Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an140567@anon.penet.fi (Ethan Gardner)
Date: Tue,  1 Nov 1994 17:38:15 UTC
Subject: The Intruder (m/m, noncons, tickling)

The following story contains male/male nonconsensual sex.  If this 
is not your cup of tea, hit n now.


THE INTRUDER, part one
By Captain Spalding

     I came back early from vacation in the Bahamas to find my house 
in disarray.  Someone had ransacked the kitchen looking for the good 
silver.  Moving on to my office, I discovered that, not only had 
someone gone through my files, he had also destroyed most of my computer 
disks, ruining weeks of work.  "Fuck," I thought.  "If I ever get 
my hands on the motherfucker who did this..."
     I found I had spoken too soon.  I heard a noise from the living 
room, and for the first time I realized I might not be alone in the 
house.  I hunted for the gun I keep hidden in a philosophy book on 
the corner of the shelf in my office.  Fortunately, it was undisturbed.
I crept to the door of the room.  Edging out, into the dining room, 
toward the living room, I realized that I could see my intruder through 
the open doorway.  He had his back to me, and he must not have heard 
me, as he continued to pore through my china cabinet, breaking dishes 
as he went.
     He did not appear to be armed, but I didn't want to take any 
chances.  Unfortunately, if I wanted to get to a telephone, I would 
have to pass him, and if I tried to leave the house, I risked discovery.
     "Freeze!"  I yelled, in my best vice cop imitation.  My attacker 
froze, and how.  
     "Don't shoot!" he yelled, still facing the opposite direction.
     "Put your hands over your head," I told him.  Slowly, he did 
so.  He wasn't carrying a gun.  "Turn around slowly."  This he also 
did.
     I saw that my burglar was young, very young, no more than twenty, 
it seemed, and quite handsome.  He was dressed simply in a nondescript 
black sweatshirt and blue jeans.  He had short blonde hair and a 
dark tan.  
     I wanted to subdue him before I contacted the authorities.  
Without thinking, I said, "I want you to go through that doorway."
     I was directing him to my bedroom.  
     "Lay down on your back."  This he also complied with.  When 
he tried to talk, I yelled, "Shut up."
     Not everyone has strong nylon rope in their bedroom, but I do. 
Soon, the intruder was securely fastened, his hands bound together 
and tied to the headboard, and each foot tied to a bedpost at the 
corner of the bed.  
     "Don't go anyplace," I warned him.  He really had no choice.
     I thoroughly searched the rest of the house.  There was no one else
to be found.  And except for a few smashed antiques, I had seen the extent
of the damage.  I returned to the bedroom.  
     It was at this point that I decided to take matters into my own hands.
     "So," I said, pulling up a chair next to the burglar, "what's your
name?"  He just stared at me for a moment.  I slapped him.
     "Eric," he said.
     "So, Eric, what brings you to this neck of the woods?" I asked.
     "Look, Mr., I needed the money, that's the only reason I was robbing
you..."
     "Fuck you, Eric.  You had no right to break into my house.  On top 
of that, you vandalized my property.  Explain yourself."
     "I wanted to make it look like it was just some chance break-in."
     "It wasn't?"
     "No, I've been staking your place out for a while."
     "Why?  Why did you do this?  You don't lool like the average 
criminal," I said.
     "I'm not," he replied, "but I needed money fast.  I've got this 
friend, he can get me in on the ground floor of this new company.  Real
good investment.  This was the quickest way I could come up with cash."
     "Burglary isn't a wise business decision for someone so young...  How
old are you, Eric?"
     "Twenty-one."
     "Christ.  Twenty-one.  Well, I'm hungry.  I'll see you later."
     I returned in two hours to hear Eric pleading with me.
     "Mr., I haven't gone to the bathroom in a long time.  I really gotta take
a piss.  Can you let me go?  Please?"
     "Not a chance," I said, "but we'll see what we can do."  I had gotten
a large pair of shears.  "You're gonna be spending some time here.  Time to 
make you comfortable."  I brought the shears down close to his neck.
     "Jesus, what are you doing?!?" he asked.  I said nothing as I began to 
cut the sweatshirt away from his body.  I made a few cuts, and pulled the 
remaining strips of cloth off of his torso.  I was pleased to find that he 
had a well-developed chest and an overall excellent physique. 
     I ran a hand over his pecs.  I guessed that my little captive was a
surfer in his spare time...
     "Hey, what are you--some kind of fag?"  he asked.  I didn't respond.  
Instead, I took my shears to his jeans.  I made a cut down each leg of the 
pants, and then peeled them off of him.  He was now clad only in a pair of
tight white briefs.  
     "You said you have to take a piss?"  I repeated his statement.  I took 
a large glass from the side of the bed--it wouldn't do to have him stain 
the bedspread--and I cut the briefs off of him.
     His penis lay, shriveled and cold, in a thatch of dark blond hair.  He
was uncircumcised, and his foreskin was completely covering his glans.  I 
held the glass under his cock and said, "Okay.  Time to pee."  His breathing
had quickened with fear, and he strained as a tiny stream of urine hit the 
bottom of the glass.  "What--" I said, "--shy?"
     "I can't," he said.
     "Too bad,"  I answered.  "Maybe later...  So," I said, setting the glass
aside for now and taking his shaft into my hand,  "what are we gonna do today?"
I slid his foreskin back and forth over the head of his cock.
     "Hey, come on, stop that," he begged.
     "Stop it?" I asked, gently running my thumb over the sensitive underside
of his cock head, "I think you're enjoying it."  His dick was, in fact, 
beginning to grow.  I tickled his balls with my other hand and slowly, 
carefully massaged him to full erection.  His dick was cute, to be sure, but
for a boy with a body this great, not that impressive in size.  
     "You're not very well hung," I commented.  
     "Hey, come one," he said pleadingly.  "Cut it out.  I didn't mean to 
steal your shit.  It was wrong.  It was a big mistake.  I'm sorry."  He was 
sort of starting to babble.  I manipulated his skin more vigorously.
     "You're sure it doesn't get any bigger?" I joked.  It was, all told, 
about five inches in length.  I changed the pace of my masturbation again.
I could tell he was trying not to come, but I also sensed that he was getting  
close.
     After a few minutes, when it seemed he was about to explode, I increased 
my furious pace, his entire body tensed in anticipation--and I stopped.
    "Hey!" he said.
    "Hey?  What are you, some kind of fag?"  I repeated his words.  The I 
took his prepuce in my hand and shucked his cock until he blew his load all
over his abdomen.
     I watched his penis shrink back (even smaller) to its normal, soft state,
and thought about what else I had in store for young Eric...


Subject: The Intruder, (M/M, Tickling), 3 of 7
From: featherfan@aol.com (FeatherFan)
Date: 16 Oct 1994 09:48:04 -0400

Another Rude Awakening
      
      5:16?  I stared at the clock somewhat in disbelief.
 But this is Saturday, I thought to myself.  And then I heard
 that awful noise again, the stranger lying in the bed beside
 me was snoring loudly, deep asleep again.  I normally can
 sleep through the night, often without waking once.  And now
 this was twice I'd been awakened in the same night.  "That
 does it," I decided, "time for some snore prevention."  Poor
 guy.  Although he HAD been warned.
      Grabbing the feather from the headboard, I slid my body
 to the foot of the bed this time, my feet laying at my
 pillow.  Propping my head on one elbow, I used my free hand
 to gingerly lift the blanket covering my prisoner's feet.  I
 moved the end over his toes and laid it resting on his
 ankles, leaving his bare feet exposed and vulnerable to the
 early morning air.  My heart started beating fast as I
 exchanged glances between those beautiful size-11 feet and
 my handsome prisoner's face, peaceful and deep in sleep,
 completely unaware and unprepared for another tortuous
 tickling assault on his tender and sexy soles.
      Alot of people's feet aren't quite sensitive enough
 that the touches of a single feather are enough to break
 down their defenses.  But something told me this guy was
 different, so hyper sensitive that I could probably produce
 a reaction just by blowing on them!  As I stared at his feet
 contemplating my plan of attack, one of his feet jumped and
 his toes wriggled.  I shot a glance back at his head to see
 if he was waking up.  But it must have been a dream for he
 remained soundly sleeping.  Now I was about to turn his
 dream into a nightmare.  I reached my hand down to massage
 my rock hard dick as I grew more excited by the raw power at
 my disposal.
      I slowly lowered the tip of the feather to the bottom
 of his foot until it touched.  I began dragging the feather
 up and down the delicate skin of his sole, twisting the
 barbs around to keep the maximum feather surface in contact
 with his skin.  His foot writhed reflexively, his toes
 wiggling, yet he remained asleep.  I brought my dagger up
 his foot to his toes where I scraped it back and forth along
 the ridge connecting his toes to his foot.  He giggled
 softly and moaned in his sleep but his stubborn mind refused
 to release him from the dream, forcing him to endure
 prolonged tickling sensations on his weakest spot.
      I was surprised that a full minute of feather torture
 on both of his naked, ticklish soles pushed him only to
 murmuring and quiet giggles.  I'm sure that were he awake,
 his reactions would be quite different.  I decided to try a
 little more aggressive techniques.  Placing the handle of
 the feather between his big and second toe, I pulled up on
 the shaft of the feather dragging it through the opening
 between his toes, each tentacle scraping against the
 underneath side of each toe and then springing free on the
 other side so that it tickled the top of each toe for good
 measure.  His foot squirmed anxiously at the touches and he
 snorted with laughter.
      I repeated this action with his other foot.  This
 seemed to be more effective at waking him.  So as he began
 to awake, I returned the feather to the bottom of his feet
 and scraped up and down his sole with the dozens of
 diabolical tentacles.  His whole body began to twist and
 move in reaction to the tickling assault on his feet.  He
 laughed out loud now but still wasn't quite alert.
      "Hey, cut that out man!" he whimpered.  But I kept up
 the slow, agonizing strokes up and down his feet, my head
 nonchalantly propped on my hand and gazing at his face
 watching earnestly for that moment of reality to hit him.
 Suddenly he came to with a jerk.  He began pulling at his
 ropes and laughing hysterically.  I kept up a steady,
 deliberate pace with the feather, like I was painting the
 bottom of his foot with the feather.
      "Awe, come on!" he pleaded between laughs.  Then it hit
 him why I was tickling him.  "Look, I'm sorry!"  I kept
 tickling.  "I'm sorry I was snoring."  No relief.  "Please,
 I won't snore again."  More tickling.  His face was looking
 more and more pitiful, his eyes pleading with mine.  "Oh
 please, stop.  Stop ti-i-ickling my f-f-feet.  Ple-e-e-
 ease!" he begged, now roaring with laughter.
      "Look, I warned you," I argued, "that's twice tonight,
 and I told you I'd be more determined this time to teach you
 a lesson."  I continued stroking the feather with a
 nonchalant attitude, as though I was just fulfilling an
 obligation.  My outer cool masked my inner excitement and
 disbelief at how incredibly sensitive this guy was, a single
 feather driving him insane and turning him into a babbling
 idiot!  I increased the pace a little, causing him to laugh
 even harder.
      "You promise you won't snore anymore?"  I asked.
      "Y-YES!" he yelled.  "I won't!  I promise!  Just sto-o-
 o-op, please!"  I stopped tickling for a moment, his
 laughter dying down, a look of relief in his eyes.
      "Oh, I don't know," I pondered, "I don't know if I can
 trust you."  I moved the feather back to his sole touching
 it against his skin.
      "YES you can!" he cried out desperately.  "I promise.
 Aeeah!"  he cried out as I started the feather moving again,
 obviously not convinced by his coerced commitments.
      "Let me leave you with this warning--no more.
 Understand?"  I pressed the feather firmly against his foot
 and stroked it up his skin.
      "Yes, yes!" he laughed.  I withdrew the feather and
 slid back up the bed.  He was breathing heavily trying to
 catch his breath after my attack.  I could tell that had
 been pretty intense for him.  I was beginning to feel sorry
 for this guy, his attitude having done an about face, his
 sad blue eyes pleading for mercy.
      "Man, you have about the most goddamn ticklish feet
 I've ever seen!" I commented.  "You must have been a
 constant target for the other kids when you were horsing
 around while growing up."
      "I was," he answered softly, sadly, "I was.  And still
 am,"  he admitted with a frank sense of humility.  My mind
 wandered for a moment fantasizing him and some buddies
 horsing around in the pool, when one of them grabs his
 ankle, holds it above water and starts tickling as he cries
 out.  I looked at my pitiful looking guest.
      "Well, we're done for now, my friend," I assured him
 softly.  "But I'm going to keep your feet uncovered as a
 reminder and warning of the next attack if I'm woken again.
 This time it won't be feathers!"  The poor guy looked
 petrified, realizing that he really couldn't prevent himself
 from snoring.  I turned over and went to sleep.  I really
 didn't expect him to be able to sleep again out of fear he'd
 snore.

an186018@anon.penet.fi


Subject: The Intruder, (M/M, Tickling), 4 of 7
From: featherfan@aol.com (FeatherFan)
Date: 16 Oct 1994 09:49:05 -0400

Ticklish Cowboys and Devilish Indians

      Fortunately for him, the next time I awoke I did so
 naturally.  The clock read 9:08 and sun streamed through the
 blinds.  I looked over at my sleeping beauty, his face
 serene and slumbering.  My eyes wandered down his body,
 confirming what the lamp had teased me with last night--he
 had an absolutely perfect body, muscle-bound, finely
 sculptured and adorned in soft, silky black hair.  I glanced
 down to his bare feet protruding from under the blanket.  My
 night session began coming back to me, my dick becoming hard
 fast.
      The blanket still covered his stomach so I lightly
 picked it up and dragged it down his body until his pants
 popped into sight.  His rippled stomach was moving up and
 down with each deep breath, the matte of thick hair
 glistening in the morning sunlight.  My eyes roamed back up
 to his solid, hairy chest.  I reached my hand over to his
 chest and began lightly running my finger nails through the
 lustrous hair.  I traced a random path through the thick
 coating of fur fanning out completely across his firm chest,
 around his nipples (which grew rigid from my soft touches)
 and then followed the path painted by the thick, dark line
 of hair running from the center of his chest down his
 stomach through his belly button and disappearing into his
 jeans.  I backtracked following the same path back up before
 veering off the clearly defined line, careful not to tread
 into that incredibly susceptible mine field I'd identified
 last night radiating out from either side of his belly
 button.  I continued tracing a random pattern outlining the
 thick coat of hair on his belly spraying generously out from
 the center thick line of hair, enjoying the feel of his sexy
 hairiness.  The flat shelf of his stomach, cutting a natural
 ridge down either side, also formed a natural boundary for
 the hair.
      Even though I was not trying to tickle him, the
 sensations managed to get to him and he began to stir.  I
 continued running my finger nail across his stomach.
 Feeling a little devilish, I allowed it to dip down into the
 ticklish zone around his belly button, producing a reflexive
 spasm from his flat stomach.  He jumped and his eyes opened.
      "Good morning," I greeted him softly, my finger nails
 still tracing a pattern across his belly.
      "Good mo-OR EEH-ning," he replied groggily.  Apparently
 I had hit a sensitive spot while he was answering me.  I
 lightly massaged his stomach and chest with my finger tips
 occasionally purposely dipping my fingernails into a
 ticklish spot, on his stomach, ribs or even down into his
 armpit.  He jumped and giggled with each callous dip.
      "Sleep well?" I asked.
      "Yeah," he answered grumpily, stretching his body out
 as much as his restraints permitted.  His stretches were
 continually cut short by a reactive jolt each time I hit a
 sensitive spot.  "God, my arms are sore," he complained,
 "think I could have a break, man?"
      "Well, I'm not surprised your arms are tired, the way
 you pulled at those ropes last night."  I gave his rib a
 jab, causing him to yank against the ropes and yelp like an
 injured dog.
      "C'mon, asshole!" he barked.  "Cut it out!"
      "Hmm, perhaps you've forgotten the importance of
 manners.  And who's in charge."  I twisted my fingers into
 his armpit, again causing him to twist and shout.
      "Look, O.K., you've had your fun.  You've proved that I
 am ticklish.  Ha. Ha."  His voice was sarcastic and caustic,
 obviously departing from his humble attitude earlier this
 morning.  "Please, move on to something else."
      "Oh, I don't know.  I have a feeling I've just begun to
 scratch the surface of your sensitivity.  I'd like to get to
 know you even better!"  My fingers stepped up their
 tickling, concentrating on his ultra sensitive belly.  He
 began laughing wildly, his torso twisting and moving.
      "Hey!" he managed between laughter.  "I'm warning you,
 you'd better stop.  I'm about to piss my pants!"  Now that's
 a threat I was willing to heed.  I stopped tickling.  "I
 have to go to the bathroom."
      "In a minute,"  I responded, picking up the phone
 receiver on the headboard and dialing a number.  "Hello,
 Brian?  It's me.  Listen, what would you say if I told you I
 have a gorgeous, awsomely-built hunk lying here in my bed,
 tied up and completely helpless?"
      "I'd say I'm interested," was his response.  Brian and
 I shared this passion for enforced tickling, with Brian
 sometimes even playing the victim.  And a fun one at that.
 We shared many similar preferences in our victims and I knew
 he'd love to join me in some fun.
      "And what would you say if I told you he had a
 perfectly hairy chest and stomach, as good as if not better
 than Dan's?"  Dan was Brian's favorite tickling victim,
 incredibly built with a wonderful hairy chest (also a
 favorite of Brian's) and the single most ticklish person
 he'd ever found.  Perhaps until now.
      "I'd say I'm definitely interested."
      "O.K., and how 'bout if I told you he was insanely
 ticklish, so sensitive he absolutely hated to be tickled?"
 I began scraping my finger nails on my bound victim's
 stomach, eliciting movement and a raucous laughter I was
 certain Brian could hear on his end of the line. .  "Maybe
 even more sensitive than Dan?!" I teased.
      "I'd say I'll be over in 15 minutes!"
      "C'mon over, man!  It's all true and we have some
 information to pry out of him.  Like his name, for
 starters!"  My victim's face looked ashen at the thought of
 another aggressor tickling his sensitive and vulnerable
 body.  I had maintained my gentle stroking of his belly and
 it was beginning to really get to him.  He was arching his
 back completely off the bed now, trying desperately to
 escape my dancing fingers.  He was laughing hysterically.
 "Hear that?  And wait 'til you hear his reaction when I
 tickle his feet!"
      Brian hung up anxiously.  I knew he'd waste no time in
 coming over.  I stopped tickling for fear I'd push my victim
 to piss in the bed.  Now to take care of that little
 problem.  I went into the kitchen while he regained his
 breath.  First I poured myself a frosty glass of orange
 juice.  Then I grabbed my rubber sink cleaning gloves and a
 jar with a wide rim.  Pulling the gloves on, I returned to
 the room with the other two objects.
      Sitting the empty jar down on the bedside table, I
 moved near his side reaching the glass down to his side
 until the ice cold glass touched his skin.  He jumped like
 crazy.  "Jeez, you're not tense are you?" I teased him.
 "Hmmm, then this should really get an action then."  I moved
 to the foot of the bed and despite his begging for me not
 to, I touched the glass against his bare foot, a wicked
 smile on my face.  His foot jerked so strongly that I almost
 spilled the glass of juice.  I touched it to the other foot
 observing a similar reaction.  He even giggled with each
 touch--now that's sensitive!
      Taking a big gulp and putting the glass on the night
 stand on the other side of the bed, I knelt on the bed
 beside him.  I disconnected the two ropes holding his body
 down at his knees and elbows.  Reaching my arms underneath
 his back until my hands reached the other side gripping
 around his rib cage (which of course caused him to jump), I
 gave his torso a hard yank twisting his body onto its side,
 his back now to me, his wrists and ankles still securely
 tied.  Moving to his front side, I unbuttoned the button of
 his jeans.  I teasingly pressed my palm against his zipper
 feeling the bulge underneath.  "Hmmm, that is full, isn't
 it?"  He looked very nervous, not quite sure what I was
 planning.
      His zipper opened easily revealing his cotton boxers.
 I reached in with my gloved hands opening the material until
 his enlarged cock sprang free, saluting me.  "Hmmm, very
 nice," I commented, much to his dismay.  Holding the jar up
 until the head of his cock was safely inside.  "OK, let her
 rip!"
      "You've got to be kidding!" he demanded, obviously not
 approving of my method of penile relief.  "Why don't you
 just let me go to the fuckin' bathroom?"
      "Because I have no way of making sure you won't try to
 kill me.  I can't take any chances and untie you at this
 point.  Just do it and stop arguing."
      "No fuckin' way!" he argued obstinately, trying
 desperately to protect his dignity.
      "Aw, c'mon, man!"  I was losing patience.  "It's no big
 deal, we're grown boys."  But he still refused.  Not sure
 what to do now, I glanced around and spotted the glistening
 white feather on the headboard.  I smiled and grabbed the
 feather.  Feathers are amazing tools at overcoming
 inhibitions.  "This should do the trick," I stated teasingly
 as I lowered the tip of the feather to his extended shaft
 and began stroking the feather up and down his cock.
 "Kitchy, kitchy, koo," I mocked.
      "No, c'mon, hey stop that!" he cried out desperately,
 obviously in distress trying to hold back his piss while I
 fiendishly tickled the hell out of his swollen shaft ready
 to burst.  He giggled and shook uncontrollably but finally
 couldn't hold it back any longer and burst, his piss
 shooting into the jar.  I laughed and stopped tickling him
 so he could finish his business.  He went for a long time,
 filling about a third of the jar.
      "You know," I said after he finished, "if you'd just
 stop resisting so much, you'd make it a hell of alot easier
 on yourself."  I reached in and shook his retreating dick to
 make sure all extra drops were in the jar, setting the jar
 down beside the bed.  "Is there any place on your damn body
 that isn't ticklish?" I pondered, stroking the feather up
 and down his now relaxed cock.  He started laughing and it
 began growing like Pinnochio's nose.  I dipped the tip of
 the feather inside his underwear tickling his swollen balls.
 This really caused him to giggle and twist.  "Well, we'll
 have plenty more of this when Brian arri

an186018@anon.penet.fi


Subject: The Intruder, (M/M, Tickling), 5 of 7
From: featherfan@aol.com (FeatherFan)
Date: 16 Oct 1994 09:50:01 -0400

Two Hands Are Better than One
      
      After a quick shower, I toweled off and wrapped it
 around my waist.  As I brushed my wet hair back, I could
 barely hear the captive in the bedroom still occasionally
 giggling softly.  He sounded alot like one of those loony
 patients at a mental hospital that just sits in a wheelchair
 all day and giggles to himself, enjoying some silent
 amusement invisible to everyone around him.
      Returning to the bedroom, I found my hunk still safely
 bound to the bed.  He looked at me with pitiful eyes, they
 seemed to beg me for mercy.  I sat on the bed at his waist
 and began to scrape my fingernail along the ridge at his
 belly button.  "Getting any of your memory back, yet?" I
 asked sarcastically.  The grimace on his face transformed
 into laughter as my finger sought out his sensitive skin.
 He writhed at the touches, his feet bouncing among the
 feathers at the foot of the bed.  But still he didn't crack.
 "OK, have it your way.  I've got all the time in the world.
 And reinforcements on the way.  I bet you'll remember that
 name soon enough!"
      I got up and went to the dresser, his eyes following me
 the whole time.  Pulling out a pair of fresh underwear, I
 slid it up under the towel allowing the towel to fall to the
 floor.  I could feel his eyes staring me down.  I turned to
 find him intently watching me.  "Enjoying the view?" I
 queried, wondering if there weren't some truth to that.
      He glanced around nervously, his eyes settling on the
 feathers engulfing his feet.  "You know, you are a sick
 person!" he challenged.
      "Thank you for your assessment doctor," I answered with
 bemusement.  I continued dressing.
      "I'm not going to tell you my name or any other fucking
 thing," he insisted.
      "Well, that's what you say now.   But we'll see.  I
 think we'll find your threshold today."  I moved to the foot
 of the bed.  "You know, you may want to reconsider holding
 back now.  Because Brian will be here any minute.  And he
 makes me look like a nice guy.  He loves mercilessly
 torturing poor helpless guys like you.  He's got no
 conscious, no mercy.  And he has a mean arsenal of weapons
 he uses.  You think these feathers tickle..."  I picked up
 the headdress and began stroking them up and down his feet,
 producing a violent fit of laughter.  "Bet you've never felt
 a wire brush scraping up these tender, sensitive soles of
 yours!"
      He was yanking wildly now, trying desperately to escape
 my touches.  The doorbell rang, signaling Brian's arrival.
 I stopped tickling.  "Uh-oh, too late!" I announced.  His
 eyes were filled with terror, pondering what Brian's arrival
 meant.  I laid the headdress down on the bed and left to
 answer the door.  Greeting Brian, I quickly filled him in on
 the incredulous story of how I ended up with this ticklish
 guy tied to my bed.  Brian was dying to see him, so I took
 his bag of goodies and led him into the bedroom.
      "Brain, meet...oops, I don't know his name yet.  In
 fact, I was just trying to coax it out of him when you
 arrived.  Maybe you can get him to talk."
      "If he's as sensitive as you say, I bet we'll have him
 singing before long!"  Brian answered, his eyes mesmerized
 by the site of this muscle-bound, hairy Adonis helplessly
 bound to the bed.  The guy pulled nervously at his
 restraints.  As Brain sat on the bed beside him, the
 prisoner looked petrified at the site of Brian.  "Now let's
 see.  Are you the strong, SENSITIVE type?"  He scraped his
 fingernail across the captive's belly romping through the
 forbidden land mine.  The guy jumped and started giggling
 which only served to egg Brian on, his pace increasing.
 "My, you are a sensitive one!"
      "If you think he's ticklish there, watch this!" I
 exclaimed, grabbing the single white feather and moving to
 the foot of the bed.  I dragged the tip swiftly up and down
 his soles, alternating between feet.  The prisoner lost it,
 howling with laughter and yanking at the ropes.  "And that's
 just with a feather!"
      "Shit, we're going to have some fun here!" Brian
 agreed, mounting the waist of the captive resting his body
 on his hips.  "Now let's talk about your name."  Brian's
 hands slid up his body wrapping around his ribs and
 squeezing.  The guy roared with laughter and tried to yank
 loose but Brian's weight on top of him restricted his
 movement even further.  As he moved up his sides to his
 vulnerable armpits, I went to the kitchen to grab a couple
 of beers.  From the kitchen, I could hear the poor guy
 howling and Brian laughing cruelly and verbally taunting
 him.  Ever so often, the prisoner would really cry out
 sometimes yelling "No, please!"  Brian must have been
 finding some really weak spots.  My dick was at full
 attention now and I quickly returned to the scene of the
 crime.
      Handing Brian the ice cold beer, I couldn't resist
 touching the bottle against the captive's taut belly and
 ribs, producing a predictable jump and scream with each
 touch.  Brian laughed.  "He's giving me quite a ride!" Brian
 announced happily.
      "Did he come up with a name yet?" I asked, moving to
 the foot of the bed.
      "Nope."  Brian resumed the tickling action sending the
 guy into hysterics again.  I gave his feet a few scrapes
 with my finger nail and then picked up the headdress,
 climbing onto the bed and straddling his ankles, my back to
 Brian.  I swooped the mass of feathers down and began
 dusting his wriggling soles with the feathers.  The victim
 cried out loudly and began yanking even harder, but we had
 him severely pinned with little room for movement.
      Tears streamed down his face at this unprecedented
 double attack.  I was sure we were creating the ultimate
 nightmare for this poor guy--to be helplessly subjected to
 an all out merciless tickling attack by not one but two
 overzealous guys.  Plus, we were mixing the sensations, with
 Brian scraping his sharp fingernails across his firm skin
 while I delicately tickled his tender and ultra-sensitive
 soles with the light, airy touches of a dozen feathers.  I
 was sure he would crack any moment.
      "O.K., OK!" the prisoner cried out after just a few
 minutes of this intense, non-stop tickling attack.
      "OK, what?" Brian demanded, our tickling unabated.
      "I'll...hah, ah...tell...ha, ha...you
 my...ayeeha...name!" he managed to eke out between cries of
 laughter.  "Just stop, please!"
      Brian and I stopped our attack while the stranger
 worked to regain his breath.  We both stared at him,
 anxiously awaiting his answer.  It took a few seconds before
 he was even able to talk.
      "On one condition," he finally added.
      "Oh, come on now!" Brian exclaimed.  "You're in no
 position to negotiate, here."  Brian pressed his fingers
 into his ribs ready to resume the assault.  Brian always was
 a tough one.
      "No, wait!" he cried out desperately.  "Please, I'll
 tell you my name.  But then you've got to let me go to the
 bathroom.
      "You've already taken care of that," I answered,
 referring to my earlier jar incident.  "Brian, you should've
 seen it.  I had to get a jar and turn him over.  And then,
 the son-of-a-bitch refused to piss in the jar, so I guess
 you could say I tickled the piss out of him!  It worked."
 We both laughed.
      "But that's just it," the prisoner protested, "now
 you're about to tickle the SHIT out of me!  Get the
 picture?"
      "O.K., OK," I answered, "we'll get you relief.  But
 quit stalling for time!"  I brushed the feathers against his
 feet threateningly.  He jumped and laughed out loud.
      "No, no, O.K." he responded.  He took a deep breath and
 finally mumbled his name, the result being
 indistinguishable.
      "I can't hear you!" I barked, tickling his feet but
 this time with my finger nail.
      "Aye, no!" he cried out.  "I said, Luke!"
      "Now there," I replied, "that's more like it.  Wasn't
 that easy?"  Brian and I jumped down from the bed to prepare
 Luke for a trip to the bathroom.  This was going to take
 some work.  First, we moved the rope from his knees up to
 his waist.  Then, we untied his ankles allowing his feet to
 move freely.  Brian and I each grabbed a cuff of his jeans
 and, after advantageously throwing in a finger-nail scrape
 up his soles that almost resulted in us both getting kicked
 (God, Luke was sensitive!), we pulled with all of our might
 to pull his tight jeans off his body.  The pants finally
 pulled free throwing his bare legs down on the bed.
      Luke was enjoying the minor freedom using it to stretch
 out his cramped legs and scratching his itchy soles with the
 toenails from the other foot.  We didn't dare tickle his
 feet now for fear of turning his legs into dangerous flying
 objects.  I climbed onto the bed between his legs and
 quickly tugged his boxer shorts down his legs, his rather
 large dick springing loose wagging in the air.  He was now
 completely naked.
      Brian grabbed a formidable pair of steel shackles from
 his bag and attached them to his ankles.  Then, we removed
 the rope from his elbows and finally from his wrists,
 leaving his arms free and the only rope attaching him to the
 bed around his waist.  He gladly pulled his arms down and
 massaged his tired limbs, which were no doubt extremely
 cramped by this point.  I noticed Brian had sat down on the
 other side of the bed, his back to Luke while he rummaged
 through his back.  Before I could suggest Brian be more
 careful around this potentially dangerous prisoner, Luke
 seized the opportunity and lunged for Brian.  Brian was
 caught completely off guard and before he knew what had
 happened, he was in a choke hold fighting for his breath but
 unable to get the strong assailant off of him.
      Luke had lost it, screaming that he was going to kill
 Brian.  Not exactly sure what to do but afraid for Brian's
 life and of losing control of our prisoner, I instinctively
 lunged for Luke's exposed and vulnerable ribs.  My hands
 grasped both

an186018@anon.penet.fi