Spike pulled at the restraints on the table as the electrostim machine pulsed, delivering volts to his cock and balls. It was almost pure pain, but his cock was as hard as steel as it jerked under the electrodes. He licked the black leather on the inside of the hood it made him feel so fucking vulnerable, and the pressure of it pulled tight over his face, keeping him in helpless, blind isolation, made the pain even more intense, and even more horny.
The session so far had been one of the very best he could remember. Over the last three hours he’d been fucked, sucked, breath-controlled, sounded, stomped with biker boots, had his arse beaten and his nipples tortured and it had been fucking wonderful but he hadn’t been allowed to cum, and he was as horny as hell.
In spite of all this, Spike was very nervous. The top he was with was one of the best around, but he knew that this guy’s favourite thing the torture he specialised in and was known for - was something he didn’t think he’d be able to take. Spike could endure almost anything, but he wasn’t at all sure about that. He’d thought long and hard before coming to see Master Phil, knowing that it was a risk, but the opportunity to have all the other things done to him by an expert, in a very well-equipped dungeon, had been too enticing to pass up. Time was getting on now, it must be approaching the end of the session, he thought, and it looked like he was going to get away without having to go through it. He crossed his fingers inside the thick leather mitts as his body continued to jerk on the table.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the shocks finally stopped and the electrodes were removed. Leather-gloved hands came to rest on his hips.
“It’s half-past eleven and we’d better think about winding things up before long,” said Phil. “But there’s one more thing I want to do to you.”
Spike’s head moved from side to side. No…
The fingers at his hips moved to just above the protruding bones and pressed gently. They moved slowly.
Phil was pressing lightly, and he was hardly moving his fingers and yet Spike convulsed in his restraints. He gave an urgent, terrified grunt into the hood. Oh fuck that tickled! It wasn’t pain, but it was acute and totally impossible for his brain to ignore. He couldn’t stop himself from jerking his body, desperately trying to get away from those fingers. They were in the precise spots that were the most unbearable. Spike knew that if the man pressed harder or moved them faster he would probably wet himself.
Phil continued to move them slowly. “Hmm. You’re a very ticklish boy, aren’t you...”
For fuck’s sake don’t react! Don’t let him know just how ticklish you are! DON’T!! Spike fought to get himself back under control, but it was impossible. It was as if the fingers were bypassing his conscious control completely - he just couldn’t keep still.
The hands moved to Spike’s armpits and that was every bit as bad. The boy screamed into the leather hood as they stroked gently and teasingly. Now they were on his feet: one holding his left foot immobile while stiff, pointed things raked lightly over the sole. Spike shrieked. He couldn’t stand it! He was not in the habit of begging in fact he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so but this was very different. “NO. PLEASE. DON’T,” He panted in breathless panic. “PLEASE SIR DO ANYTHING ELSE TO ME BUT NOT THAT! REALLY, SIR. I CAN’T TAKE THAT! PLEASE, I BEG YOU SIR!” At least that was what he’d tried to say. What had actually come out had been a stream of unintelligible screams and yells interspersed with hysterical, manic shrieks of laughter.
Despite this, his cock was as hard as it had ever been. Although being tickle tortured was something he dreaded more than anything else, the thought of having something done to him by a top who’d made it his life’s work to find ways of making it as unbearable for a boy as he could - while he was being held so completely helpless, so vulnerable, and so unable to do a single fucking thing about it, was turning him on more than he would have thought possible.
The fingers moved to just above his knees, and squeezed the muscles there just once. Again, Spike gave vent to an ear-splitting scream.
The squeezing stopped, and a soft chuckle came from above the table. “That was nothing, boy. Nothing. That was gentle caressing. I am capable of much, much worse than that, believe me. You have no idea.”
Spike swallowed; he was worryingly sure that this was true.
The voice got closer to the boy’s hooded head and became a whisper. At the same time a leather-gloved hand wrapped itself around his cock and began to tease the head lightly. “I am going to torture you for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of hard, merciless, sadistic tickle-torture. You will not be able to stand it. I will make very sure of that. You will wish that you could faint but I won’t let you faint. The torture is going to happen anyway. It is not negotiable. It is going to happen.”
Spike was shaking his head from side to side and whimpering. “Please don’t... Please, Sir...”
The leather fingers were teasing over the boy’s cock head, stroking it gently.
“Now, in spite of the fact that that is going to happen, you have a choice.”
Spike’s head froze. A choice? Perhaps there was hope after all.
“The choice you have is whether I torture you now, and then you cum afterwards - or whether you cum now, and then I torture you.”
Spike raised his head immediately to beg to be tickled first the thought of torture just after he’d cum was horrifying: his body would be a hundred times more sensitive than it was already, and he would no longer have the extreme horniness that might have helped, at least partly, to make it a turn-on and carry him through it. God, that did not bear even thinking about! If he was going to be tortured, it had to be before he came!
“Shh. I don’t want you to answer now. I want you to think about it for a couple of minutes.” A gagging hand pressed over Spike’s hooded mouth and gently pushed his head back onto the table. The fingers continued to tease lightly over the boy’s cock head.
Spike knew that he wasn’t far away from cumming. He gasped. “Oh fuck, please do it now, not after!” But the words were muffled into silence by the hood under Phil’s gloved hand.
Spike was almost crying. He could feel himself getting closer by the second. He needed to tell Phil that he wanted to cum afterwards, and he needed to stop those fingers on his cock now! But he was gagged and couldn’t fucking communicate!
Phil didn’t let him speak, and Phil didn’t stop. His fingertips stroked slowly and lovingly over the horny cock, right on the head where he knew it would make the boy need to cum most of all.
Oh shit that felt so good. He was panting. He was so close. He jerked his head to the side, desperately trying to control himself. He must not cum now. He wrenched at the restraints to get a hand free but they held him helpless. He moved his hips to get away from the teasing fingers but they easily followed him, stroking and tickling his cock head. He was so horny he could scream.
“Another thirty seconds and you can give me your answer.”
The leather-gloved fingers slid smoothly on the film of precum, round and round the ridge, up to the very tip and back again, and over the boy’s sweetest spot his frenulum. Every time they touched him there a sharp, spiky shock of pure pleasure coursed through him.
And of course Phil noticed. He moved his fingertip and focussed it now just on that one spot, stroking, stroking, stroking…
Spike’s face was screwed up under the hood. He was concentrating like never before. He needed to cum so fucking badly - he was getting closer by the second that fingertip on his frenulum was so gently but so irresistibly pushing him nearer and nearer to the point of no return and there was nothing he could do to stop it…
The stroking got even lighter; the fingertip was hardly touching him now.
“Twenty seconds. Think very carefully about which you want, boy.”
Then the finger was gone and was replaced by the tip of a feather. It teased and tickled over his cock head…
No! Oh fuck! That was unfair! A fucking feather! Normally a feather on his cock would stand no chance of making him cum, but Spike was right on the very edge of orgasm itself. It tickled and teased and stroked over the most sensitive spot on his body, encouraging him to lose control.
Suddenly, in a flash, everything came together: the restraints, his helplessness, the tight black leather hood gagging him and blindfolding him, the sheer devilish unfairness of the bastard stroking the feather just over that spot. Every muscle in the boy’s body tensed; he stopped breathing…
The world froze...
And he lost it. He let out a deafening scream as he began to cum under the fiendish teasing of the feather on his frenulum. His cock erupted, jerking madly as a stream of spunk jetted out into the air. Gob after gob of pearly while jism arced over the table, soaking the feather and landing on his legs, the table, on Phil’s leather jeans, on the floor. His hips thrust madly, fucking the feather, and his body vibrated in the restraints as he continued to cum and cum. All the time the feather carried on stroking over his cock head, pulling every last drop of spunk out of him as efficiently as a vacuum pump and because it was so slow and so gentle, his ejaculation seemed to go on forever.
Spike collapsed back onto the padded leather and the mind-shattering ecstasy of that monumental orgasm was replaced by the horror of knowing what was coming now. He knew without any doubt that at that moment his body was more sensitive, more unbearably vulnerable - more horrifyingly ticklish - than it had even been in his life. He prayed that Phil would take pity on him and not go through with it.
Any hopes he’d had were dashed as he heard the man change his leather gloves for rubber ones, and then felt lube stream onto his body. Smooth, slippery rubber fingers spread it over his sides, over his ribs, over his armpits, his abs, his thighs, his knees and the soles of his feet - the very places that were the most unbearably ticklish of all on a helpless boy. The fingers weren’t even trying to torture him yet, but still Spike gasped and writhed uncontrollably under their touch even that tickled too much to bear.
“You made your choice, I see. And you only had one second left.” Phil sighed with deep satisfaction.
Spike, his face a mask of terror under the blindfolding hood, whimpered in frantic dread into the black leather. He knew he would go insane. There was no way on Earth he was going to be able to stand this.
He screamed as rubber gloved hands touched his sides. The thumbs moved to find the precise spots the spots that the sadist had found, on countless screaming victims in the past, to be the most vulnerable, the most unbearable, the most impossible for a boy to take. Having found the positions, they rested there for a moment, not moving.
Spike gulped in a deep breath, his body shivering in dreadful anticipation.
And the torture began.