Michaels and Abrahams were in the office, watching Jamie on the monitor. "The shorts seem to be working well," smiled Michaels.
"It took a great deal of effort and time making the insert for him. I had to take very careful measurements indeed. The ones for the other boys aren't so critical, but it was imperative that the spikes can never quite touch the tip of his cock – though they get close."
Michaels looked at him. "I've always wondered – where on earth did you get the idea for those shorts?"
Abrahams looked away. "Actually, it was a story I read a long time ago on a website."
Michaels chuckled. "Well, they're certainly effective, I'll give you that."
The little rubber spikes cunningly teased and tickled his cock everywhere but the one place where they would have made him have the most intense orgasm of his life. He couldn't fucking stand it.
He lay on the bed and forced himself to think of nothing. As long as he kept very, very still and breathed shallowly, it worked – after a while he felt his cock beginning to soften slowly.
Five minutes later the TV came to life. There was no sound, but he saw the flickering light through his eyelids. He opened them – and groaned. A boy was being strapped down to a restraint table by two hunky masked bikers in tight, bulging black leathers. The images were reflected in the wall mirrors wherever he looked. His cock, which had at last begun to lose a bit of its stiffness, immediately started to get hard again, and the rubber spikes made contact. It got a lot harder a lot quicker.
But he wasn't fucking gay . He ground his teeth. What were these fuckers doing to him? A week ago those images would have had no effect on him, but now just seeing those two leather guys getting that struggling, naked boy strapped down was making him need to cum. He couldn't help imagining the feel of their leathers on the boy's skin as they fought him down, holding his arms with their shiny black gloves, getting his legs between their leather-jeaned thighs as they forced him from the floor onto the table, the feel of the hood going over his head… No eye holes. Very soon the two bikers had got him helpless.
OH FUCK HE NEEDED TO CUM.
It was much later. Jamie had spent an intolerable time on his own in the room. Every hour or so the TV would come on and show him more videos of those two leather bikers getting some struggling boy helpless. At one point they just rolled around on the floor with his naked body between them, teasing his hard cock with their leathers.
Jamie had tried not to look, and he'd tried to keep perfectly still so the damned rubber spikes would stop working on his desperate cock. He'd he'd failed at both.
The door opened and Jamie stared – it was the two bikers from the videos!
They grabbed his arms and marched him between them out of the room. He could feel their cold black leather against him. "Gonna make you cum, Jamie," one of them said.
YES! He was going to cum at last! He almost dragged them forward.
They cuffed his wrists to the top of a high-tec-looking table in a room he hadn't seen before – it looked like a hospital operating theatre. The bikers' leathers shone in the overhead lights and Jamie could see two pairs of eyes – one pair blue and the other brown – through the slits in their shiny black masks. He could tell that they were grinning with anticipation.
The brown-eyed biker removed the padlocks and carefully took the front of Jamie's shorts off, allowing his hard, dripping cock to spring out into the air, standing vertical.
The other one knelt on the table, grabbed the boy's ankles and put them over his shoulders. Jamie gasped as he felt the biker's cold leather jacket, and his leather arms around his legs as as he held them immobile.
Brown eyes smiled at him as the biker lubed his leather gloves. "I'm Aaron, and I'm gonna make you cum. Gonna milk your cock until you squirt your spunk into my leather-gloved hand. And I'm very good at milking boys."
Jamie knew he should be struggling and swearing at them. They were fucking perverts. But he was neither struggling nor swearing – he was shuddering and panting hard. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah."
Doctor Abrahams appeared. "Hello Jamie. You'll be seeing these two every week. Aaron and Darren here are going to make you cum every seven days. Teenage boys like you get horny very easily, and make spunk quickly, so we have to drain their balls regularly to maintain their good health. That's what these two bikers do. They're specialists. They'll edge you for a while, to make you want to cum, then they'll milk you. I'll leave you in their tender hands for a bit, and I'll see you later." He left.
Make him want to cum? He wanted to cum already. Oh fuck did he want to cum.
Aaron looked down at Jamie. He took the boy's cock very gently in his gloved hand and began to edge the boy.
* * *
Jamie didn't want to think about the last hour; it had been totally unbearable. If he'd thought he'd been horny before they'd come for him, he was a hundred times more so now. They'd teased him and stroked their leather hands over him and driven him out of his mind. But not once had Aaron touched the tip of his cock.
Abrahams came back into the room. He leered at Jamie lasciviously. "Tell him what you're going to do to him, Aaron."
Jamie saw a slow smile appear on the brown eyes behind the black leather mask. "While Darren holds your legs tight so that you can't move, I'm going to hold the base of your cock in one gloved hand, push it down, and then I'm going to take a finger and thumb," he held them up, less than a quarter-inch apart, opening them and closing them together quickly, "and do that right on the very tip of your cock head. Exactly on the piss-slit. And that, boy, will make you shoot like you've never fucking shot before. And I'm going make you cum more than once, until your balls are empty."
Jamie almost passed out. How the fuck did they know about the end of his cock? He didn't care - just the thought of Aaron doing that on the tip was almost too wonderful to imagine.
Abrahams returned. "Now, you haven't cum for a long time, Jamie, and you're very horny. Those shorts and the videos have been working on you, and you've just been edged by these two. When Aaron does that to the very tip of your cock you're going to have a very, very intense orgasm indeed. Now please understand – this is for your own safety. An orgasm of that intensity in a 16-year old boy could be dangerous to your health." He brought his hand up. It was holding a pad, from which came a sweet smell. "So I'm going to put you to sleep while it's being done to you."
What ? Put him to fucking sleep while they made him cum ?
"No! Fuck NO! PLEASE! NO OOOOO ………. !"
The pad was already clamped over Jamie's nose and mouth by the time he started to struggle. He threw his head this way and that, but the doctor followed his movements, holding it there firmly so that Jamie couldn't get away from it.
Abrahams leaned closer. He lifted the pad away for a moment, so that the anaesthetic would take longer to work. "Relax, Jamie. Breathe deeply. This will put you to sleep. It's for your own good, my boy." He had a gloating grin as he pressed the pad back tightly over Jamie's face. "You won't feel a thing."
Jamie's head was already swimming. He thrashed about on the table but the straps and the bikers with their leather-clad arms held him down while the anaesthetic slowly got to him. After a while the lights went out.
He woke up with a splitting headache. He was back in his room, and for once he was completely naked. The first thing he was aware of was that his cock was sore, and the second thing was that he didn't feel in the slightest bit horny.
The TV came to life. Not a porn video this time, but the vile doctor Abrahams. He was still standing by the restraint table, and he was holding up a container with half an inch of white liquid at the bottom.
"Ah, I see you're awake. Good. You did very well, Jamie. Aaron made you cum three times! That's excellent. This is your spunk we collected. There's lots of it, as you can see. The very tip of your cock, where he worked on it with his leather-gloved fingers, may be a bit sensitive for a while – although he did use lots of slippery lube – but that will pass." Abrahams smiled. "Anyway, rest. Get some sleep. You'll very soon feel better. Bye for now." The screen went dark.
Jamie began to hyperventilate. He threw back his head and screamed at the walls.
They'd put the shorts back on him later. At first they'd had no effect at all, but soon he'd begun to get hard inside them. From that point on the little rubber spikes had teased and tickled his cock until, far too soon, he'd been back to needing to cum again. Horny once more, he couldn't stop thinking about that masked biker – Aaron – moving his gloved finger and thumb in the air like that, and what it would have felt like when he'd done it on the end of his cock. If the bastard doctor hadn't put him to fucking sleep. These people were fucking sadists.
The door to his room opened and the two guards were back, their leather SWAT uniforms bulging. "Time for more tests."
A different room. There was just one piece of equipment in this one: a frame that had two long vertical metal struts, about three feet apart, with restraint points high up on them, and between them a small padded platform.
"Kneel on there." The guards pushed him forwards and Jamie knelt on the platform between the posts, his feet hanging off its end. Leather straps were buckled very tightly around his ankles and his calves; his arms were stretched upwards and cuffed to points on the posts above his head. The guards left, and were replaced shortly by Abrahams and a skinhead. Jamie had the feeling that he was the same boy he'd seen in the line-up earlier. His bleachers were every bit as tight as he remembered them.
The sensor cap was positioned over Jamie's head – it was the one he couldn't see through.
The skinhead stood in front of him. "Hi. I'm Alan. Now, I'm not going to ask you if you're ticklish, because all teenage boys are ticklish, it's just that some are more ticklish than others. So, we know that you are. What I am going to do is find out exactly where you're ticklish, and how badly."
The moment Jamie heard the word 'ticklish', the bottom dropped out of his world. He began to shake his head. "No. Please. Please Alan, don't tickle me."
There was a smile in the skinhead's voice. "Oh, but I'm going to tickle you – but only to find those things out, not to torture you. Though that may happen at some point in the future. I hope it does – you are so fucking beautiful. Ok, Let's start at the top of that ticklish little body and work our way down slowly, shall we?"
Jamie's left hand was grabbed and his fingers held open. Something stroked lightly and quickly across his palm. He immediately tried to close his fist but it was held immobile. The finger stroked and tickled again, over the palm and the base of Jamie's fingers. He giggled. The giggle turned into something much more long and drawn-out as Alan's fingers worked their way, hardly touching his skin, up his arms.
"Elbows," Alan said, for the computer recording. He tickled the outsides, the sides, and then the insides of them.
It was impossible for the boy to keep still. He jerked in the restraints and laughed manically. After a while the fingers continued their unbearable journey upwards, leaving Jamie's skin tingling behind them.
"Pits". Alan tickled first the areas all around the boy's armpits, and then directly into them. He was unpredictable, and used both quick and slow strokes.
Jamie screeched in hysterics. He fought to pull his arms down to protect his armpits but the restraints held them stretched up above his head. This was worse than he could have ever imagined. "Please! Stop! I can't take it!"
"Oh, but I've hardly started. There are other interesting bits further down, when we get to them."
He tickled the boy's face – or as much of it as he could get to with the sensor cap in place – his neck, chest, nipples, stomach, abs, and sides; his back and his buttocks, and even the rim of his arsehole. That last one had been horrendous for the boy. Alan had spread his cheeks to make the sensitive ring accessible, and had held them there while one fingertip tickled around it.
Jamie was yelling hysterically, but there was a slight stiffening of his cock while Alan was doing this. It did not go unnoticed by the skinhead.
He returned to the front of Jamie's body. Feather-light touches, his fingertips hardly making contact at all with the boy's smooth, golden skin.
Onwards to his hips, groin, thighs, knees, calves, ankles, and feet.
Jamie was half out of his mind. Every spot on his body that Alan had touched tickled like fuck – much more so than even Jamie would have expected – but it was when the guy got to the soles of his feet that he screamed the loudest.
Alan started with the individual toes, exploring the sides of each, and between them. Then their bases. From here he moved to the sides of the feet, and then the heels.
Jamie knew exactly what the fucker was doing, and his dread had been building up for a long time. With the first stroke of a fingernail over the soft soles he screamed his lungs out.
Alan asked Abrahams to send in an assistant. One of the guards arrived, and was directed to hold each of Jamie's feel in turn completely immobile while Alan tickled the sole.
Jamie cried with relief when it ended.
"Oh we've not finished quite yet."
The boy jumped as he felt something stroke one of his balls. It moved to the other one, then back again, and then there were fingers on them, tickling while one hand held the very base of his cock to keep it out of the way.
Jamie knew that his balls were ticklish, but he'd never suspected that they were that ticklish. He thrashed about in the restraints as Alan worked on every bit of them, tickling the backs of them and lifting them gently away from his thigh to work on their sides. As he had done all along, each time he changed position he told the computer exactly what he was doing.
Alan moved from the balls to the boy's cock. Unlike before, when Abrahams had been working to get it hard, this was pure tickling. Even so, it began to stiffen under the feather-light stroking of Alan's expert fingertips. He worked his way up the shaft to the ridge, and onto the glans, but to Jamie's intense frustration he stopped short of the tip.
"Carry on. Do the end of it."
Alan chuckled. "No – from what I hear, that would make you cum. No, we've finished with the first pass, I think."
"What the fuck do you mean, first pass?"
"Oh that's only half of it. That was light-touch tickling. Now we test certain places again, but for pressure tickling."
Jamie didn't like the sound of this. "What's that?" He asked nervously.
"That's where I grip the muscles just above your knees, or your thighs, and squeeze. Or where I push stiff fingers into your sides, between your ribs – many places – and move them around. I have to tell you, it's a bit more difficult to take."
Over the next twenty minutes Jamie pissed himself twice, and very nearly passed out at various times. It was the worst thing he had ever experienced in his life. His voice was hoarse from screaming.
At last it was all over. Jamie expected them to release him and take him back to his room, but no. There was another test, apparently. But at least they allowed him to rest and recover first.
* * *
Abrahams called the guard again to assist him, and changed Jamie's position on the table so that his legs were bent tight to his chest. They were strapped there. His knees were parted and a spreader bar put between them.
The doctor rolled a trolley to the table. On it, arranged roughly in order of size, were dildos of various shapes. Some had cables attached to them, which were plugged into the computer.
For the next hour the doctor inserted one after the other up the boy's accessible and defenceless arsehole. Some of them were just dildos, but some buzzed, and a couple of them reached a spot inside him that made Jamie gasp. Abrahams was very careful with these, and a couple of times had to switch them off abruptly when he thought that Jamie showed signs of getting unsafely close to cumming.
Although some of them had indeed got him close, he hadn't really liked it. The small ones had felt good, but not the larger ones.
At last the tests were finally over and he found himself back in his room, wearing those cursed shorts with the little rubber spikes inside. Those shorts were an invention of the devil, he told himself.
Aha – there was an Xbox on the table! He picked up the controller and navigated to My games & apps > Games. He groaned when he saw that there were only three of them: 'Tickle Torture', 'Edging Marathon', and 'Leatherboy'. He shook his head in disgust and went back to lying on the bed.
But the shorts worked on him. They tickled and teased and he couldn't stop them. Oh fuck he was horny. He sighed. He had nothing else to do, and the games sounded a little more interesting now.
He loaded the first one and looked at the menu screen. He could choose to be the torturer or the victim. He chose the former. Next he could pick his victim from a gallery of guys ranging from very muscular down to weedy boys. He chose a very slim, weedy boy – he thought it was safer. He also chose his victim's position and what restraints he'd be in.
When the game started he was in a dungeon and the victim was strapped to the St Andrew's cross he'd specified. It took him a while to learn the controls, but he found that he could put his cursor on a part of the boy's body, use one button to choose how he wanted to work on that spot, and the action button to do it. The longer he held the button down the more intense was the action.
The TV sound was turned up loud and his victim's screams filled the room. Playing this – torturing a boy with the one thing that was turning out to be his own nemesis – seemed to bring out the sadistic in him. For the next half-hour he made his victim suffer the tortures of hell.
Finally the boy on the cross passed out. Words flashed on the screen:
VICTIM ALLOWED TO LOSE CONSCIOUSNESS.
- YOU LOSE -
He didn't care - he felt better after that.
The second game was a similar kind of thing but involved edging. It required him to discover his victim's triggers and weaknesses, although he could specify some of them to give himself an unfair advantage. There was a range of instruments he could use, apart from his own fingers: feathers of various types – each with its own score for softness, pointedness, and other statistics – oily thongs, paper tissues, tiny vibrators, brushes of all kinds, various lubes, different sorts of gloves, and lots more. For his victim he chose a big, strong bodybuilder – he wanted to see the powerful muscles straining against the straps. Jamie had specified that the tip of the victim's cock be extremely sensitive – like his own was. With an evil grin he turned that sensitivity up as high as the game would let him, and began to explore the muscular body. Very soon he was driving the guy insane.
He hadn't reckoned, however, on how horny this would make him. After ten minutes of sadistic cock-tickling he had to stop. He needed to cum so badly it hurt.
The last game was different. There was no game-play as such at all. It was simply about creating your own character. There were lots of galleries: first, naked guys to choose the body type; then what he would be wearing. This was broken down into top-half stuff like muscle shirts, teeshirts, harnesses, jackets of many kinds… Then his bottom half: jeans, shorts, trousers – all in hundreds of different materials, tightness, shininess, and more. Then footwear, gloves, headwear, and accessories.
He spent more time with this game than with any of the others and by the time he'd been at it for a few hours he'd got five guys in his favourites gallery.
He switched the machine off and sat back in the chair. He was indescribably horny.
Michaels and Abrahams watched the boy on one of a pair of screens as he played the games. On the other they could see exactly which game he was playing and what he was doing in it.
Abrahams smiled. "This is going to tell us a very great deal."
Michaels nodded – he was smiling as well. "Oh yes," he said.
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