I'm busy these days dumping stories into our archive, so that all we've ever published will be available to members when we relaunch in the fall. During IML, since we we couldn't have bound guys stripped naked and had to abuse them somehow when we had them tied up, there was a fair amount of tickling going on, which seemed to give the guys who got tickled almost as much pleasure as it did the guys doing it and watching. Here's a nice tickling story I just came across from Issue 40 (May/June 1994).
YOUNG MAN TIED TO BEDSPRINGS & STUDIED FOR HOTSPOTS
SAN FRANCISCO. When I was a kid of eight or nine, I remember being turned on to other guys being tied up and tortured while playing cowboys and indians. Somehow, tying each other up always seemed to be part of all the games
BARRY—
When I was about 13, I guess, I had a younger playmate from next door named Barry. I remember how smooth his skin was and the fact that he had some natural muscles even as a small kid. He was a precocious kid and a rascal. Somehow I got us into this game where I’d let him hide a toy of mine he wanted. He could keep it if I couldn’t get him to tell me where it was. After hiding it, he would return to this small guest house we had, which was apart from the main house. I used it as my torture chamber. It had a large bed in it that I used to tie him down. He always seemed resigned to go through whatever I planned for him to get him to talk. I think he thought of himself as some tough hero who could take anything, sort of like an uppity bottom, the perfect victim for me.
First, I’d push him down onto the bed and tie his legs spreadeagled. Then I’d pull his arms up and sit on them with my crotch right above his head. This is where he usually gave me some resistance because he knew what was coming. He always had Levis on and I never lowered them, because I could tell he wouldn’t go for that. But I often threatened to, by unbuttoning the top few buttons and shoving one of the sturdier feathers down and moving it around in his crotch. This resulted in a real panic reaction that I got a real kick out of.
Usually I pinioned his arms under me, pulled his tee shirt up over his face so his upper body was exposed and started delicately tickling his bare armpits. I remember even now that he had great lats for a little kid that stuck out and gave me a bigger area to tickle. I’d ask him where the toy was, and of course he wouldn’t tell. He’d try to keep from laughing, so I’d tickle even more insidiously and eventually I’d break him, where he’d start uncontrollably laughing. It turned me on to feel his arms struggling under me to pull down and protect his vulnerable armpits.
He’d be bucking up and down and side to side shaking the whole bed and twisting as much as he could, but I’d start running my fingers down along his ribs faster and faster and he couldn’t even answer me if he wanted. After 15 minutes of that, I’d get up and let him rest, while I tied his arms to the top of the headboard.
Next I’d get out these fairly stiff feathers. Just the sight of them used to make Barry start struggling with the ropes. I really liked to taunt him with them first and let him anticipate the torture that was coming. I started with his feet, just barely brushing them across the soles. I used to love to see his toes curl up as he tried to keep from reacting. But as I brushed them faster, he’d start tugging and twisting to escape. The faster I moved them back and forth the harder it was for him to keep from laughing, and eventually I’d cause him to break and really start laughing hysterically.
I often had to stop to let him catch his breath because he couldn’t stop laughing. I think when you’re a kid, you’re more sensitive to this kind of touch. The last thing I’d do is go for his unprotected armpits. That was what got the most reaction of anything and he would start spitting and yanking on the ropes so hard that I’d be afraid they’d leave permanent marks. I’d ask him again to tell me where the toy was while brushing the feather in his armpits and he’d finally be forced to nod his head yes and end up telling me. I always was able to break him. Looking back on it now, the only thing that was missing was tickling his crotch and getting his cock hard, but that was for another time.
MARK—
I met this guy Mark from a computer bulletin board I call into. He put out a public message about bondage and tickling and stuff, and I thought, what the hell, so I answered. We fixed a date and got together.
In the middle of his bedroom is just a bedframe with all the springs showing. He asks me to strip down and he smiles when he sees my muscles and how smooth I am. Real courteous like he asks me to lie down, and he begins tying me down. Leather strips and ropes on my neck, wrists, thighs and ankles. He ties my wrists out to the sides of the frame about level with my ears and I can still pull my arms down some. He notices me pulling my elbows down, I’m already thinking he’s gonna go for my armpits, so real quick he fixes that by tying my elbows with leather strips and pulling them real hard out to the side.
He smiles and rubs his fingertips in the hollow of my armpit which makes me try to pull in, but I can’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve been tickled and now I’m realizing how sensitive I still am. I think maybe it’s too late for second thoughts.
“So, where are your hot spots?” he asks.
“I thought you wanted to play with my tits,” I say.
“Hey! You didn’t answer my question, did you!”
He grins, leans over me, and I watch him as he wiggles his fingers and aims for my armpits. Shit! I gotta keep still. But it tickles, for crissakes, and my body starts jerking back and forth. I tug on the ropes, try to at least keep from laughing, but I’m losing it fast. I finally break out in uncontrollable laughing, almost a scream but not enough breath for that. He’s really grinning now and playing with his fingers all over me. I’m writhing now and bucking up and down on the frame, so he sits on my stomach like a little kid about to play a trick on someone.
“We’re gonna take a little survey, just to see how ticklish you are in different areas. You just let me know where they are. See, I have this feather that seems to work pretty well. How about here? Here?”
He starts in moving over every square inch of me, slowly, checking to see how much my muscles flex at each spot and if I can keep from laughing.
“You bastard!” I finally holler, getting tired of the game and frustrated that I can’t stop laughing.
“You cursed me! We’re gonna have to stop that. If you don’t like it how come your cock is hard?”
He’s right. It’s been hard and slapping back and forth the whole time. He ties my balls up with cord, and runs the two ends down to the foot of the bed. Then he gets this stick or something and starts turning it around so the two cords start winding around and begin pulling down on my sack.
“Fucker! God dammit, ease off!”
“You gonna curse me again?”
I don’t say anything. He keeps tightening it. Shit!
“OK, OK!”
“You gonna curse me again? Tell me you’re not gonna curse me again and I’ll ease up.”
Here come the games, the bastard.
“I’m not gonna curse you again, jeezus, loosen it!”
The pain goes away but he doesn’t completely loosen it.
“Hey, you’re beginning to sweat. I like the look of that on your muscles. Makes ‘em really shine. I can see ‘em a lot better when I do this.”
He reaches down to my feet, which he’s tied specially tight, and with the feather starts in gently brushing it against the sensitive sole. Oh, no, anything but that. I pull in on the ropes and straps with every bit of strength I can. But it’s no use, the bedframe creaks but I can’t pull my foot away from the feather and I scream for him to stop.
“You bastard!” Oh, shit, that again. Pain in my nuts.
“I think I have a way to stop the cursing.”
He pulls out a stiff leather bar but I clamp my mouth shut.
“Come on now, open up,” he says like he’s talking to a kid. He tries to shove it in. Then with his free hand he wiggles his fingers in my armpit. Shit, I’m laughing again and he shoves it in fast. Now I can’t even holler at him except for these hysterical noises that sound like someone going nuts.
“I got one more good idea I think you’re gonna like.”
I bet I don’t.
“I’m gonna slowly mess around with all your sensitive spots and if you can keep from laughing, I’ll let you go. How would that be? HOW WOULD THAT BE?”
Gives my sack a twist and I twist away trying to ease the pain. Then he starts real slow and gentle. Lightly brushing under my sack, up over my thighs, under the knee joint. I’m biting down on the leather gag as hard as I can to keep from giving him what he wants. He brushes his fingertips, tap, tap, tapping the soles. I think I’m really going nuts, twisting and contracting my muscles to escape the tickling and breathing faster and faster as I feel myself letting close.
“We’re getting closer and closer!”
He picks up speed, faster and faster, brushing the feather back and forth against my heaving chest, faster and faster.
“We’re almost there, almost there!”
Then when he reaches my armpits his hands dive into them and I can’t help it, I give out a howl and arch my body up as far as it’ll go.
“We’re there! We’re there!” he yells and laughs with that big, shit-eating grin on his face. He grabs for my cock. The juice that’s been oozing and dripping down the shaft all this time makes it real slippery, and while he continues to torture my armpits, he jerks me off.
I’m so close already it takes only a few yanks on it to make it pop. “Splat” on my chin, “splat” another wad on my shoulder. Now I’m in heaven somewhere, all sensation all pleasure. I’m jerking around in the after pleasure. Only I notice he’s still jerking on it, only slower. Oh, fuck, NO! Yes. Hand still grasping my shaft, he starts with his thumb, slowly, delicately rubbing my super sensitive head, across, around. I’m screaming, thrashing, yanking, and there above me, the bastard’s just looking at me with that happy-face smile. Then he starts licking his lips, wiggling that tongue at me. Oh, fuck, what is he gonna do with that tongue?
Comments