had come from behind Paul. Before he could turn round, Paul felt fingers travel up his bare sides and straight into his excruciatingly ticklish armpits.
"AH!! Ahahahah! Hahahahah! Heeeeeeeee! Instantly, he clamped his arms tight to his sides, and fell to his knees - but the fingers were still there, deep in his armpits, and they tickled. He laughed, shouted, yelled.Then, Steve knelt down in front of the struggling youth and began tickling his stomach. The rest of the team now appeared round the end of the shower wall, and - silence no longer necessary - whooped and whistled at the sight.
Craig had pulled his hands out of Paul's armpits, and was now attacking his sides from behind. The blond boy laughed, screamed and struggled but, being tickled simultaneously from the back and the front, there was nowhere he could move, no way he could turn, without exposing more of his ticklish places to these sadistic youths' merciless fingers.And so, for several minutes, all Paulcould do was kneel there, having lost all control of movement, and laugh himself silly as Steve and Craig worked him over.
Then Craig caught the eye of Billy, one of the ones who were watching."Get his trainers off," he shouted, and, while Steve and Craig kept Paul helpless with tickling, Billy removed the boy's shoes, exposing his bare feet. As soon as the sensitive soles were revealed, Craig transferred his attentions to them, running sharp fingernails across them from top to bottom. Paul convulsed as if he'd been electrocuted, and rolled onto his side, trying to curl up into a foetal position. Immediately the boys pulled his body out flat, Craig jumped astride his hips, and Steve grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the floor above his head. Craig then tickled the blond athlete's naked chest, sides and armpits until Paul thought he was going to go mad.
"Hang on," said Craig, "let's do this properly. Get him onto the bench where we can all have a go!" He jumped off the boy and they lifted him onto the padded physio table. Within seconds Paul's arms were being held down high over his head and his spread legs were firmly in the grip of the hunky rugby team. Soft fingers began to glide and stroke all over Paul's muscular young body - and where they touched, they tickled. There were fingers tickling his sensitive bare feet, fingers tickling up and down the outsides, fronts and insides of his legs, there were fingers over and behind his knees, fingers on his arms, fingers tickling deep in his excruciatingly ticklish armpits, fingers digging between his ribs, jabbing into his sides, and stomach - tickling, tickling, tickling the horny 19 year old. Paul screamed in helpless, hysterical laughter, and tried desperately to struggle free, but there were four strong guys holding him down and he wasn't going anywhere.
"Ahhh! Ehehehehe Hahahahaha NO! S-S-S-STOP!! Heee! Haaaaa! P-P-PLEASE!! F-F-For G-God's sake STOP!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!" Paul was extremely ticklish almost everywhere - but by far the most sensitive parts of his body were his feet. Having discovered this weakness by the strength of his reactions, two boys were working specifically on them, dragging the pointed ends of their car keys over the soles, poking between the toes, tickling the heels, the arches - one lad even got so into this that he began sucking each toe of the foot he was working on individually, using his teeth gently and getting deep in between them with his tongue. Paul's general screaming became a shriek every time he did this - which fueled the lad's enthusiasm even more.
Most of the boys who were tickle torturing the cute blond forward had erections - but they were nothing compared to the flagpole which was ramming the muddy rugby shorts of their victim out into a pyramid at his crotch. This had not gone unnoticed by the team, and fingers which - skillful at handling rugby balls, but equally talented at handling the balls between a boy's legs - were working with sadistic enthusiasm up his shorts.The hysterical teenager was by now in the most desperate state of excitement. His entire nervous system was being overloaded by the tickling hands. The slightest touch anywhere sent him into uncontrollable paroxysms of hysterics. The tickling was also having another effect: he was seized by a desperate, urgent, imperative need to cum. He always felt horny after physical exercise, and today was no exception. The tickling all over his body compounded that horniness, and the hands working so lightly, teasingly and fiendishly on his testicles and the insides of his thighs were absolutely irresistible. Paul knew that another few seconds of this and he would shoot his load. He shook his head and tried to tell them to stop, but his breath and voice were already being used for screaming and laughing.
"Let's get his shorts off," said Craig.The tickling stopped for a few seconds as they pulled the boy's shorts off, and in the momentary respite Paul managed to get control of his voice long enough to gasp, "PLEASE don't make me cum - I'm seeing my girlfriend tonight and she'll kill me if it's not the best fuck of her life. Please don't. I'll do anything. PLEASE!"
Craig looked at his helpless victim. He really was a stunningly cute boy. His soft blond hair, his gorgeous blue eyes, his tight, muscular body, gleaming with sweat and glowing with sexual excitement - and that enormous, desperately erect cock springing vertical as his shorts released it to swing in the air - Craig felt his own cock pushing against his shorts in sexual hunger, and it brought out a latent sadism in himself he hadn't realized was there. "Well," he answered Paul's pleading, "we're gonna tickle you for another five minutes. It's up to you whether you cum or not. If you don't wanna cum, then don't." He smiled a brilliant smile at the moaning forward, and winked at him in the same way Paul had done out on the field. Craig had every intention that the boy would cum, and everyone - including their victim - knew it.
Paul closed his eyes in hopelessness, and then flicked them open in defiance. "NO!" He shouted, and suddenly struggled to get free with all of his considerable strength. It took all the team's effort to hold him down, but as soon as they started tickling him again it was easier. Again, their devilish fingers played over the boy's glistening body. The sweat on his skin let their hands glide over his muscles and into all the nooks and crannies smoothly and maddeningly, tickling him everywhere.
Craig was concentrating on the boy's crotch, teasing and tickling his testicles, getting right up between his legs and to the back of the balls, pulling the scrotum gently to one side and running a fingertip lightly up and down the joint where the thigh and scrotum meet. He was enjoying himself. Though precum covered the partly exposed glans with shiny wetness, and ran down the steel-hard shaft of Paul's cock, it was the one part of the boy's anatomy that hadn't been touched yet - other than by the inside of his shorts before they'd been removed. Now even that small source of stimulation had been denied him. His hard-on was as unbearable as the merciless tickle torture, and as Craig's fingers worked on his balls, he thought he would explode. He had never in his life been in such a dilemma: he wanted to cum more than anything in the world, but he couldn't - there just wasn't enough friction on his cock. Also he knew that he mustn't, otherwise Dorothy was going to make life hell for him. He lay there, writhing and struggling, being turned on by the tickling, turning himself on by the involuntary struggling, not knowing what to do or how to end this torture - and absolutely desperate for orgasm. He was 19 years old, at his physical and sexual peak, his nervous system and sexual responses were being used to torment him to insanity, instructing his balls to produce spunk in vast amounts ready for the orgasm which every one of his nerve endings said was coming, and endorphins were flooding his brain, screaming at it for the release of this spunk.
Although Craig wasn't thinking of it in these terms, he knew perfectly well what Paul was going through, and how urgently he needed release. He also knew very well that Paul couldn't allow himself to cum. So with a grin of pure sadism, he wrapped one hand around the base of the blond teenager's throbbing shaft, and began to jerk him off - slowly and firmly. He applied the other hand to the very tip, and used his fingertips to tickle and tease the bare glans. Exactly as Craig had intended, this was more than the terminally horny teenager could take. With an animal scream his back lifted off the bench, and the dam burst - his thick white spunk exploded out of his cock in sticky, pulsing jets. It went everywhere - over his chest, over Craig, over the others - and one thick gob even hit the wall. Cheers resounded around the locker room as Paul fell back onto the bench, totally spent.
Craig looked into Paul's eyes. "Remember this next time you're thinking of tickling someone out on the field, okay?" Paul closed his eyes in exhaustion. He smiled - he was already making plans.