The 6' 3" 28-year-old up-and-coming attorney had stowed his new Porsche in its detached garage, proudly admiring its sleek lines before purposefully approaching his home, loosening his designer tie slightly, ready to unburden himself of his Mark Cross leather briefcase once he got into the house. The darkly handsome Clay's size-12 black Ferragamo loafers padded nearly soundlessly on the designer slate of his rear patio as he approached the door.
Clay let himself in and had just placed his Mark Cross briefcase onto one of the expansive granite counters of his designer center-island kitchen when he heard a muffled noise upstairs. With a grimly determined look, Clay helped himself to his longest, sharpest designer carving knife out of its designer butcher-block holder and proceeded soundlessly up the stairs. Some fuckin' burglar was messing with Clay's yuppie toys! Clay would show him who was lord and master of this manor! Clay determined the sound was coming from the master bedroom area, no, the master bath.
As Clay silently entered the palatial master bath, first, of course, admiring by rote its gleaming granite counters, gold-plated twin marble basins, sunken marble jacuzzi tub (suitable for up to four persons), and separate marble stall shower with four gold-plated shower heads which blasted and massaged one from all sides at once, only to focus on a jeans-and-tee-shirt-clad blond dude about 20 years old and 6 feet tall, who was rummaging around in Clay's dirty-clothes hamper! Clay looked on in astonishment as the dude, unaware of Clay's presence, was busy sniffing Clay's discarded executive socks, designer underwear and even his trendy gym gear and sweaty jockstrap!! Goddamn! A fuckin' ravin' homo pervert in Clay's own house, sniffing his most private articles of clothing! No wonder Clay had had to buy so many extra pairs of socks and underwear lately! This was why they had been disappearing! Clay was being fuckin' stalked by a goddamned fuckin' slimeball faggot! Clay would fuckin' teach this faggot a lesson he'd never fuckin' forget!
"What the FUCK is going on here?? What the FUCK do you think you're doing, sniffing my socks and jocks you fuckin' faggot bastard?" exploded Clay brandishing the knife. The surprised sniff-freak hit his head on the hamper lid in response, his blue eyes flying open in astonishment. "I'm sorry, sir, I was only er, um, er, um..."
"You were FUCKIN' sniffing my stuff, you sick degenerate pervert!" replied Clay. Then Clay suddenly realized that this dude was the adult son of one of his upscale neighbors, that Clay had seen this dude around. Come to think of it, Clay realized that this dude "just happened" to be around a lot when Clay was coming and going and when he recently moved in. The dude was a fuckin' gay sick-o pervert and Clay detested all goddamned faggots. His view was that they should all be taken out and shot, and Clay had done more than his share of "fag-bashing" when Clay was the Pledgemaster of his snobby fraternity in college.
"Damn, you're Greg, right?, Greg Hanson, from 2 doors down! You fucker, wait till your folks find out what you've been doing! That is, after the cops get through with your faggot ass! How dare you break into my home and sniff my stuff, you fuckin' faggot bastard??" said Clay, Clay reaching for the designer bathroom phone on the slate wall of the elegant room.
Greg practically burst into tears realizing that he had been caught, begging Clay not to call the cops or tell his parents, that he would do "anything" only to please not call the cops.
Greg really wanted to teach the sick-o a lesson he'd never forget, Clay figuring the cops wouldn't do much to the freak anyway, so Clay pretended to reluctantly agree not to call the cops so long as Greg "took his punishment like a man". Clay had Greg turn out his pockets to prove he was not armed himself.
Greg readily agreed to any punishment, fearing the wrath of the cops and his parents. Clay asked the astonished Greg "Well, since you seem to be so into my fuckin' feet, for starters you can fuckin' worship my tired executive feet for me, yeah worship my Ferragamo loafers, designer sheer silk socks, sniff `em, lick `em, chow down on my executive tootsies. `Course that wouldn't really be a `punishment' for you, you sick-o, but the thought of having a fag-boy slave worship my tired feet still seems fitting, and the idea of making you grovel at my feet, getting more than your fill of their funky stink after a long hot day at work, just might teach you how sick and disgusting your fuckin' fetish really is. Kind of like how they cure smokers by makin' `em smoke and smoke till they're physically sick, you know?" "But first, I don't want ya running off home to mommy, little fag-boy, so you're gonna have to strip out of all your clothes and hand them over to me, got it?"
The terrified (and yet wildly excited) Greg (had he actually heard right, was this executive God actually going to allow Greg to service his hot executive feet first-hand??) had no choice but to accede to the butch, dominating executive's demands, Greg removing his white tee shirt to reveal his sun-bronzed, muscular virtually smooth chest, its center cleft by a thatch of dirty blond hair and his man-tits encircled with a few wisps of the same. Greg dutifully handed over his tee shirt, Clay crowing "Yeah, how does it feel to have your own clothes taken by someone else, huh, you like havin' dudes steal your clothes, dude, making you bareass?"
Greg then removed his athletic shoes and socks, revealing his own size 10 feet, then removed his jeans and handed them and his shoes and socks over to Clay's outstretched hand, only to drop his snow-white Calvin Klein shorts, revealing his half-hard cock and hairy balls and his luxuriant dirty-blond haired pubic bush, and his bare white bubble butt which was split by a fine line of dirty-blond-haired assfur.
Clay openly laughed at the "fag-boy's" embarrassing forced nudity, pointedly taking Greg's clothes and placing them in a large built-in mahogany drawer in the adjacent dressing room and locking them away, leaving Greg feeling helplessly nude and vulnerable.
Clay then ordered the naked Greg to continue sniffing the contents of his clothes hamper, Clay shocked when Greg eagerly sniffed Clay's sweaty jock and a pair of his sheer silk executive socks, Clay ordering Greg to stop playing with himself while he performed (in Clay's view) this disgusting act, yet Clay was amazed that Greg's cock got rock-hard even while it was denied being stroked, just from the turn-on of sniffing Clay's manly scents. Clay's own cock began to fill with blood from the sheer perversity of witnessing Greg's performance.
Clay then got his old trusty fraternity pledge paddle and ordered the naked Greg to crawl from the opulent master bath into the spacious master bedroom. As Greg crawled, Clay raised the frat paddle high above his darkly handsome head and then viciously smacked it down hard onto each of Greg's white bouncing buns, Clay's manly sun-bronzed forehead betraying a few drops of sweat from the effort on the hot evening, until Greg's ass was flaming fire-engine red and stinging, his assglobes burning like a brushfire.
Clay then sat down on an elegant side chair in the master bedroom and ordered the crawling Greg over to lick his Ferragamo loafers all over. Greg eagerly did so, slavishly licking all over the expensive fragrant leather, relishing how the scent of Clay's size-12 executive feet had inhabited them from a long hot day's work, Clay ordering Greg to suck on the leather tassels and even to lick the bottoms of his expensive loafers. Clay next ordered the "fag-boy" to slowly remove each loafer in turn. As Greg did so he was rewarded with unleashing an incredible scent of man-foot when the pent-up executive's size-12 feet were freed from their all-day expensive leather enclosure. Clay then snarlingly ordered Greg to slavishly lick his big smelly feet through his sheer executive silk socks. Greg eagerly did so, lying on his stomach on the luxuriant carpet of the master bedroom, rubbing his rock-hard cock against the carpet. Clay himself was amazed to feel that his own cock had sprung a fuckin' boner from (he told himself) the sheer perversity of it all, Clay glad that his grey flannel suit pants were on the baggy side and that his cock was more or less contained in Clay's own packed white Calvins under his designer suit pants, so that his arousal was not evident.
Greg sensuously ran his tongue over the soles, heels and curling toes of the arrogant executive's sheer executive silk socked feet, slobbering all over them and inhaling their incredible manly odor, as the combination of the sensuous silk and Greg's dancing, worshipping tongue teased the sensitive skin of Clay's big pink feet, the madly tickling sensation occasionally making Clay have to suppress a giggle or gasp; Clay had forgotten that his feet used to be ticklish when he was little.
Clay deliberately squashed his sheer-sock clad size-12 feet right into Greg's face, saying "yeah, go ahead, fag-boy, chow down on my executive tootsies, yeah, do it, get that faggot tongue of yours in between those funky toes, yeah, yeah sniff those feet, smell that stink, eat that toe jam, yeah!" Clay flexing his toes and sharp toenails into Greg's worshipping mouth and tongue, scraping Greg's lips and the side of Greg's face with his toes. Soon Clay was basically trampling Greg's face with his sweaty, sheer-silk-sock-encased size-12 feet, squashing Greg's face into the carpet and nearly suffocating him with the stench of his hot, tired executive feet, rubbing both feet hard right onto Greg's adoring lips, mouth, nose, and face, Clay astonished that Greg's cock actually seemed to throb and lengthen more, Greg obviously totally into worshipping the executive's hunky feet. Greg devoured those feet, sliding his taster all down the insteps of both feet, teasing the arches with his tongue and kissing the heels and toes.
Clay then forced Greg to pull off each sheer silk sock with his teeth and deposit each onto the carpeted floor, then was forced to lavish attention on Clay's aromatic bare feet, Clay pushing his hot tootsies right into Greg's face, forcing him to lick and suck and cleanse his bare feet with his tongue and mouth and sniff them with his nose, Clay ordering the "fag-boy" to "do a good job, really get in there and chow down on those hot executive feet, yeah!"
Clay then got up out of the chair and trampled Greg's naked body with his bare feet, walking on his body, scratching Greg's broad sun-bronzed muscular back and over his bare still-red-from-spanking ass with Clay's toenails. Then Clay flipped Greg over onto his back and trampled his heaving chest, scratching his tits and hair-filled sweaty armpits with his toenails, Clay then forcing Greg to lick his own sweat off of the arrogant executive's feet, Clay belittling and demeaning Greg at every turn, telling Greg "what a pathetic little wimpy shit my little fag-boy slave is," Clay then standing right between Greg's hairy thighs and painfully jabbing and wiggling his toenails into Greg's helpless bull-balls, then trampling Greg's swollen cockhead and throbbing cock with his other foot, scraping his toenails over the sensitive glans of Greg's cock, causing Greg to yelp in pain as Clay evilly laughed and mocked his "little fag-boy".
Clay then went over to the top of a chest of drawers where he kept a bowl of fruit for healthful snacking, helping himself to two bananas, one of which was obviously overripe and mushy. Clay emptied the rest of the contents of the fruit bowl and placed them back atop the chest of drawers, then took the overripe banana, peeled it, and then plopped the mushy contents of the banana into the bowl. Clay meanwhile peeled down the other banana and began munching on it, then approached Greg. Clay sat back down on the chair, then placed his bare feet into the mushy banana in the fruit bowl, covering his executive size-12s with the smelly rotten banana mess. Clay then forced Greg to eat all of the mushy banana out from between his toes and off of his feet until they were again shining clean, Clay telling Greg to "Eat that mushy banana, little fag-boy, yeah eat it off my funky feet!" Clay laughing uproariously as his little slave was forced to again service his tootsies.
When his feet were again pristine, Clay deliberately spit out chunks of the banana he was eating into Greg's horrified open mouth, onto Greg's body, or onto the carpet, forcing Greg to catch every morsel and laughing at him, warning him that he would kill Greg if the new plush carpet got stained.
Clay next forced Greg to grab Clay's discarded socks with his teeth and crawl back into the master bathroom, Clay carelessly throwing his banana peel over his shoulder on his way back into the master bathroom, not knowing or caring that the peel landed on the granite floor of the bathroom between the sink area and the sunken bathtub. What were the servant classes for, if not to pick up after the likes of Clay? Another feature of the luxurious master bath was that it contained an actual leather reclining barber chair in front of one of the two sinks, so that Clay could have his personal female hair stylist in to cut his hair, lather shaving cream onto his handsome face with an old-fashioned shaving brush, and then give him a close shave with a straight razor, followed by an application of hot, scented Turkish towels. Extreme wealth had its privileges, after all. The bathroom also contained a padded leather massage table near the sunken bathtub-suitable-for-four, so that Clay's Personal Trainer/Masseur could massage his sore muscles after conducting Clay's thrice-weekly workouts at his home gym which was itself located off of the adjacent dressing room. Greg noticed there was also an trendy elaborate lucite divider between the sunken bath and the massage table area, which contained an array of expensive bath oils, salts, loofah sponges, pillar candles and the like. The lucite divider was made of a clear, but extremely sturdy plastic and was sturdily bracketed to the ceiling and to the lip of the top of sunken tub. The divider was compartmented so that all the soaps, oils, etc. could be accessed from either the bathtub or from the massage table area, compartments that amounted to pass-throughs.
Clay placed his designer-suited ass onto the barber chair and crossed his hands behind his head as he watched his "little fag-boy slave" Greg comply with his latest orders which were to take Clay's discarded socks which Greg still held in his teeth and place them in the sink adjacent to Clay's bare feet. Greg was then ordered to squirt Woolite into warm water in the basin and carefully launder the brash executive's sheer silk socks, wringing all the foot sweat out of them into the warm gently soapy water. Clay then sniggered as he forced Greg to scoop up two glassfuls of the warm soapy waste water, Clay pointing and guffawing as Greg was forced to drink both glassfuls, Clay saying "Yeah, c'mon little fag-boy, drink it down, you know you love the smell and taste of my feet, yeah, hahhaha!!"
Clay then forced the humiliated Greg to wash out the sink, then refill the basin and place Clay's bare feet into the basin whereupon Greg was ordered to wash the arrogant young attorney's bare feet, Greg being ordered to be careful not to get the cuffs of his grey designer suit pants wet or stained in the process. Greg carefully washed his brazen foot-master's feet, Greg secretly admiring how tufts of jet-black hair grew on Clay's sun-bronzed ankles before disappearing up Clay's suit pant-legs, Greg speculating at what a hairy, sexy stud Clay must be, Greg blushing as he tried to imagine the brash young executive without a stitch of clothes on, Greg trying to imagine the arrogant dude being caught bareass as he stepped out of his sunken jacuzzi tub across the room. Greg supposed he would only see that image in his dreams, that that could never become a reality with this butch, gay-hating hetero.
Clay kept barking at Greg to "do a very thorough job, asshole, I don't want a single trace of faggot spit or drool left on my feet when you are done washing my feet, you low-life degenerate sick-o!" so Greg took the liberty of opening one of several packages of extra toothbrushes (apparently left for the use of visiting "babes"), and using a virgin toothbrush to cleanse the nooks and crannies of Clay's exposed feet. Clay had to admit it felt good having his hot executive feet pampered in this fashion, that the warm soapy water felt good as it trickled down his bare exposed feet in the warm night air and Greg seemed to know how to gently massage Clay's size-12s. But Clay had to grit his teeth suddenly as he rested comfortably back in the reclining barber chair when he felt the toothbrush going to town. Clay didn't dare let on that his feet were still kind of ticklish, that maybe he hadn't outgrown that weakness after all. Clay had to therefore grit his teeth and try to bear the ticklish feeling in his feet and toes as Greg thoroughly cleansed his executive feet. Greg couldn't help but notice, though, that Clay did betray an occasional quickly stifled giggle or gasp as the toothbrush made unexpected contact with sensitive areas of his feet, Greg realizing to himself "Fuck! Damn! I think this hotshot hetero dude is ticklish after all, hmmmm!"
Fearing he couldn't hold out any longer, an exhausted Clay ordered Greg to finish the foot bath, ordering Greg to run a hair dryer on "low" over both of his bare feet until they were completely dry. Greg then had to fetch Clay's flip-flop type shower shoes so that Clay would not re-soil his feet on his way back towards the bedroom. Clay announced that Greg's punishment was over, "for now" that he would not call the cops or tell Greg's parents, but Clay reserved the right to schedule further foot-worshiping sessions in the future. Clay had to admit he liked the power-trip. Clay loosened his designer silk necktie and carelessly removed it and let it drop onto the granite floor, then made a business about extracting the key to the locked drawer which held Greg's clothes. Clay then got up out of the barber chair and began to rush over to the dressing room to retrieve Greg's clothes. Clay wasn't about to let Greg rummage around in the locked drawers in his dressing room. They contained important personal papers Clay did not want Greg to see.
Unfortunately, (for Clay) (but extremely fortunately for Greg) Clay forgot about his carelessly discarded banana peel.
Strangely enough, no silent servant had miraculously thrown away the offending banana peel yet! The servant problem, will its perils never cease?
The net result was Clay's flip-flopped feet went out from under him on the polished, slippery granite floor, causing Clay to fall backward, his designer suited ass initially landing squarely on the marble bench-type top of the sunken tub, his feet flying high into the air, and his flip-flop shower shoes going flying way across the room. The expensive silk-like wool of Clay's designer grey suit pants provided no friction on the marble of the top of the tub, causing Clay to continue on backward, his designer suited ass landing in the bottom of the sunken tub, Clay's thrashing bare feet getting caught between two of the compartments in the clear lucite wall divider, knocking over a pillar candle and a plastic shampoo bottle in the process, knocking them onto the floor near the massage table. Accordingly, Clay's bare feet were temporarily caught and poking through the lucite divider shelves, his designer-suited legs high in the air, and his designer suited ass as well as his handsome head resting at the bottom of the empty tub. Although Clay narrowly missed hitting his head, the wind was temporarily knocked out of the arrogant executive as he took stock of his new, unexpected surroundings.
Greg found himself in an "interesting situation." Greg knew he didn't have much time to act, and, still smarting from the humiliation he had experienced at the hand, well, er, mostly feet, of Clay (hmm, "feet of Clay" very appropriate), Greg impulsively decided to act. Noticing the discarded silk necktie, Greg suddenly seized it from the granite floor, and expertly tied both of Clay's hairy ankles together as each foot poked out through the lucite shelves/room divider. Clay felt Greg doing something to his feet, and began thrashing in the tub his flailing hands grabbing wildly for something, anything to grasp to try to lift himself out from the tub.
Greg was just returning from the master bedroom where he had noticed a video camera on a tripod in one corner (no doubt use to record Clay's exploits with "babes" in the bedroom), and had just set it whirring in the master bath to record the festivities when one of Clay's scrabbling hands managed to blindly grab for a grip, Clay unfortunately making contact with the cold water tap and the pull-tab for the shower head, resulting in Clay's being suddenly fittingly doused with a steady stream of ice-cold water, the highly pressurized spray splattering his handsome face, into his mouth and making his white, designer dress shirt and grey suit pants cling to his hunky body like a second skin, Clay howling at the indignity of it all, as well as the fact that he just ruined his expensive suit. Greg couldn't help momentarily reaching over and diverting the spray to concentrate on first Clay's face and armpits, then right onto his suit-panted crotch before switching off the water. About a half-inch of ice-cold water now filled the tub, which Greg let stay there for a few minutes before finally letting it drain out.
Clay was screaming bloody murder at the "fuckin'slimeball fag-boy" to "Look what you've done to my suit!! Stop whatever the fuck you're doing and to help me get out of this goddamned tub! Phew! I'm fuckin soaking wet like a goddamned drowned rat!" exclaimed Clay, the arrogant executive obviously discomfited by his unaccustomed inferior, helpless position, mad as a wet hen; well, wet cock more likely!
Greg loved how the wet clothes clung to Clay's hunky body, revealing his obviously hairy chest and armpits, as well as his pointed man-tits which were poking up through the now-see-through material of his designer shirt, and the promising bulge in his suit pants, not to mention that all his struggling and the force of the water spray had caused one of Clay's front shirt tails to have become untucked, revealing an expanse of Clay's sun-bronzed rock-hard six-pack abdominals and a glimpse of a fine line of jet black hair which grew down over and around his (exposed!) innie navel. Greg could even discern that Clay's body hair fanned out broadly over the planes of his heaving chest to cap his perfectly pointed man-tits before narrowing down to fine line that disappeared into his suit pants only to no doubt fan out again into his no doubt luxuriant jet-black pubic bush. And to think that Greg had all weekend with his new plaything!
Greg stood up and went over to where Clay's bare, bound feet were exposed through the lucite shelves/compartments, Greg proceeding to use the toothbrush and his fingers to wildly tickle the bottoms of the arrogant attorney's bare, vulnerable, size-12 feet, wildly racing up and down the soles, instep, arch and heels of the exposed feet at random, until Clay could not longer stand it and began to giggle and shriek wildly as he thrashed in his bondage, shrieking "NOOOO!!!! STOPPPPP!!!! NOT MY FEET!!!! STOPPPIT YOU ASSHOLE!!! CUT THAT OUT YOU FUCKIN' DEGENERATE FAGGOT!!! AIEEEEEE!!!!! ARGHHHHHHH!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!" Greg loving every minute of the intense revenge.
Greg then momentarily abandoned the foot tickling to zero in on Clay's exposed hair-haloed innie navel, its wanton exposure forcing Greg to take appropriate action. Greg ran a finger around and around the virgin orifice, only to tickle and drill right into it, coming up with a ball of sweaty lint, Greg squealing in tickle dementia and thrashing around in the empty tub, further exposing one of his sun-bronzed sides and ribs which Greg also tickled, causing Clay to gasp and squeal, Greg lording it over his former tormentor, asking "How does it feel to be topped, hotshot? Is hissums my little ticklish boy-wuss, huh? Is he? Is he? Is he ticklish here? Ticklish there? How about there? Oh, he is so ticklish, now isn't hissums? Ticklish little wimp! We're gonna have fun tonight, asshole! Gonna make you fuckin' naked, dude, then you're really gonna boogie!" Greg tickling Clay through his wet shirt in his armpits, sides and tits as he did so, then suddenly forcing the lint ball from Clay's navel into the spluttering Clay's surprised mouth and making him swallow it, to his horror and humiliation. Worse, the bellybutton tickling and random tickling all over his body had made Clay break a sweat as well as making blood fill Clay's traitorous pecker, his big cock hardening and lengthening in his Calvins, the outline clearly visible through Clay's wet suit-pants. Greg teased Clay about this as well, crowing "Who's the little `fag-boy' slave, now, bigshit, huh? Look who's poppin' a bone just by having his sissy bod tickled, huh?" to Clay's outrage, humiliation and horror. Clay didn't even want to think about that "gonna make you naked, dude" comment. Surely Greg realized that Clay knew who Greg was, surely Greg wouldn't dare try to disrobe Clay or continue this revenge stuff any further. Clay was an important person with beaucoup connections, a prominent attorney downtown, surely Greg knew and feared what Clay could have him charged with. Then Clay craned his neck and saw the whirring video tape and groaned. My God, would this fuckin' faggot use that tape to...blackmail him???
Greg next went to the dressing room where he found another one of Clay's many designer ties, only to use it to tightly bind Clay's hairy wrists over his head in the tub, tying the far end to the other side of the spacious tub-with-room-for-four, where a metal hand-grip was built into the side of the tub. Clay was now stretched across the floor of the deep tub, his arms stretched way behind him, his wet shirt clinging to his body, revealing a profusion of jet-black armpit hair under his now totally vulnerable, totally helpless, outstretched arms, visible through the now see-through material of his designer shirt, Clay's bare feet still elevated and threaded through the lucite shelve/room divider.
Then the front doorbell rang.
Greg rushed across the house to look out to see who it was. Judging by the outfit, the caller was none other than Clay's Personal Trainer/Masseur, apparently making an unscheduled appearance. Greg couldn't help quickly admiring the close-cropped blond head and hunky sun-bronzed body, which filled out the white gym shorts and white Polo-type muscle shirt the Personal Trainer wore, Greg noticing with pleasure that the dude's sun-bronzed muscular legs were covered in a fine down of curly blond hairs set off by the setting sun.
Greg formulated a quick plan, hurriedly unlocking his own clothes and putting on his jeans and tee shirt, slapping some duct tape over Clay's protesting mouth, tape he had seen near an apparently recalcitrant pipe in the bathroom, Greg getting to the front door just as the Personal Trainer was about to leave.
The Personal Trainer identified himself as Erik Larssen, and asked for Clay. Apparently, Clay owed the 24-year-old 6'2" Erik beaucoup bucks and had not paid him in quite awhile. It was clear that Erik was pissed and wanted his money. Greg explained to Erik that he was a fraternity dude who had been hired by one of Clay's former "babes" Clay had dumped, and the "babe" wanted to get even with Clay. Greg lied that Clay had tied up this "babe" made her worship his feet and then tickled her silly, then raped her. Erik guffawed, the big goof apparently as Neanderthal as Clay and thinking the rape part was funny, nodding his head with a kind of doofus admiration for Clay. Changing tack, Greg reminded Erik how Clay owed him the money, that Clay was a rich guy but was also a cheap bastard. Greg told Erik that he had Clay tied up upstairs and was going to video tape Clay's humiliation for the "babe," so why didn't Erik join Greg, that Erik could use a copy of the video to blackmail Clay into paying him on time from that point onward. This idea appealed to Erik, the big, dumb ox finally understanding how it would be to his advantage, too. Incredibly, Erik hemmed and hawed a little, however, Erik reminiscing about how he and Clay used to "beat up fags together and shit" how they "had a lot in common" and how "that bitch probably had it comin' to her, anyway" but in the end he agreed to teach Clay a lesson, realizing that Clay could not fire him or withhold money if he had an incriminating video tape. The cretin had to be told what they were going to do to Clay, Erik not being imaginative enough to surmise that the "babe" wanted tickle and foot worship revenge on Clay. "Oh, like, yeah, I, like, get it, now dude!" announced the newly enlightened Erik.
Greg escorted Erik upstairs to the master bath where Erik took one look at the spluttering, arrogant Clay tied up and gagged in his own big bathtub, soaking wet still in his business suit, with his feet and legs upraised and his bare feet hanging out. "Wow, dude, you musta really crossed that babe! Greg's been telling me how that babe you dumped hired him to get revenge on you. Good thing I came along `cause you know you owe me money, dude. Now you'd better pay up or Greg and me are gonna really let you have it!"
Clay gurgled and spluttered behind the duct-tape gag, madly shaking his head "noooooo!!!" trying to tell the intellectually challenged Erik that Greg was lying, there was no vengeful "babe", and to please help him, that he would pay any sum to Erik, Clay comically making eye expressions to try to convey all this while he gurgled and struggled wildly, getting red in the face from frustration and fury. The arrogant attorney had no patience with anyone and did not suffer fools kindly. How dare this miscreant not understand what he wanted! How dare he frustrate Clay! Clay was accustomed to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, or to having his needs anticipated by legions of ass-kissing underlings and servants. How dare Erik leave him here wet and tied up, grinning at him like some idiot!? He would fuckin' fire Erik for starters! Then he'd, then he'd...What the fuck?! What were they doing ? No, Not again!!! No!!!
To Clay's horror, Greg and Erik had begun to tickle Clay, Erik going for Clay's bare feet while Greg straddled a horrified Clay (how dare this faggot place his jean-covered candy ass on top of his business-suited crotch?) Greg proceeding to tickle under Clay's outstretched arms, twirling the cold, damp expensive cotton of Clay's designer shirt around and around the flesh of his supersensitive executive armpits, causing Clay to squeal under his duct-tape gag. Greg reached up to yank that off his mouth abruptly so that all could hear his braying protests and squeals and futile orders to stop, Clay too busy concentrating on getting his breath while being tickled to have enough air to order Erik to help set him free. Clay yelled "AIEEEEE!!! NOOOOO!!! STOPPPPP!!!! NOT TWO AT ONCE!!!!!! NOOOOO!!!!! STOPPP!!!! PUH-LEEZE STOPPPP!!!!" as Clay inadvertently gave Greg the ride of his life Greg's jean-encased ass bouncing up and down up and down onto Clay's wet suit pant crotch, the combined effect of the intense tickling and the contact of Greg's firm manly asscheeks giving Clay an embarrassing renewed boner.
Worse, Greg suddenly announced to Erik, "C'mon now it's time to strip the motherfucker!! Let's rip these wet clothes off of the asshole, then we can really watch him boogie!! C'mon, I'll take his shirt and you can fuckin' pants him!"
Clay was still trying to catch his breath so he could tell them "NOOOO!!!" but before he could do so, Erik had positioned himself seated on the marble bench-like top of the tub with his blond-haired legs splayed wide apart for leverage, while Greg took up a similar position on the other side of the tub above Clay's head and outstretched bound arms. Greg enjoyed the resulting inadvertent view this gave Greg up the short legs of Erik's white Personal Trainer shorts, revealing Erik's own packed white jockstrap cup. On a count of "one...two...three!!!" Greg proceeded to viciously yank on the sleeves of Clay's monogrammed shirt, Clay's monogrammed gold cufflinks going flying off of his French cuffs, the wet thin material of the sleeves of Clay's designer shirt giving way with a funky "RRRRRIPPPPPPPP!!!!" AS Greg proceeded to rip the expensive cotton down each of Clay's outstretched arms from the cuffs to the armpit area whereupon Greg savagely pulled on each side of Clay's buttoned designer shirt popping all of the pearl-toned buttons of it in one fall swoop, the buttons going flying in all directions, then ripping the remnants of Clay's designer shirt right off of his body, revealing Clay's heaving jet-black-haired sun-bronzed chest, which was covered in a mat of jet-black-haired body hair swirling over the broad planes of his sun-bronzed chest to cap his perfect, pointed man-tits, also revealing the incredibly hairy, sweaty depths of Clay's now aromatic armpits.
Erik then bent forward from his sitting position on the tub to yank on Clay's wet grey suit pants, pulling roughly on the front pockets till they gave way, causing another funky loud "RIPPPPPPP!!!!!!" as Erik yanked on the trousers, ripping and shredding the damp, expensive material right off of the spluttering, protesting, bound Clay, revealing Clay's sun-bronzed muscular hairy legs, which were covered in a profusion of jet-black curling hairs. Erik than kicked off his athletic shoes and squatted right down in the tub with his own sun-bronzed muscular hairy legs splayed wide open, inadvertently giving Greg another great view of his jock again, including a flash of a teasing smidgen of pink, hairy ball flesh which had unknowingly escaped from its over-filled pouch as a result of Erik's athletic movements. Erik then planted his sweaty, white-cotton-socked feet against Clay's now naked hairy stomach as he pressed his feet for leverage as he suddenly viciously ripped off Clay's damp Calvins, leaving the great arrogant Clayton Sheridan III balls-ass naked, bound in his own elegant bathtub, and revealing Clay's luxuriant jet-black-haired pubic forest, huge, half-hard, cock and big, hairy bull-balls, his bare, lightly hair-flecked assglobes exposed as well as a line of dark black fur growing in his asscrack and around his hair-haloed, pink, winking, little butch virgin asshole.
Clay howled in futile protest at his embarrassing nudity, cursing and shouting about the destruction of his expensive clothing, and threatening to cut off Greg and Erik's balls, calling them both "fuckin'slimeball faggots" and ordering them to let him go that he was a rich man and would pay them handsomely if only they would free him and cut out this bullshit.
Greg and Erik were pissed off at the arrogant attorney's threats, Erik especially pissed at the "faggot" comment. Who did Clay think he was talking to, shit, Erik and Clay used to beat up fags together all the time..how dare he call Erik a faggot?? The Neanderthal Erik did not realize Greg was gay and Clay was too distressed and/or out-of-breath from tickling to enlighten Erik on that subject.
Greg and Erik therefore renewed their tickle torture of the arrogant hotshot with a vengeance, Greg straddling Clay's now naked midsection and teasing his sides, ribs, hairy chest, and hair-haloed man-tits, only to delve into each of the snobby dude's hairy, sweaty armpits, while Erik simultaneously began to tickle the pink, vulnerable soles, instep and heels of the bound hotshots' size-12 feet as well as his twitching toes, bending the toes back to force Clay's executive tootsies to flex helplessly into perfect alignment for excruciating tickle torture.
Clay whooped and screamed and begged and pleaded to no avail, straining wildly in his silk tie bondage, going "AIEEEEEE!!!! OH MY GODDDD!!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! STOPPPPPP!!!!!! I CAN'T TAKE IT!!!! NOT TWO AT ONCE AGAIN, NOOOOOO!!!! PUHLEEEZE STOPPPP!!!!! ARGHHHHHHHHH!!!!! AIEEEEEEEEEE!!!! HELP!!!!! SOMEONE HELP MEEEE!!!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEKKKK!!!! NO!!!!! NOT THERE!!! NOT MY FUCKIN' FEET, NOOO!!! NOT MY PITS!!!!! AIEEEEEEE!!!!!! NOT MY RIBS!!!!!! OH FUCK, NO, PLEASE GOD, NOT MY BELLYBUTTON AGAIN!!!!! AIEEEEEE!!!!"
Clay's traitorous pecker continued to fill with blood and pulse and involuntarily expand from all this unwanted stimulation to the most sensitive parts of his hunky, denuded body, all captured on video tape. Greg duly commented on the straight dude's obvious arousal, humiliating him in front of Erik, pointing out how Now who's the faggot, slave-boy, hmmm? Look who's fuckin' poppin' a humongous boner and with no women around, eh?" Greg also got a secret kick turning around to watch as Erik settled in for good long foot tickling session, Erik pulling over a chair so that he could sit down on it while he tickled Clay's vulnerable feet mercilessly, Greg admiring the view as Erik spread his white short-clad hairy legs wide to bend over and dig into Clay's deserving executive feet, thereby again inadvertently exposing his bulging jockstrap beneath. Even better, Clay's wildly thrashing feet made regular inadvertent swipes right against the crotch of Erik's bulging white Personal Trainer gym shorts as he sat on the chair, Clay's muscular sun-bronzed hairy toes often scrabbling right onto the leg-bands at the bottom of Erik's shorts further exposing the over-filled cup of Erik's sweaty jockstrap, Erik having to occasionally pull back on the chair to avoid having his nuts inadvertently clawed by Clay's size-12s.
Greg was amazed at the leering, smirking concentration on Erik's face; the dude was obviously really getting into this tickling scene, Erik biting down on his lower lip in concentration as his face evilly contorted with expressions of pure sadistic relish and retribution. And wasn't Erik's jockstrap bulging all the more every second? Greg realized with glee that the big goof Erik was getting a boner himself from getting even with Clay, Erik obviously even secretly relishing the resultant foot goosing by Clay's feet he was getting as a result of his own relentless tickle torture of the hysterically laughing attorney. Look at our stuffed-shirt attorney boogie now, thought Greg.
After several minutes of relentless double tickle-torture, Greg got up off of the screeching, sweat-soaked Clay while Erik continued his sadistic teasing of Clay's executive tootsies, Greg watching with glee as Clay's face contorted in spasms of sheer tickle torture agony as he thrashed in his bondage, tears streaming down and his face as he laughed hysterically,
unable to utter any recognizable words other than an occasional "no" "stop" or "puh-leeze"
Greg then produced a tapering feather which he used to tickle the tip of Clay's cock, teasing the sensitive glans and all around the cockhead, while he simultaneously trained another feather right over Clay's hairy bull-balls or down towards, then around Clay's hair-haloed virgin executive asshole. Clay reacted as if shot with electricity as he ordered Greg to "stop that you faggot, nooooo!!" but his big cock pulsed and throbbed with excitement and his hairy bull-balls drew up as his executive nut-oysters were hyper-stimulated to beat the band by Greg's expert feather ministrations. Greg expertly drove the bound executive mad with lust while Erik eagerly continued his relentless foot torture. Soon Greg had insinuated the tip of the feather fronds right into the pent-up executive whorish asshole, Clay's uneducated, tight little pink butthole responding favorably to the incredibly pleasant sensations it was experiencing by being teased with the feather. Clay eagerly humped his cute little lightly hair-flecked executive buns in a tickle frenzy against the pleasant invader, his wide-open hole sighing with pleasure and obviously saying "more, more, deeper, deeper" (although Clay would never verbalize this of course).
Greg continued to feather-fuck Clay's receptive asshole and tease his furry asscrack from the base of his nerve-jangled spine, back up to the rear of the attorney's balls, as he simultaneously teased Clay's pendulous hairy bull-balls and teased the tip and pee-hole of his throbbing executive whanger with the other feather.
Greg and Erik repeatedly brought the hotshot attorney to the brink of orgasm again and again only to back off. To really drive the hysterical hotshot up the wall, Greg occasionally alternated his feather teasing with finger forays into Clay's hairy torso, Greg teasing, tickling, probing and prodding Clay's innie navel with his finger, making him arch his back and yell, Greg smiling sadistically at how the pressure of poking the dude's hair-haloed bellybutton seemed to send electric messages of desire to Clay's rock-hard penis and drawn-up-in-incredible-excitement hairy bull-balls. Greg kept up the bellybutton teasing for several minutes while he alternately tickled, teased and tweaked Clay's vulnerable, hair-haloed man-tits, causing Clay to squeal with whorish desire as his man-tits stood up like hot, hard little man-cocks, as Clay's heretofore uneducated man-tits sizzled with volcanic excitement, the merest touch or breath on them causing Clay to roll his eyes and squeal in frenzied lust. Greg also teased and tickled the arrogant executive's ripe, sweaty armpits tickling and teasing the sensitive flesh of his helplessly exposed underarms, and even yanking on and tearing out clumps of the squealing, shocked executives sweaty underarm hair and sprinkling the soupy, vinegary follicles under the hotshot attorney's nose, tickling his flaring nostrils with his own damp underarm hairs, driving him mad and making him want to sneeze, and then tickling the hairs onto his windburned lips, as Clay attempted to spit them out. Apparently the self-important gasbag had heretofore been under the impression that his pits didn't stink like everyone else's.
After several more minutes of intense tickle torture and orgasm denial, Greg seized Clay's frat paddle and began to spank his deserving ass with it as Erik laughed and pointed and hooted. Greg had a little difficulty making direct hits to Clay's ass at first, until he squatted down on the floor of the big tub and got a clear path to Clay's upturned ass as Clay's feet remained bound through the lucite shelving. Soon Clay's hotshot ass was flaming fire engine red and burning like a brushfire and Clay was begging Greg to stop, to no avail.
Greg then grabbed a big bottle of expensive sandalwood-scented massage oil from one of the shelves of the lucite room divider and began to liberally pour the oil all over Clay's hairy, denuded body. While Clay screamed in outrage and made threats and was not really listening, Greg explained to Erik how Clay had supposedly fed his stinking feet to the "babe" and how she wanted this to happen to Clay as well. Greg and Erik each approached the incredulous Clay's handsome face with their white-socked feet, forcing Clay to worship all four feet at once, sniffing and chowing down and suffocating on the stench of their feet, then was ordered to remove all four socks one by one with Clay's teeth, then to lick suck, sniff and worship each of Greg's and Erik's bare, pink feet and toes, ordering Clay to lick each toe like a little cock, the arrogant executive crossing his eyes in horror and humiliation as the hotshot was degraded big-time, literally worshipping the feet of his two tormentors.
Greg and Erik then began to use their bare feet to swirl around in Clay's hairy, massage-oiled body, until both Greg's and Erik's big feet were also covered in the slippery oil, rubbing their toenails and the soles of their feet all over the bound executive's hairy body at will, teasing Clay's man-tit and hairy armpits with their oily toenails, his ribs, his sides, his erect cock and hairy bull-balls, even in the crack of his ass and into his virgin asshole, tickling lightly and then scraping their sharp toenails more savagely onto his sensitive flesh at random, then slapping, albeit somewhat awkwardly, his already red-hot asscheeks with their feet and toenails. Greg and Erik then walked all over Clay's bound, hairy body, trampling him with their bare feet and then practically suffocating him with all four of their feet, covering his handsome mouth and nose with their feet till Clay was gasping for air, their toes then teasing over his eyes, even into his ears and matted hair.
Greg and Erik then sat on either side of the bound stud, Greg resting his jean-covered ass on the bench of the top of the tub and Erik placing his white-gym short-covered ass onto the floor of the tub, each using their massage-oil-covered feet to tease and jack on Clay's rock-hard boner, Greg again loving the way he got a great inadvertent view of Erik's jockstrap, loving it even more as one of Erik's dirty-blond-haired nutsacs accidentally totally escaped his jock as he expertly glided his feet up and down Clay's boner while Greg did likewise with his own feet from the other side. Greg was glad he convinced Erik to join in, Erik seemingly getting a kick out of it, especially when Greg had secretly informed Erik that the object was to bring Clay to the edge of climax only to back off again and again. Greg and Erik kept up their foot-job of the gasping "almost there" Clay again and again for nearly a half-hour, then each time laughed and pointed at the red-faced dude whose face was repeatedly contorted with the certain look that he was about to blast his load, only for the deserving hotshot to be cruelly frustrated each time they backed off and left the executive's pent-up cock unsatisfied and painfully throbbing with unfulfilled lust.
Finally, Greg untied Clay's big bare feet and then stretched them way over his head to join where his wrists had been tied to the hand grip on the opposite side of the huge tub. This embarrassing pose left Clay's asscrack wide open and his virgin asshole hopelessly and humiliatingly fully exposed; a proctologist would be pleased at the ready accessibility and utter helplessness of the embarrassing pose, as Clayton Sheridan III's nether globes were royally parted, the thick fur of his aristocratic crack separated into two lines of hair instead of joining in their usual hairy thatch, and his pink, exposed hair-haloed asshole unavoidably winking saucily at the world, and his own rock-hard and cum-denied penis staring him bang-on in front of his handsome face.
Then, while Erik gleefully began tickling Clay's upturned feet again as they wriggled helplessly in their new bondage position, Greg attacked Clay with his teasing feathers again, using the delicate feather fronds on Clay's helplessly exposed furry asscrack, beginning with the base of his spine, while he simultaneously teased the very tip and pee-hole of Clay's throbbing boner with his other feather, (occasionally trailing a drop of pre-cum from the tip of his penis the short distance to Clay's sensuous, windburned lips as well, leaving a thin rope of pre-cum goo running from the tip of his throbbing cock to his trembling-with-lust lips). Greg then trailed the one feather down Clay's hair-filled crack, ever-so-slowly and sensuously, teasing the sensitive, exposed flesh ever-so-delicately, twirling and dancing the feather with expert, sadistic relish, sending repeated shivers up and down Clay's spine and causing goosebumps to develop all over his blissed-out-against-his-will body. Greg teased Clay's butch manhole repeatedly by swirling the feather around and around it but never quite on it, instead trailing the feather up the cord of flesh from Clay's virgin asshole up towards the backs of his cum-churning hairy bull-balls, where he danced the feather, deliberately jangling and over-stimulating the squirming, pent-up nut-oysters in the frustrated executive's scumbags, till Clay was mewling with undisguised, drooling lust, his eyes glazed in wanton sexual excitement, his entire body aching for release of its pent-up sexual tension.
Greg eventually danced the feather back down towards Clay's butch, virgin manhole, chuckling as he saw how the little pink button had developed a salacious mind of its own, the butch, hetero orifice which had until recently only known of its use as a shit-chute, throbbing with a life of its own, practically telegraphing its need to be teased and touched by the feather, its tight, puckered opening wantonly exposing itself to facilitate its desire.
Greg decide to oblige, teasing the feather around and around the hot hetero hole, making the straight, arrogant dude involuntarily gasp and sigh with unknown pleasure as the feather descended into the sucking orifice, the pink, elastic lining of the dude's hungry hole sucking up the feather with a life of its own, further aroused by the fact that Greg's other feather was dancing over Clay's throbbing cockhead and glans and Erik was tickling the shit out Clay's size 12's as they wriggled behind his head.
Greg and Erik kept up the teasing torture for several more minutes before Greg intensified his feather teasing and lewd probings, feather-fucking the arrogant attorney to beat the band while he simultaneously teased and tickled the hotshots cockhead, glans and incredibly pent-up hairy bull-balls until the cum-denied executive was finally allowed to blast his load, Cla y squealing like crazy as his cockhead flexed against one teasing feather whereupon bolt after highly pressurized bolt of red-hot gism exploded from the tip of Clay's big cock with a funky whoosh, splattering the self-important arrogant hotshot square in the kisser with repeated blows of volcanic cum-rockets, huge globs of the executive's jizz splattering his handsome face, into his nose, his eyes, his hair, before arcing wildly up over his head up onto where Erik was still tickling his feet, splattering the intellectually-challenged but hunky dude before his knew what hit him, Erik, finally jumping out of the way after his employer's jizz had already got him on his hairy legs, shorts, and , as he bent over to get up, got a direct hit right on his nose. Clay continued to squeal with orgasmic triumph, as his cock continued to explode like a cannon on the Fourth of July, little dying bursts splattering like sparklers from the main volleys of cum, splattering widely around the tub and all over Clay's heaving, hairy body as Clay finally finished the most intense cum of his entire life.
Before Clay could recover completely, Greg convinced the outraged Erik (who somehow was put out that Clay's cum had splattered onto his hetero self) to help him untie Clay and bodily carry him to the barber chair so that Greg and Erik soon had the out-of-it Clay rebound naked to the barber chair.
Soon Greg was lathering up Clay, literally from head to toe, so that Clay was entirely covered in white shave foam, all over his hair, down his body, into his pits, down to his toes, using Clay's own exclusive face soap bowl with its elegant brush applicator, swirling the brush into the hard soap until it foamed with lather, then tickling and teasing every square inch of Clay's naked body with the lather, paying extra teasing attention to Clay's sensitive hairy armpits, crotch and tits with the teasing brush, and using an auxiliary electric toothbrush as well, vibrating the buzzing invader into every lathered nook and cranny, even over his again-erect cock and balls, and around, then into, the executive's asshole, buzzing and vibrating him from within.
Then Greg and Erik proceeded to shave every bit of body hair off of the shocked, cursing Clay as he lay bound in his expensive barber chair, Greg using clipping shears to shave Clay's handsome head as bald as a billiard ball as he openly wept, using the shears on his pits and crotch hair as well, then finishing the job with a handy Trac-II razor. Greg and Erik then slowly washed all the lather off and the remaining body hair, again using the teasing shaving brush, then let Clay feast his mortified eyes on his de-pubed and bald self before tickling and teasing his newly shorn skin to two additional forced orgasms as he lay helplessly strapped to the barber chair, Clay learning that his skin was even more sensitive and vulnerable after the shaving revealed skin heretofore protected by his body hair.
Erik and Clay then hauled the destroyed, defeated, sobbing bald Clay back into the bathtub where they re-bound him. Clay had been so proud and boastful about his butch body hair and his glorious, full head of sexy hair, too. Pity.
All the maneuvering of Clay's body had an unexpected but welcome effect. Erik groaned in pain and rubbed his lower back after lowering Clay back into the tub, announcing "Oh shit, I think I pulled a muscle in my back, lifting him back into the tub Damn!"
Thinking on his feet, as it were, Greg suddenly lied that "Hey, I'm studying chiropractic at college, you know, manipulation of the back and that shit (in case the Neanderthal Erik didn't know what it meant). I'm sure I can ease your pain with just a few simple movements. C'mon over here to this handy massage table, dude, and let me take a look!"
The trusting Erik gamely went over to the massage table. Greg nonchalantly "ordered" Erik in his best impression of a matter-of-fact, seen-it-all-before tone of an experienced "doctor" to "remove your Polo shirt so I can take a look (and how!)"
Erik glided the soft material up and over his head, revealing a flash of his dirty-blond-haired armpits, then neatly and reverently folded it and placed it on a chair, revealing Erik's incredibly buff, sun-bronzed chest, its center cleft by a thatch of dirty blond hair and his man-tits encircled with a few tendrils of the same, then narrowing to fine line which encircled his innie navel before disappearing down into his white gym shorts.
Greg ran his fingers lightly at random down Erik's sun-bronzed, straight-arrow spine, loving how he reacted to the digital stimulation, intrigued how the merest tickling touch to his spine had made him shiver and had caused goosebumps to appear, had even caused Erik's pointed tits to lengthen and harden as the goosebumps enveloped the entire visible portion of his body. This dude had sensitive skin, hmmmm!
"Looks OK from here, dude, but I'll need to take a look at it on the massage table. Not wanting to make his intentions too clear to the uptight straight dude, Greg handed Erik a white towel to wrap around his waist, Greg whispering that it would be necessary to "manipulate your back with some soothing oils" so that Erik would need to remove his gym shorts "and, er, whatever you may have on beneath it" (like he didn't know!) so that they "will not get stained by the oil."
Erik blushed at the thought of dropping his shorts and jock, but the dude had handed him a modesty-saving towel, and, being a "friend" of the hypermacho Clay (as Erik the dum-dum stupidly assumed even in the face of Greg having just ruined Clay before his eyes) Erik also assumed that Greg was a "straight-shooter" like himself.
Erik quickly made some adjustments under the cover of the towel, and soon the gym shorts and jockstrap were being removed by Erik from around his hairy ankles before being neatly placed on the chair next to his folded Polo shirt, the jockstrap carefully folded into the shorts so as not to reveal Erik's most intimate, sweaty garment.
Greg had Erik climb up onto the massage table on his stomach, with his sun-bronzed muscular arms curled under his handsome square-jawed chin, the white towel around his midsection, then began massaging warm massage oil onto each of Erik's broad, sun-bronzed incredibly muscular shoulders, eagerly kneading and massaging his firm muscles, relaxing the hunky Personal Trainer's body as he trailed his hot oily fingers down the line of Erik's strong spinal cord, massaging his strong, sun-bronzed upper back, "accidentally" dipping his oily fingers slightly under the laterals to tease the sensitive sun-bronzed skin just below Erik's hairy armpits, causing Erik to giggle, flinch and jerk in surprise. Greg "apologized," claiming his fingers "slipped," then slowly massaged and kneaded his way until he was to the top of the white towel as it lay wrapped over and teasingly concealing the firm mounds of the young, hunky Personal Trainer's bare hot little ass.
Greg announced that he had "discovered a great deal of tension beginning about here" jabbing right at the top of the towel, Greg announcing in an official doctor-like tone (he hoped!) that "I'm afraid the towel will have to go. We'll need to manipulate you deeper down, the problem appears to be in your tailbone."
"Jeez, you sure, doc, I mean, er, Greg, Jeez, it'll be kinda embarrassing, but if it'll make that pain I had stay away, go with it!"
"I'm afraid it's necessary, Erik" said Greg as he eagerly removed the white cotton towel, revealing Erik's bare, snow-white assmounds which were in total contrast to the rest of his hunky sun-bronzed muscular body, the firm, rounded, muscular mounds of his dewy bubble butt discreetly split by a fine line of dirty-blond asscrack hair. Even better, the incredibly muscular, young Personal Trainer's fat hairy bull-balls and the length of his large flaccid penis were visible as they lay squashed against the padded leather massage table between his sun-bronzed, hairy, muscular thighs.
Greg then slid his oily hands onto each of the firm, cool assmounds themselves, delicately and imperceptibly separating them to reveal his tightly-packed asscrack, and also thereby allowing a single drop of massage oil which had pooled in the small of Erik's sun-bronzed back to suddenly begin its slow descent into the recess of the young denuded jock's asscrack, Greg eagerly watching as the drop of oil crept down the dude's crack, only to drip right over and onto Erik's pink, winking, virgin, hair-haloed asshole, causing him to involuntarily gasp and sigh before the drop continued ever-so-slowly down, down the hairy chink to drip over the dude's fat, hairy balls before sliding down the length of the recumbent Prince's flaccid cock, dripping off the plum-shaped head onto the soft supple black padded leather of the massage table.
Greg then slid a well-oiled finger into the area of Erik's asscrack from the base of his spine down about an inch or an inch and a half, massaging what he said was Erik's "tailbone". To Greg's surprise, whatever he was doing in fact not only seemed to actually help or make Erik's back go back into place more, but it also made Erik respond with a "Oh Greg, that fells goood, I think you're really getting to the source of the trouble, yeahhh" as he arched and even sort of raised his ass back against Greg's oily probing finger, unwittingly sliding his cock and balls over the oily surface of the massage table, Greg happily noticing how the plum-shaped helmet of Erik's penis was filling with blood, and almost imperceptibly hardening ever so little as the friction of Erik's movements pleasurably rubbed it against the soft, supple black leather of the thickly padded massage table.
Greg augmented his single digit probing of the upper part of Erik's couthly-haired asscrack with one oily finger, ostensibly to get to his "tailbone," by alternately squeezing and massaging each of the firm mounds of Erik's white bubble butt, "to relax your tense glutes" was his excuse, Greg rubbing his oily hands in concentric circles one hand over the other in rhythmic motions, gently massaging and separating Erik's deep ass ravine, which also allowed more massage oil to "accidentally" slowly drip-drip-drip down Erik's spread-open asscrack, drops of oil goosing his winking, tight, hair-haloed little pink butthole and dripping down to soak his hairy bull-balls and lengthening cock, Erik unconsciously rubbing his cock against the black padded leather massage table as he rode with the incredibly pleasurable stimulation.
Greg also "accidentally" let some of his well-oiled fingers drop ever lower into Erik's spread crack, errant oily fingers "inadvertently" sliding right down Erik's well-lubricated buttcrack, to brush against Erik's helplessly exposed hair-haloed virgin butthole as more warm oil gushed right over his anal rosebud, causing Erik to involuntarily sigh and groan with pleasure, the slow-witted Erik only just realizing the effect this stimulation was having on other parts of his horny body, Erik shocked to feel his traitorous cock suddenly spring a full-fledged boner as unbidden pleasure coursed through his strong young loins. Erik suddenly felt extremely naked and exposed and blushed with shame as he felt his cock pulse with excitement. "Damn, I'm getting a hard-on, throwin' a fuckin' bone in public-how totally uncool! Like, Clay and Greg will, like, think I'm a fag or something" thought Erik, Erik suddenly trying to close his hairy thighs tightly to conceal his arousal. Unfortunately, if anything, the friction of his own hairy thighs, which had themselves begun to gather oil from the puddle of massage oil underneath Erik, only made his cock throb harder as it felt itself being tightly wrapped between the dude's warm, hairy thighs.
"Uh, I, like, think, you know, like, have put my back in, like, place, Greg," stammered Erik, "I, like, think, maybe we can stop the, uh, like, treatment, OK?" said the embarrassed Erik.
"No, Erik, I've only just begun to loosen that tailbone for ya, stud, don't give up yet, dude." Greg then leaned over the blushing Erik to confidentially whisper into the pink shell of Erik's ear, "Don't worry, dude, they teach us in chiropractic that lots of dudes get kinda worked up when their tailbones are being manipulated, so if that's happening, it's
normal, dude. Shit, some dude's `sperm ducts' contribute to the problem; if that's part of the lower back tension, the only way to relieve it is by spontaneous ejaculation. Don't worry about it, just ride with the sensations and your body will do the rest. And Clay's bound flat on the tub; he can't see what's going on over here."
Erik seemed to visibly relax at this convoluted medical explanation. What he got out of it was that it was normal for dudes to throw a bone when they had their tailbones worked on. But what he meant by the e-jack-awhatsus part, lame-brained-but-buff Erik didn't have a clue.
Greg warned Erik that he was going to apply the intense pressure and manipulation Erik needed to be "cured," and proceeded to knead and massage his butt while his probing oily finger jabbed down his spread open crack, Greg also slapping Erik's ass with his open palms to "stimulate the blood" until Erik's white ass blushed pinkish-red with hand prints as well. Erik had re-spread his hairy thighs so that his rampant cock was free to slide sensuously against the padded black leather of the massage table. Greg really began to "throw his own back into it" pressing down firmly with his probing digit, Erik's body humping against the black padded leather as his breath came in shorter and shorter gasps, and, when Greg's oily finger made surprising contact with Erik's private hole, Erik gasped and sighed then cried "Oh, no, dude, I think I'm gonna I'm gonna, Oh No!!!! Ahhhhhh!!!! Yesssss!!!!!!! as his hairy bull-balls drew up and his rock-hard boner pulsed, then his big peehole opened up and gushed out bolt after bolt of his pent-up hot Personal Trainer jizz with a funky whoosh, squirting his hot load onto the black padded leather of the massage table, only for it to squirt, then drip, down over the back of the table and drip onto the granite floor of the elegant bathroom.
Erik was mortified and apologized profusely for his "accident," Greg assuring him it was a normal part of the chiropractic "treatment" for tailbone problems.
As Erik panted, trying to recover from his embarrassing orgasm, Greg gently rolled over his hunky prize onto his back, Erik still groaning with post-orgasmic pleasure, his sperm-soaked oily pubes and still half-hard cock pulsing away. Greg seized the moment to suddenly strap Erik onto the massage table on his back, using the strong elastic bands at the foot and head of the table provided by the manufacturer to prevent people from falling off of it and suing them, Greg essentially spread-eagling Erik on his back with his arms raised high above him, revealing the sweaty depths of Erik's hairy, aromatic armpits.
Erik came out of the fog to ask "Why're ya strappin' me in, dude? I thought the treatment was over. I feel great now."
"Because, you Neanderthal, gay-bashing idiot, you've got a special "treatment" coming to you now! You're gonna be topped by a "goddamned faggot" namely, me, who's gonna teach you what happens to gay bashers, gonna make you laugh your head off, show you how stupid you look when you're being tied down and tickled senseless after having just shot a load. That makes you all the more ticklish, my little pet!" crowed Greg.
"Hey what the fuck? You let me up off this thing you faggot asshole!" said the struggling, red-faced hunk, every sun-bronzed muscle group being shown to perfection with each straining pull to get free. "You so much as lay one faggot finger on me again and I'll fuckin" cut your faggot balls off, fuckface, I swear!!"
Greg's answer was to remove Erik's sweaty jockstrap from where it lay hidden in his white gym shorts on the chair, and, after taking a few hits of its aromatic depths, placed it over Erik's own mouth, forcing him to lick and smell his own ball and crotch sweat and chow down on his stray pubic hairs caught in the jock. Greg then approached the bound dude with toothbrushes and feathers whereupon Greg proceeded to trail one toothbrush down the pink soles of each of the Personal Trainer's exposed, helpless feet, running them down the soles, over the instep and heels then up to the curling toes causing Erik to gasp and curse and go "AIEEEEE!!!! STOPPPP!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!! CUT THAT SHIT OUT!!!!! THAT FUCKIN TICKLES!!!!! ARGHHHHH!!!! HAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAAHAHAHA!!!! HOHOHHOHOHOHOHOHOHHO OH
NOOOOOOO!!!! STOPPPPPPP!!!! HELPPPP!!!!! CLAY GET THIS FAGGOT OFF MY GODDAMNED FEETT!!!! OH SHITTTTTTT!!!!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!! HELP MEEEEE SOMEBODY HELPPPPP!!!!" his cries not the least muffled by his jockstrap gag.
Greg then slowly trailed feathers up each of Erik's hairy sun-bronzed muscular legs giving his sensitive post-orgasmic boyflesh goosebumps all over, making the gay-bashing stud want to crawl out of his jumpy, sensitive skin, Greg approaching the dude's sperm-soaked, sweaty balls with the feathers, teasing his hairy bull-ballsacs and churning the many remaining nut-oysters in his hot nuts, driving the newly pent-up sperm bombs crazy before proceeding up Erik's again rock-hard cock, dancing the feathers sensuously up the curving fuckstick to the plum-shaped pulsing cockhead and sensitive glans. Greg sadistically teased and tormented Erik's hot boner, trailing feather tendrils over the very tip and pee-hole of the humongous organ, causing Erik to sigh, moan, curse and grind his ass in figure 8's to feed his fuckstick against the teasing, feel-good feathers, Erik nevertheless telling Greg to "Cut that the fuck out, you faggot! Leave my straight-boy fuckstick alone, dammit!!"
Greg then used the feather tendrils and then the stiff non-feathered ends of the feathers circling round and round Erik's virgin hair-haloed innie navel, causing Erik to arch his back and gasp and sigh, the depths of his sensitive belly-button seeming to have electric currents running to his cock and balls and making him even harder than before. Greg also viciously jabbed Erik on his ribs and sides, dancing his fingers over these sensitive areas causing Erik to shout "NOOOOO!!!! NOT MY RIBS NOOOO!!!! CUT THAT OUT YOU GODDAMNED FAGGOT!!! GIVE ME A FUCKIN' BREAK!!!! NOOOOO!!!!" as he thrashed about and shrieked and giggled hysterically.
Greg then proceeded to assault Erik's hair-haloed man-tits with the feathers circling them and making his love-nubbins stand up like hard little cocks as Erik gasped and sighed in pleasure, only to delve deep into the hairy depths of Erik's sweaty armpits, causing the ticklish Personal Trainer to shriek and gasp and moan and beg and giggle, "NOOOOO!!! NOT MY PITS NOOO, NOT THERE, PLEASE GOD NOT THERE!!!!!" as Erik shrieked and laughed hysterically, unable to get his breath as he drooled into his jockstrap gag and involuntarily chewed against its pouch, biting down to try to resist the need to giggle and laugh and shriek, to no avail.
Greg kept up the intense tickle torture for half an hour, also bringing the bound Erik closer and closer to orgasm, only to back off at the last moment. Greg laughed as the big, bound bully laughed hysterically, cried, screamed, pleaded and pulled at his bonds in frustration as every sensitive inch of his post-orgasmic body was severely tickle tortured and tormented for Greg's amusement, Greg making sure the gay-basher knew why he was being punished. Greg tickled Erik's sensitive tootsies so intensely that Erik's half-hard cock was forced to erupt in a fountain of yellow piss, the big Personal Trainer humiliated at having been force to pee all over himself from the strain of his hysterical laughter. His super-strong abdominals had cramped down so hard in an effort to gain control of his laughter and in order to try to catch his breath that the pressure suddenly forced his full bladder to squirt all over himself, Greg laughing at the red-faced, ashamed hunk, before hosing him down with the ice-cold shower spray directed from the adjacent jacuzzi tub area.
Greg then focused on tickle teasing the bound stud's privates again, soon tickling Erik's cock to rock-hardness again and again, driving him up the wall with lust, Greg teasing the feather fronds over the very tip and pee-hole of the bound Personal Trainer's cockhead while simultaneously teasing his pent-up hairy bull-balls and circling around his hair-haloed virgin asshole, until Erik was oooing and ahhing. his toes curling and big feet flexing as his big bull-balls rose up, and with a wild banshee wail, the bound dude threw his head back and the tip of his cock exploded with another intense orgasm, white-hot spunk exploding up and out of the rampant fuckstick, a solid line of white goo splattering up to the high ceiling only to rain back down in sperm bombs all over Erik's heaving, hairy body, before Erik blasted again and again volley after volley of pent-up nut oysters cascading out of his prick with volcanic, eruptive force, splattering onto Erik and Greg and all over the floor.
Before Erik could recover from his intense orgasm, Greg freed and escorted him, at the point of the kitchen knife Clay had brought up with him, over to the empty jacuzzi tub where Clay was still bound, then tied the naked Erik stomach-to stomach on top of the naked, de-pubed and bald-as-a-billiard-ball Clay, so that they were bound naked to each other in the bathtub.
Greg removed Erik's jockstrap gag, only to pull the jockstrap up onto Clay's body and over his privates, then got Clay's jockstrap from the dirty-clothes hamper and put it on Erik, then pushed the pouches of each jock to one side so that their cocks, balls and (in Erik's case) pubes, were exposed to each other.
Greg then went down to the kitchen where he found two ice-cold cucumbers in the refrigerator. Greg rammed a cucumber up each of Clay's and Erik's deserving asses pulling up the elastic jockstrap leg straps and placing them over the ends of the cucumbers to hold them in place up their asses, as Clay and Erik cursed him out to no avail, again threatening death to the "goddamned fuckin' faggot!"
Greg then spanked Erik's deserving ass with the frat paddle, being careful not to dislodge Erik's cucumber dildo, laughing at how Erik's thrashings only rubbed his again hardening cock against that of his straight buddy Clay's and how the weight of Erik's body only drove Clay's cucumber dildo up Clay's ass all the more, also admiring how fire-engine red and burning Erik's bare white ass had become.
After Greg left with the incriminating videotapes, Erik and Clay struggled for hours trying to free themselves, which only resulted in further embarrassing orgasms as they shot all over each other repeatedly, the elastic straps of the jockstraps helping to gently push the cucumbers in and out of their virgin assholes, essentially fucking themselves against their will as they struggled to get free.
Greg called the cops with an "anonymous tip" causing Clay and Erik to be found by the mocking cops who assumed they had discovered some kinky gay bondage love-nest. Greg also called the local "Breaking News" TV station to be sure the ace reporters got good shots of the bald Clay and the bewildered Erik being led away covered only in blankets as a bevy of TV reporters captured the moment for all time.