The Telemachus Story Archive

More Than I Can Take
By Hooder
Email: hooder@ntlworld.com



More than I can Take

It had been an average sort of evening at the club: one or two slightly-interesting guys and a whole lot of boring ones. I was on my way out when I saw him. Now where the hell had he been hiding? I’d been in the place all evening and this was the first time I’d seen him. And he was hot.

My first impression was that he was a skinhead – he was wearing bleachers – but I’d never in my life seen any bleachers as tight as those. They looked as if they’d been sprayed on. Then it dawned on me that they were rubber . They were dark blue with white patches, and they were the horniest sight I’d seen for a very long time. He looked very different to most of the guys in the club and he had a lot of punk about him: his leather biker jacket was ripped and covered with studs and badges, and his boots were chunky, scuffed New Rocks with lots of straps and buckles on them. More studs were on the wide belt around his hips, and on his fingerless black leather gloves.

For his gear alone, I wanted him very badly indeed. The way he was sitting: a booted ankle on one knee, his thumbs hooked in the belt low on his hips, made me wonder for a moment if he was straight, but then I thought, duh, of course he’s gay – he’s wearing rubber jeans and sitting in a gay leather club.

I tore my eyes from his bulge and looked further up. A symmetrical face with wide-set blue eyes. His thick, jet-black hair was about an inch long, and every hair seemed to be sticking straight out straight from his head at right angles as though he was being electrocuted. It looked like some kind of furry crash helmet. I know this doesn’t sound very attractive, but believe me, the effect was stunning. A small tattoo snaked its way from under the collar of his jacket up the side of his neck, and one of his eyebrows was pierced with a silver ring. I wanted him even more – and I prayed that he was top.

I stood in front of him, lowered my eyes respectfully and offered him the end of the chain attached to the collar around my neck. He looked up at me and a lopsided smile appeared on his face. He didn’t move, or say anything, but I wasn’t about to give up. I continued to stand there with my hand out, the end of the lead in it.

“You want to go with me?” He asked. He had a slight Edinburgh accent.

I nodded. “Yes Sir. Very much, Sir.”

He considered this for a moment. “But you have no idea what I’m into,” he said. He pushed my hand down gently.

I couldn’t keep silent. “I don’t care Sir!”

He shook his head slowly. “No ’Sir’. I don’t do slaves.” He looked me up and down. “You fancy me, then?”

“Oh fuck yes!”

His smile grew slightly and he gazed at me for a while.

“Are you ticklish…?”

That caught me by surprise. Ticklish? I hadn’t been tickled since I was a kid, but it brought back a memory of once being tormented by a boy at school. “I don’t know. I haven’t been tickled for a long time.” I just managed to stop myself calling him ‘Sir’ again.

He ran his tongue over his lips. “I will tickle you. You still want to go with me?”

If he’d told me that intended to castrate me I’d still have wanted to go with him. “Oh fuck yes,” I whispered longingly. “Please.”

He stood there looking at me for a while, as if trying to decide if I was what he wanted. “Come on then,” he said at last.


He took me straight into the bedroom, and pulled me close to him. “Put your hands on your head.”

I did so, interlocking my fingers.

“Keep absolutely still,” he said. “Do not move.” Then, staring into my eyes, and with his lips almost touching mine, he slid his hands up slowly under my tee shirt to my armpits. As soon as he touched me my body jerked – more, I think, in uncertainty than anything else - but when they got to the centre of my pits I lasted perhaps two seconds – and then I clamped my arms tight to my sides to stop him. Fuck, that only made it tickle more.

His smile increased a lot and he slowly pulled his hands out. “Hmm...”

The end of the bedroom was covered by a curtain. He pulled it aside and there was a restraint frame standing there. The top half was like a crucifixion cross, but at the lower end of the vertical wooden beam it divided into two and became small, long platforms to kneel on.

“Take your clothes off, then get on.”

He buckled leather cuffs around my wrists and attached them to the horizontal beam, then strapped my calves and ankles to the platforms with my feet dangling over the ends. I felt very vulnerable but this boy was so fucking hot that I’d willingly let him do anything he felt like. I desperately wanted to kiss him, to lick his boots – in fact to lick him all over - to feel the studs on his leather jacket and belt, and to inspect that bulge in those skintight rubber bleachers very closely indeed. Just looking at him had got my cock so hard that it hurt.

He was standing directly in front of me, his lips almost touching mine again. I tried to kiss him but every time I did, he moved back, and smiled teasingly at me. Then he began to explore my body systematically. He started at my wrists and moved along my arms. His fingertips lingered at my armpits for a while, then continued to my shoulders, all around my pecs, down my chest to my abs and my navel, across my ribs, into my sides, over my hips, thighs, and knees.

For some reason I hadn’t reacted as much this time when he’d got to my armpits, but that didn’t seem to bother him. This very light stroking was dead erotic, but from the way he looked I’d have guessed he’d be into more aggressive stuff: fucking, tit work, whatever. His fingers were on the sides of my pecs just then, and he hit a spot that suddenly tickled like fuck. When he saw this, he pressed harder, probing with his fingers and exploring carefully all around it. It was as if he was looking for something. That was unbearable. I tore at the restraints, did everything I could to get away from those fingers, but I was helpless. I’d guessed that I might be ticklish, but for fuck’s sake not this bad!

I’d forgotten just how insidious tickling is – it’s not pain, nothing like pain – but it’s every bit as impossible to stand. The feeling had a strong element of acute pleasure in it – which was reinforced by the fact that it was this hot boy who was doing it - but at the same time it was unbearable.

He found a few places that made me writhe, but it was when he walked around behind the frame and started on my feet that I lost it completely. His fingers raked over the soles and I couldn’t even begin to stand that. I’d had no idea that my feet were as incapacitating a weakness as they apparently were. His sexy smile widened, and he spent a great deal of time experimenting with different techniques and exploring the heels, arches, toes. I screamed, I begged, I pleaded, I swore, but nothing I did made the slightest difference to what he did – the slightest, tiny movement of his fingers made me convulse uncontrollably. I laughed like a mad thing.

His hands were back on the soles now – he’d discovered that they were my nemesis. He kept his hands there, but slowed his fingers until he’d got me back to that point where I was just, barely, able to stand it. “Concentrate. Control yourself. Will yourself not to react,” he whispered.

It was no good. I tried. I cursed, and did everything I could to force myself not to be ticklish, but it made not the slightest difference: with the tiniest movement of his fingers I lost it again and screamed. He found a leather gag and strapped it onto me. I was sweating. I would never have believed how compelling the need to get away from tickling could be. Whichever foot he was working on jerked violently from side to side in the restraints, and when he did both at the same time I thought I would pass out. I’d read that in times gone by, goats had actually been used to lick soles as a torture and, at that moment, I could well believe it.

Finally he stopped. He nodded, as if he was satisfied, as if he’d found what he wanted. The boy stood in front of me again and looked at me, a thumb hooked in his studded belt, the fingers stroking idly over a bulge that was twice the size that it had been in the club. The rubber bleachers were smooth and skintight over his thighs and legs right down to the black leather New Rocks. My own cock had softened a lot from the unbearable torture, but he smiled as he looked at it; that seemed to please him for some reason.

He took me down from the frame and removed the gag, then he lay me on the bed and cuffed my wrists to the top corners of it. I got very worried indeed when he found a pair of foot stocks and locked my feet into them. He fixed the stocks to the bottom of the bed frame, and by the time he’d finished I could move my feet very little indeed. I got even more worried when he spread lube onto my bare soles.

After wiping his hands on a tissue to stood there looking down at me for a minute, then he slowly lowered himself on top of me. I forgot about my feet completely and moaned with pleasure as I felt his leather jacket and rubber jeans against my skin. My cock was crushed under his bulge.

He seemed to like kiss-teasing me, because he moved his face close – his breath smelled of cherries – and smiling that sexy smile, he brushed his lips lightly over mine. He ran his tongue over my teeth and my own tongue came out to meet it – but every time I tried to kiss him properly he grinned and moved back out of reach. It was infuriating and very frustrating.

His hands went to my armpits and just rested there motionless. With his weight holding me down and my hands securely cuffed to the bed – and after what he’d done to me earlier on the frame – I seemed to have got a lot more ticklish generally: I was already on the edge of convulsing, because I just knew that if he so much as moved his fingers it would have me screaming again.

Then he worked on them. He did it slowly, hovering around that point where he knew I would lose it. It was like balancing a pencil by its point on your finger: for a moment everything was fine – and then suddenly, heart-stoppingly, it would tip wildly and chaotically before being rescued again. He was playing with my ability to control myself, and he was fucking good at it. I would jerk and bounce under him on the bed as he took me over that point, yelling in panic, then relax a bit as he backed off, only to be forced again into hysterics a moment later. And he was exerting no effort at all; the whole time his blue eyes were gazing steadily into mine, watching me fighting with myself – I was going to say dispassionately, but that’s wrong; he was very interested in my reactions indeed. And I could feel his cock jerking in his jeans while he was doing it.

“You fancy me?”

I nodded violently and groaned in the affirmative.

“What would you like to do to me? Kiss me?”

“Pleease…”

His fingers were still playing at my armpits, but slowly now. The strange thing was that when it wasn’t making me scream with ticklishness, it was turning me on like crazy.

“Lick my leather jacket?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

“Feel my bulge? Run your fingers through my hair? Make me cum, perhaps?”

I was nodding so hard it felt like my head would fall off. “YES! PLEASE!”

“Want me to fuck you? Or want to fuck me? Get me tied up helpless? Rape me?”

I closed my eyes, imagining all of those things. My neck was aching from the nodding.

“These jeans have a back zip. You could fuck me in them. Push your hard cock in and feel these skintight rubber jeans against your balls with every stroke…”

I was going cross-eyed with need.

“But you can’t. You’re helpless.” He grinned. “And you’re ticklish…” He jabbed the ends of his fingers into my sides sharply, just once, to underline the point. I jerked like an electric shock had gone through me. It seemed like my entire damn body was ticklish now. How the fuck was he doing this? I’ve been tied up and strapped down countless times, but I’d never in my life felt as totally helpless as I did then.

He got off me. I watched the boy as he picked up a feather. He brought it close and and touched it to my cock – which was as hard as a rock again. It teased along its length, lingering on the head. I gasped. This was an entirely different kind of tickling – and I did not want this to stop. Ever.

I let out a moan of frustration as the feather left my cock – and then it started teasing my balls. I thrashed about in the restraints. That tickled like fuck, but it was also excruciatingly horny. The feather worked on my balls for a while, occasionally diverting to the insides of my thighs, right at the top, before coming back to them.

Then he poured some lube onto my cock shaft, gripped it firmly with the fingers of one hand, and began wanking it slowly. The feather returned to the un-lubed head, tickling it and teasing it. Oh fuck, the combination of those two things together was almost more than I could take – it made me need to cum so fucking badly.

I’d thought I wanted to cum badly then, but after half an hour of working on me just like that - one hand slowly wanking the shaft of my cock while the feather tickled and teased the head at the same time - I was absolutely out of my mind with need. And every time I got close, he stopped. I have never known frustration as unbearable as that. Oh God I needed to cum.

He put the feather down, moved back and stood looking at me, that sexy smile on his lips, one hand stroking his leather jacket, the other playing slowly with his hard cock through his rubber bleachers. I knew that he was intentionally trying to make me want him as much as he possibly could – and it was fucking working. I wanted him more at that moment than I had done since I’d first set eyes on him. I was a concentrated ball of spunk – and I needed release so badly I would have promised him anything, just to cum. “Pleeeease...” I moaned helplessly.

He picked up some small things and pushed them onto the ends of his fingers. I frowned – they were shiny metal, and sharply pointed. They turned his hands into claws. For a moment I was worried – what the fuck was he going to do with those? Then he knelt down on my left-hand side, leant over and took my cock head into his warm, wet mouth, pulling it down towards him. His lips didn’t move, just stayed there. My eyes were wide with urgent longing as I looked at him, this sexy boy with fuzzy black hair in a shiny leather jacket and skintight, bulging rubber bleachers with my cock between his lips. Then I almost passed out as I felt his tongue swirl slowly over the head. I was already so horny that I felt myself getting ready to cum immediately.

The instant I felt orgasm approaching, I screamed as he raked those sharp, pointed claws quickly and lightly over the sole of my left foot. I can not describe how intense that was. What he’d done to my feet earlier, when I’d been on the restraint frame, had been bad enough – but this was orders of magnitude worse than that. There was no way I could even begin to cope with this. I threw back my head and screamed as the metal points slid on the film of lube over my bare sole. It was excruciating. I screamed and struggled like fuck to get away from it, but the stocks held my feet immobile, preventing anything like enough movement for me to do that. There was absolutely nothing I could do to escape that pure, unadulterated torture. The unbearable tickling overwhelmed me completely, and it aborted the impending orgasm instantly, forcing me back away from the edge abruptly and immediately with the force of a battering ram.

Then his fingers stopped and he slowly sucked my cock very slowly all the way down to the base, returning just as slowly. He did it again, and it only took those two double movements and I was back on the edge. But I screamed as the sharp points of the claws raked over the soft, slippery skin of my sole, again making it impossible for me to cum.

I couldn’t stand this. I couldn’t stand the unbearable tickling, and I couldn’t stand needing orgasm so much. The hottest boy I had seen for a long time had got me tied down and was sucking my cock. But every time I got right to the edge he tickle-tortured me so that I couldn’t fucking cum.

All I had to do, I thought in desperation, was control my reactions to the tickling. Ignore it. It wasn’t there. But I couldn’t. Every fucking time it got me. I could not control myself. It was too intense. I just couldn’t stand it. By sucking my cock and working on my foot like that he was controlling me perfectly, forcing me to go from one extreme: the very brink of orgasm - to the other: absolute panic as he raked those fucking claws over my sole. I understood why he’d put me on the frame earlier: he’d been searching for the one thing I couldn’t take. And the bastard had found it.

Every now and then he would get up, lean over me and tease me with his lips, brushing them lightly over mine - but he wouldn’t fucking let me kiss him. His sexy blue eyes and that fuzzy black hair filled my field of vision and I wanted him more than I’d wanted anything in my life. Except to be able to cum. Then, when he got off, he’d go to the other side and work on the other foot. This never let me get used to it – if that were even possible – or allowed a sole to desensitise. And each time he started on the other foot I almost wet myself – it was like a completely new, different torture. And the effects of the edging were getting worse and worse too – I’d have sold my fucking soul for orgasm.

I realised that one of the things that was turning me on like crazy was the thought that he had explored my body, purposely looking for something that he could use to control me – something that would be so intense that it would instantly stop me from being able to cum. The boy had clearly done this kind of thing before.

I have no idea how long this went on, it must have been well over an hour.


Suddenly, he stood up, yanked me free of the restraints, pulled me off the bed and took my place on it, lying face down with his round rubber arse slightly raised. I lost control. I could no longer stand it. I dived onto him. I wasn’t fucking restrained any longer, so I wrenched the arse zip in his jeans down, and rammed my cock – which was swimming in precum and still wet from his mouth – deep into him. I reached underneath, grabbed his own cock through the rubber jeans, and buried my face in the back of his leather jacket as I fucked that boy like a piston and wanked him off hard and fast at the same time.

I wanted to make it last, but I was so horny that I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I managed to control myself for about ten seconds, fucking that boy harder than I’d ever fucked anyone before. I was like a wild thing - my cock jack-hammering into him. Far too soon I shot my spunk and as I did so his cock exploded in his rubber jeans. I felt it jerking madly under my milking hand. It was a cataclysmic orgasm. I rammed into him up to my balls and crushed him under me as my cock throbbed and jerked inside him.

I collapsed onto his back.

When I’d recovered, I rolled off to the side, still panting. He leaned up, then pulled my head gently towards him and kissed me slowly, this time properly.


I’ve been with him many times now. The thing he wants more than anything is to be fucked hard, by a guy who is so desperately horny that he’s more animal than human. He doesn’t care if it’s over very quickly – it’s the intensity he’s after. And I knew now exactly how he gets guys that way: by edging them to insanity, and stopping them from cumming by tickle-torturing them – after first having explored their bodies to find out what spots will do that most devastatingly effectively. Edging, controlled by tickling; that is a shattering combination.

I needed that boy so much that I desperately wanted to move in with him. He smiled and shook his head. “You’d never last. I’d kill you. I get more sadistic every time.”

I can vouch for that. The second session was worse – he discovered that my armpits could be made every bit as effective as my feet, and he used those as well - and the later ones were worse still. After the latest session (my sides were now added to the growing list) I didn’t go out for a week; even the thought of his lubed, rubber-gloved fingers sliding off my bottom ribs made me need to curl up into a tight ball.

I’ve had it. I don’t think I can take any more. I’ve reached the end. I’m a nervous wreck. I’ve only got to think about him and my body vibrates with horrifying ticklishness. It’s unbearable. I can’t do it again. It’s much, much too much.

I’m going to the club tonight.

Please, God, let him be there.