The Telemachus Story Archive

Justice for Jason
By Hooder

Jason knelt behind the piano, peering round the end. He'd been there for some time and his knees were hurting, but he daren't move a muscle.

Every Tuesday afternoon, immediately after his own gym class had finished, he sneaked back from the changing room and squeezed himself behind the rosewood upright. There, squashed tightly behind the back of the instrument and the wall, he waited silently for the fifth-form girls to come in for their unsupervised handball session.

There was just enough room for his slim body in the space, and kneeling on all fours like this was the only position he could watch the girls as they played. He'd been doing it every week for the last couple of months, and crawled out afterwards - when the girls had gone - with a hard-on which he took care of in the now-deserted changing room. It was the highlight of his week.

He knelt and watched, squeezing his thighs tight together rhythmically and very carefully moving his hips to get what little friction he could on the end of his cock from the loose cotton gym shorts which, apart from his socks, was all he wore. There was no way he could get his hand to his cock - he'd tried twice, on the first and second times he'd hidden there, but both attempts had proved impossible in the small space and had threatened to make noises which would have blown his cover.

Suddenly he froze in terror - he felt the unmistakable onset of a sneeze. In desperation, he clamped his eyes closed and grimaced to squeeze his nose with his upper lip. He waited for a few seconds, holding his breath, but the strategy had worked - the tickling in his nose disappeared, and the crisis was over.

With a profound sense of relief, he opened his eyes - and saw with horror the girls' ball arcing down directly towards him. It landed in the middle of his back, bounced once, rolled slightly towards his buttocks, and stopped.

He broke out in a cold sweat. Perhaps if he lifted his shoulders it would roll off and...

"Eeek!" A girl's face appeared round the end of the piano and stopped a few inches from his own. "What the fuck...?" The head disappeared. "Hey you lot - over here, quick!"

In seconds he was surrounded, and being dragged out by the heels. As soon as he was clear of the piano, the girls dived on him, holding him down by the arms and legs. Cries of outrage turned to giggling when they saw Jason's blue eyes, shaggy blond hair, slim, muscled body and his shorts pushed out into a loose pyramid at his crotch.

There was no discussion, no decision was made - but as one the girls all started tickling the boy simultaneously. Very soon it became unnecessary to hold him down - his hysterical convulsions and helpless laughter made it impossible for him even to think of escape, and with so many hands attacking his young, ticklish body from all angles, he couldn't begin to protect himself.

There were hands tickling his ribs both sides; hands forced in under his arms to tickle his pits; fingers digging mercilessly into his sides and stomach; fingers squeezing his knees, tickling the backs, tickling his calves and thighs - tickling, tickling, tickling.

Two girls pulled off his socks and went to work on his bare feet, raking their sharp nails along his sweating soles, and working their way between his toes. By unspoken agreement no-one was holding him down any more - all available hands were tickling him - following his hysterical movements as he writhed on the floor. When he curled himself tight into a ball, his arms pressed desperately to his sides, and his knees drawn up to his chest, they tickled his feet and thighs. When, not being able to stand that, he flipped over onto his stomach to get away from the unbearable tickling, they worked on his sides, and the backs of his legs. This would make him turn over again - where they could get at his ribs, stomach, and armpits. Wherever the poor boy threw himself, hands searched out his most ticklish places, working themselves into all nooks and crannies, and tickled.

As he rolled over onto his back this time, the girls squealed with delight - there was a wet patch of pre-cum on his white shorts. The tickling continued. It went on and on and on.

Then one girl - a brunette with particularly well-developed breasts for her age - slipped her hand up his shorts, grabbed his cock, and pulled it out of the leg. The girls screamed with delight - for many it was the first cock they'd ever seen, and this one was rock-hard and dripping. With slow, deliberate strokes, she began to jerk him off. The girls' giggling rose to a crescendo and Jason, in a paroxysm of ticklishness, and yelling his head off, shot his load. It arced up and fell, splashing all over the brunette's hand, his own legs, and a good deal went on the floor.

"That's what we do to boys who sneak in here." said the brunette, wiping her hands on his shorts. The girls let him go and, laughing, retrieved their ball.

Jason pushed himself up, put his cock back inside his shorts, and limped out of the room, his face as red as beetroot.

As he disappeared, several of the girls adjusted their panties - it was uncomfortable playing handball with wet knickers.

The End