"Hey!" Vern Smith shouted from the front his voice booming through the truck like a cannon. He was driving; to speak to us, he had to push back the little window that separated us from the driver's seat. "Put blindfolds on those wimps! That's part of Initiation.''
Joe Cianelli reached into his black leather gymbag and handed the blindfolds to his lover, Pete Patowski. The sandy-haired hunk took great care that we would be unable to see anything, even taping cotton pads on the edges of the blinds. The satin blindfold felt cool against my eyelids. My heart was pounding. I was nervous as hell and, I've got to admit it, excited too. My cock started to twitch.
"Looks like you're really getting into this," Joe said, his voice booming through the van. And that was just his speaking voice. I felt cool fingertips right behind my balls. I moaned. Then the fingers started to speed up. I smiled. I Couldn't help it. Even though I knew it wouldn't do any good, I bit my lower lip.
"Aw." Joe said. "Is baby ticklish?"
Laughter erupted from me in waves. My muscles strained against the ropes. I'm a strong fucker, but I might as well have weighed ninety-eight pounds; all this tickling made me as weak as a pup. I felt a hot tongue pop into my armpit and I really started to howl.
"Get that fucker." snarled Bob Morrell.
Bob had every reason to be pissed at me. Not an hour earlier, I tricked him into some inversion boots at the gym. An ex boyfriend of his had told me about his little weakness, and I played it for all it was worth. Bob deserved it, the arrogant fuck!
Now he was egging Joe on and loving every minute of this crazy scene.
"Tickle the shit out of him! Who the fuck does he think he is, getting me like th-"
"Who the fuck do you think YOU are, shithead!' Joe yelled. "We're calling the shots here! I think YOU need a little demonstration, man. Just to show you who's really boss here. Pete, get those turkey feathers!''
"No!" Bob screamed.
Joe's lover, Pete, laughed wickedly. I heard the sound of a zipper opening, maybe to that black duffel bag I saw earlier. Bob pleaded with them like a little boy trying to avoid a spanking. My face flushed as my cock began to stiffen even more.
"Oh. God," Bob said, barely able to suppress his giggles. "Not ha ha...my FEET...PLEASE! Aaaagghhhhh! Hahahahahahaha!"
Well, they were really giving it to that son of a bitch! Just like I had earlier, when I tricked that blonde jerk into the inversion boots at the gym, attaching one-hundred pound dumb bells to his wrists. That idiot thought I was going to teach him a new exercise! I tickled the thunder out of him. I had a great time . . . until Vern Smith, my boss, came back unexpectedly with Joe Cianelli and Pete Patowski. Just WHY they came back, I still don't know. Now Bob and I are both being dragged to God knows where.
Hearing Bob carry on the way he was, screaming, pleading, laughing his fool head off, gave me a terrific hard-on. They didn't let up either, totally merciless. Had him going for at least an hour.
Then I noticed something; the sound of tires on a gravel road. Where the fuck were they taking us?
The panel truck turned. We stopped so suddenly, I would've fallen off my stool if I wasn't tied so securely. I felt the bonds loosen around my ankles.
"Don't even think about pulling any stunts, hot stuff," Joe said. "We've got plans for you."
Bob whimpered as we were shoved out of the van. I almost lost my balance on the cool ground.
"Stand still!" yelled Smith.
They had left our blindfolds on, of course. I felt leather tighten around my ankles again. Fingers played with my sensitive instep and I giggled.
"This is going to be good," Pete purred. "Real good."
A door creaked open. Somebody pushed me forward.
A strange, deep voice boomed, "Welcome to The Barn!''
The Initiation was about to begin.
The Barn turned out to be much warmer than the outside; I'd say the temperature was about seventy-five degrees. Even the floor was fairly warm. I heard footsteps behind us. Suddenly, my blindfold was yanked off.
Saaren Stiller stood in front of Bob Morrell and me, studying us. Saaren was Smith's lover and the man who loaned Vern the money to start the gym. Saaren's family was second only to the Duponts in pharmaceuticals, and it was rumored that he had made a lot of money in illegal drugs as well. He looked far younger than he actually was, somewhere in his mid-fifties. Well over six feet tall, Saaren's body was powerfully muscled, with wide shoulders tapering down to a hard stomach and huge legs. The black leather encasing his body gleamed as if it had a life of its own. His handsome face showed no emotion; he might as well have been looking at livestock. He scratched his totally bald pate and chuckled. Others laughed with him.
Hearing the others in the Barn was like having ice water thrown at my face. I turned my head; the place was packed! I never saw so many good-looking guys under one roof, not even at the gym. Men of all ages and types, most of them dressed in leather. There were about a dozen guys directly behind Saaren; most of these hunks were completely shaved from head to foot, wearing nothing but spiked slave collars and leather jock straps.
"Vernon, you did well in bringing in the extra. . . amusement," Saaren said, looking directly at me. "Now we have three to initiate instead of just one. I could almost forgive you for keeping us waiting."
Vern's face flushed, but he said nothing.
Saaren laughed as he strutted right over to me. I was too scared to look at him directly, so I kept my head downcast. But he cupped my chin in his large, beefy hand and lifted my head. I'm not a little guy by any stretch of the imagination, but Saaren really towered over me.
"I've had my eye an you for a long time," he said.
His eyes were ice blue. Goosebumps popped up, starting at my calves and crawling up my spine to the back of my neck. He laughed; deeply, heartily.
"I'm going to make you suffer!" he roared. "And I'm going to make you beg for more!''
I passed out in a dead heap, Saaren's laughter pounding my ears.
I finally came to; somebody was licking my feet, his moustache brushing the base of my toes while his tongue lapped the my sensitive soles. My feet were restrained, somehow, so trying to pull away was useless. I was in hysterics even before I had a chance to open my eyes. I wish I hadn't.
One of the slaves was licking my feet, which were bound in heavy stocks. My wrists were shackled up and behind me to an ugly wooden post and my ass was firmly planted on a wooden stool. One glance to either side of me and I found out that I was in pretty hot company, but they weren't getting tickled right now.
"Please. . . Hahahahah...stop a minute...Hahahaha...I need to breathe! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!" I knew my pleading would be useless, but I had to try.
The handsome slave gave me a sly grin And stepped up the action, using his slender fingers to tease my arches. The tickling came in one big wave after another. My throat started to get a little raw from all the laughing and my head felt like helium just got pumped into it.
"Mario, stop!" Saaren roared.
The slave stopped and crawled like a dog over to Saaren. He stood there, just as casual as you please eating a roast beef sandwich. Lots of mayo formed a ring around his mouth. He patted Brian on his shiny bald head, the slave kissing Saaren's boot tenderly.
Men strolled around the barn, eating sandwiches, drinking beer or soda pop. Some of them pointed to us and chuckled. I could see a simple buffet set up at the far end of the barn.
"You shithead!" Bob spat. "Look what you got us into!''
"Shut up, asshole. You're just going to make things worse!'' This from the guy on my left. That voice. I turned my head. Patrick Colby, the guy who told me about Bob Morrell's little weakness. I had run into him at the Eagle. He used to go to Vern's gym until he broke up with Bob about a month ago. Patrick sure had a lot to say that night!
"Who are you to call anybody an asshole, Bob", I yelled.
"I was talking to Patrick, fuckface!"
"Be quiet, boys." Saaren said, like he was our dad. "Things are going to be tough enough. Don't force me to give you extra punishment."
Then, Saaren whispered to Mario, who scrambled away towards the buffet table.
"You!" Saaren bellowed, pointing his finger at Bob Morrell. "I know all about you! You need to be taught a little lesson in humility!"
Mario crawled back to Saaren, carrying a jar of mayonnaise in his left hand. Holding the jar near his shaved, muscular, chest, the slave had to limp like a wounded animal. Saaren smiled as he took the jar from Mario. The master snapped his fingers and called out a half dozen names. Instantly, slaves gathered behind him, their eyes bright; they were eager for his commands.
Bob gulped, his magnificent body covered with tiny beads of sweat. His mouth tried to form words, but nothing came. I almost felt sorry for the jerk.
Saaren turned his immense back to us and spoke softy to the slaves. It couldn't have been for more than a couple of minutes, but it sure seemed like a long, long time.
By the time Saaren showed his face to us again, Bob was sweating bullets. None of us dared to look directly at the towering leather master as he strolled over to Bob. The sound of Saaren opening the jar of mayo made me tremble; the room was that quiet. All the members stopped talking and eating. Starting at Bob's pits, Saaren smeared mayonnaise on Bob's body, really laying it on thick at the most sensitive places. Bob's trembling seemed to amuse the master of masters; his laugh was deep and nasty. By the time he got to Bob's huge feet, Saaren was laughing almost as hard as Bob was. Saaren paid special attention to the tender places between his captive's long toes. Bob went wild.
"No more man! Hahahahahahahaha! Please! I'll really lose it! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
Saaren finally stopped.
"You know what to do boys," he said to the salivating slaves. "Get him!"
The slaves lunged at Bob like a pack of wild dogs. Lapping at his body, they sent Bob into orbit. Every muscle popped and rippled out as he tried to free himself. No way. They had tied us all good and tight.
"This...is... CRAZY! Aaagggggggggggggghhh! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Please! You hahahahaha GOT TO STOP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Thirty minutes or so passed by. An hour. When Bob's voice started to crack, Saaren just shoved a baby bottle in his mouth, filled with grapefruit juice. He did the same for Patrick and me and ordered us to drink. I hate that stuff. Bitter as hell. But I drank it down to the bottom of the bottle.
My eyelids felt like they were weighed down with lead. The hunk next to me was already out like a light. I heard Saaren say something nasty to Smith before I passed out.
I wake up suddenly. My muscles ached, but not too badly, so I know I wasn't out for long.
Saaren stood in front of us, his head wrapped in a tight, black leather hood. He was barechested, his skin smooth, except for the thick black hair in his pits. His black leather pants and knee-high boots were spit-polish shiny. On either side of me, my companions started to groan; I was the first one to wake up.
Behind Saaren, the men stood in small groups, speaking softly. Once in a while, someone would look at us and smile. I didn't like the looks of it; the guys reminded me at a bunch of anxious vultures, the kind who can't wait for an animal to die before they start eating him.
"Have a nice nap, kiddies?" Saaren asked.
Everyone laughed, but the place became quiet pretty soon; they knew Saaren had something to say. I could hear my own heart beat.
"We have two initiates we weren't planning on," Saaren smiled at Bob and me. "Vern and the others went back to the gym to pick up some...equipment he had forgotten. Equipment we will be using here tonight. Unlike Patrick, these two haven't had the Initiation Rules explained to them.
"We will put you through tests of endurance, which I will be directing. At no time are you to say anything negative or derogatory. In other words. don't tell us to stop or quit. We'll just get nastier. Say something positive, such as 'Yes, please, more, more' and we might stop. Temporarily.
"If any or all of you go through Initiation without saying anything negative, you can have any tickle scene you want with anyone in this room. But say something negative and you'll be a tickle slave for the entire weekend: a tickle slave for anyone who wants you.
"These will be tests of both will and endurance. We expect a positive attitude, but we also expect you to take it like a man. For each test, the initiate who starts laughing first will be a tickle slave for the weekend. So keep the right attitude and try to be tough and maybe, just maybe, you won't wind up being everyone's slave the whole time you're here.
"So you see, it's very simple. Even you two can understand it. Questions?"
Bob squirmed, "Do I...uh...HAVE to...like...do this?"
The room exploded with laughter. Saaren was the loudest. For minutes, all we could do was sit there, red-faced, while the whole room howled at our situation.
Finally, Saaren said, "Enough! Let's begin now."
He snapped his fingers. Three shaved slaves scurried apart from the crowd and kneeled in front of him. Saaren gave us a sidelong glance, his sharp eyes resting on me a little longer than was absolutely necessary. He turned his attentions back to his slaves.
"Bring out the shaving equipment. When you get back, string these Initiates up."
While the slaves were off doing their duty, I shut my eyes. A plan began to unravel in my mind...
The slaves set up a small pine table with all sorts of brushes, lather and shaving gear. Three mean-looking Masters were throwing ropes over the rafters. Bob Morrell wasn't looking like his usual cocky self now; his eyes bugged out of his head and his prize-winning body was drenched in sweat, he looked like he just took a shower. To my left, Patrick trembled a little and his breathing was shallow and nervous, but he held his head high, hardly even blinking as he watched our scene being set up.
Six masters untied us from the stocks. My legs felt like Jell-O and the way my fellow captors were wobbling along, I could tell they felt the same way. We were so wiped out, they didn't even need to shackle us.
They strung us up so high, our toes barely touched the ground. The masters, two to each of us Initiates, lathered us up all over. They used old-fashioned barber's brushes and the damned things tickled like hell. All three of us jumped and squealed like kids, but they'd just give it to us worse. As they started to shave us, we had no problem keeping still; those straight razors were scary. The masters were so good at this, they were done in minutes. Saaren hosed us off with cold water and everyone had a good laugh over the way we howled when that ice cold water hit.
All the hair from my eyes down was gone. The place was well heated, but I still shivered from the hosing we got. Patrick looked great; the shaving brought out all the rosiness of his taut skin. His pink nipples seemed to stand out a little more; pale green eyes gazing at the scene with resignation. And Bob, that sonofabitch, looked kind of innocent now that the fuzz around his pits and crotch was gone.
"Now," Vern said. "Let's play doctor!"
Three gurneys (you know, the things they use in hospitals to wheel patients around) were whisked out by six handsome slaves. Six leathered masters untied us Initiates and tied us to the gurneys, which were covered with army blankets (to protect us from the cold metal, I guess). Again, a tight leather blindfold covered my eyes. They wheeled us away, sometimes spinning the gurneys around. Several times, I'd feel a finger stroke the sole of my foot or a feather dancing on my ribs. But they pretty much left me alone.
We stopped. The straps were untied. The world seemed to swirl under my feet when I tried to sit up, but I felt a large firm hand on my back guiding me up and other hands on my shoulders and legs easing me into an upright position. I could hear Patrick and Bob being shuffled forward, too. A pair of strong hands grasped my shoulders hard so I knew when to stop.
The same hands pushed me back, firmly but gently. I was on some kind of couch, covered with...paper! A doctors examination table.
Finally, the blindfold came off. I was in the middle, again. We were in a huge room that looked like a doctor's examination room, it even smelled like that disinfectant they use. Our feet were up in stirrups, tied in place with padded restraints and strips of rawhide and our arms were tied overhead by the wrists to shiny hooks set into the ceiling. There are other hooks up there. I don't want to think how they might use them later on. The head rests are set high, so I have a pretty good view of what's going on.
Everybody now wore those sickly green hospital get-ups you see at Kaiser, complete with facial masks. Slaves and masters are dressed alike here, except slaves are barefoot. Saaren is standing at my feet, his friends are all gathered behind and along side of him as if they were waiting for him to give a speech. Everybody, including Saaren, had one hand behind him. What the hell could they be hiding?
"I trust you three are comfortable?" Saaren said. His friends laugh. I could feel every muscle in my body quiver; I sure got myself into a mess this time. Vern Smith stood Saaren's side, those intense eyes of his just boring into me. But Saaren liked me; he looked at me longer than any of the others. Maybe, just maybe, I can turn this to my advantage. Somehow...
"Now, gentlemen, we will demonstrate one of the wonders of modern technology. Something I've just come up with." Saaren says, suddenly whipping up the hand he had behind him.
The thing he's got in his hand looked like a cross between an electric shaver and a dentist drill. Shiny, metallic, and big enough to fit in your palm, it came to a rounded point and in that point there's a little...feather. Saaren pushed the white button in the center the device whirrs and that damned feather began to vibrate like crazy. Saaren kept pressing the button; the feather vibrated faster and the sound jumps to a high pitch.
Saaren turned to his friends.
"Let's start. We'll see which one of these guys breaks first," Saaren said.
They swarmed around us, but the fuckers started slow. First I felt a vibrating feather in my left pit. I jerked up. Then a feather on my right foot. Another in my belly button. There wasn't a hair on my body so I felt everything ten times worse than I usually would. I've never felt so NAKED. Patrick sounded ready to explode and Bob is even louder, tears flying from his face like rain hitting a fan; the scene back at the gym was quiet in comparison. I clenched my teeth together so tight I thought my jaw would crack. I was determined to stay in control even though my whole body just wanted to LAUGH!
"STOP" Bob screamed. "I'll do anything! Hahahahahahaha! I'll suck all your dicks! Hahahahaha! Let you FUCK ME! JUST STOP! HAHAHAHA!"
I looked over. I could barely see Patrick through all the guys, but I could tell that three of them stood at each of his big jerking feet, working over the soles and toes pretty good. Patrick was laughing, crying and begging like a little boy.
They were working me over pretty good, too. One guy used just his bare hands to dig into my ribs. There was one guy at each of my feet, holding my toes back and giving my soles a workout. My voice got dry, so they let up on me a few seconds while someone held a glass of water with a straw up to my lips. I slurped it down fast. Just as I let my head down, they started to work an me again.
Suddenly, Patrick YELLED. I looked over. There was a guy at each of Patrick's feet, jabbing those electric feathers in-between his toes. And somebody else holding up his fat cock, feathering his meat around the head while somebody else was working just behind his bouncing nuts. Tears were pouring out of his eyes, his face was red as a beet.
"NO! STOP! AAAMPAGHHHHHH! I'M GONNA COME! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHM! NOOOOOOOOO! AAAAARGOOSSHHHHHHHHHHH!" Patrick screamed. And came like a gusher. He almost hit the damn ceiling!
But they kept right on going. Patrick's face contorted, his eyes wide and crazed. Bob was laughing his head off. Hot tears poured out of my eyes and I bit my tongue hard to keep from cracking. Some guy was even goosing my knees! I felt soft rope around the head of my cock. Vern Smith looped it around a couple of times and tied the end of the rope it to a hook on the ceiling. My vision is blurred, but I could see the wicked look on Smith's face as he whipped out the gray silk hanky from his back pocket. One of the slaves tied my balls up with a rawhide strip so that they were nice and separate.
Holding the silk hanky at both ends, like a two-sided handsaw, Smith drew it back and forth over the head of my cock. The same slave who tied my balls began tickling them with a stiff feather. All this plus my feet were still getting a pretty mean workout along with the rest of me. The silk teased my cock just enough to get me really hot, but not let me come. I was really climbing the wails now. A quick glance over at Bob and I saw that he was getting the same treatment.
It sure must've been a sight; three hot, naked bodybuilders getting driven out of their minds for anybody who cared to watch, or even participate. Saaren didn't take his eyes off us for one minute. Our eyes met for a couple of seconds. The bulge in his crotch sure got bigger.
"Aaaaaaaaaagghh! Hahahahahahahahaha! OOOOhhhh SHIIIT! AAAGGHHH," Bob bellowed, huge, thick wads of come poured out of his thick tool, covering his shaved cock and balls. Saaren waved his big hand over his head and everybody stopped what they were doing.
"Both of you," he says, pointing to Patrick and Bob. "Are tickle slaves for the weekend."
He ordered the guys around me to stop. They did and suddenly I just bellowed a laugh that lasted a couple of minutes. My whole body tingled.
Saaren strolled over to me, smiling, "You're a TOUGH bottom. As a reward, you'll be free to come and go as you like. You can play as a top or as a bottom. Or both. We encourage guys to come up with their own game plans."
The slaves untied me gingerly, with great respect. Saaren leads everyone out of the "examination room" back into the central part of the Barn. Patrick and Bob had to be carried in like weak pups. Still naked, I turned and looked Saaren straight in the eye, knowing that he's the type who'd like that.
"I'd like to challenge somebody to a wrestling match." I said.
"Fine," he said. "What are the stakes?''
"One year's worth of tickle servitude.''
"The loser is the tickle slave to the winner for a year'? Great! Whose the lucky man?"
"Vern Smith," I announced.
A Murmur swept the crowd like a tidal wave. Vern Smith looked fit to be tied, no pun intended. Saaren had a wicked gleam in his eye.
"You realize that Vern is my main man. If he wins, he's likely to turn you over to me once in a while."
"I know," I said.
"Vern will accept the challenge, of course," Saaren said, not so much as glancing in Smith's direction. "Let the games begin!"
A cheer thundered throughout the barn. Guys stomp their feet and clap so hard, I thought the roof would cave in. Much to my surprise, Saaren orders the slaves to clear a space in the middle of the barn and throw down a wrestling mat. I didn't expect anything this elaborate, they must've had wrestling matches here before. I overhear somebody say something about the Mad Tickler, that famous (or maybe infamous) wrestler who wins all his matches by tickling his opponents into submission. Was he part of this crowd? Maybe he trained here. I asked one of the slaves who untied me and he told me the whole story. I tuck the info away in the back of my head.
Three slaves dress me up in wrestling gear, including a helmet. My wrestling suit is red, Vern's is black. Each of us enters the arena. When we got to the center, we just faced each other. Smith had a little more muscle and he was a shade taller, but I was younger and quicker. Saaren stood between us, acting as referee, of course. He even had a whistle. It's to be a no-holds barred match, though we'll start it college style. Saaren tossed a coin to see who'd be top or bottom. I called heads. Tails came up.
I knelt on the mat. As Smith put his arm around my waist, he said. "You're going to be a good little slave."
I turn around and smiled, "Kiss my ass."
Saaren blew the whistle. Instantly, Smith tried to use his own body weight to shove me down while his left hand digs into me. His fingertips felt like electric daggers. I clenched my teeth to keep from laughing and I pulled away real fast. When I do that, Smith catches hold of my seat and manages to rip it half way down. He's stood there, smirking like the smug son-of-a-bitch he is, while everybody laughed; It was time to make my move. In a flash, I leaned my head down, ran, and butt my head right into Vern's middle.
"Aaaaaawwwwppphhhhh!", then Smith fell on his hairy ass. I wasted no time landing right on top of that sucker. Forcing his arms out to either side of him, I pinned his wrists to the mat. He started to yell and curse, but had him down pretty solid; he wasn't going anyplace. The hot odor of his sweaty pits practically grabbed my nose, so I shoved my tongue into his right pit and had a taste.
Smith exploded as I snaked my way around his hairy pit. He's a salty fucker and the thick, black pit hair almost made me choke. Laughter pounds into my ears as I kept right on licking and I get so spaced out on what I was doing that was not at all ready for what happens next.
Let's face it, even I need a rest once in a while. The second I stopped licking Smith's pit, he took a huge breath, arched his back and threw me across the mat like a damn toy. He wasted no time landing right an top of me. He was snarling and grinding his teeth, that's how mad he was. He twisted me like a pretzel, and I wound up flat on my abs, bowing my legs behind me 'til my heels are about to touch my shoulder, Vern starts to remove my Nikes.
"I'm gonna tickle the shit out of your feet, wimp." Smith said. "And there's nothing you can do about it!"
I grunted and strained, tears stinging my eyes. The air hit my right foot as Smith took off the stinking sock. Everybody cheered.
"NO," I croaked. "N...no!"
Smith yanked off my left sock and my toes wiggled; I couldn't help it. Tenderly, the old bodybuilder started kissing one of my insteps. It feels great; I thought, maybe he's not going to tickle me after all; maybe he just wants to make out with my bare feet, maybe jack off while he does it. I felt an electric shock as he brushed my sole with his bristly moustache. I giggled like a kid and that fuckface stepped up the action.
"Oh, God! Stop! Stoopppp! Please! AAAAAAAW Hahahahahahaha! Don't!"
I laughed so loud, I almost drowned out the sounds of everybody else. Laughing at my humiliation. Smith sucked on my toes and stroked my soles while I pounded my fists on the mat and yelled my head off! I had never felt this way. It drove me nuts, made me feel like an animal; no thoughts, just crazy, uncontrollable feelings. And on top of all this, I got hard. Deep down, I wanted Smith to strip me naked, tie me up and let everybody play with my body. But he had plans.
Smith's on the small of my back and I was bucking like a bronco; I surprised myself with my own energy. I finally got into a good position and I grabbed Smith's nuts. While he bellowed like a bull, I heaved him off me. In no time at all, I had Smith in the same position he had ME, only was not going to get into a position where he could get at my family jewels.
Beads of sweat popped up from the back of his neck when I started untying his shoe laces. He squirmed, grunted, and gave me the worse cussing out since I was in the Marines. I threw off his size fifteen's and whipped off his sweaty socks. His feet are as smooth as a baby's ass and HUGE! Sitting on the small of his back, I secured his ankles together and wasted no time tickling those suckers with my fingers.
"Shit! Oh no! Hahahahahahahahahahaha! God no! Nooooooo! Agghhhhhhhhhh! Hahahahahahahahaha!"
Smith tried to grab me with his hands, but was just not flexible enough to do it.
"Give up, sucker," I said. "Give up or I'll make you wish you were never born."
So I just kept right on tickling, only now I worked on his left foot with my tongue while my hand made a little journey. Even guys who don't think they're ticklish are super-sensitive right behind the balls. I started to stroke him gently, real gently.
"Hey! Stop! STOP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Smith got totally hysterical, squirming his big, muscular hips and pounding his fists into the mat.
"All right! Hahahahahaha! I GIVE UP! AAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEE! OOOOOOHHHHHHHFHHH! AAGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Right then and there, Smith passed out on me. The room was dead silent at first. Saaren strutted over to us and bent over, grasping Smith's throat. The powerful man let out a whoop and grabbed my wrist. Everyone clapped; I had never heard so much applause.
"You won, fair and square," Saaren whispered. "You're body's mine. In private. You're my new main man. Don't worry; I've never lost one. Yet." Saaren snapped his fingers. A hunky blue-eyed slave ran up to him and handed him a black-leather dog collar covered with the most wicked looking chrome spikes I had ever seen. Saaren pulled that thing tightly, but not TOO tightly...around my sweaty throat.
"Come along, my man," Saaren said, as if I have a choice. Saaren attached the leash and lead me to the door. Meanwhile, Smith, still groggy, was quickly undressed by three slaves. Somebody wheeled in some kind of black massage table covered with straps. I heard people whoop and holler. Then Smith begging and pleading.
"He's getting shaved from head to foot. In preparation for being a weekend slave for everyone here. That's his reward for losing," Saaren said. "And after that...one year's tickle servitude to you."
I smiled back.
That was about six months ago. Turns out Vern Smith was not really the owner of the gym, Saaren was. The gym was in Smith's name as a sign of respect for being one of most titled bodybuilders way back in the Seventies. I'm the acting manager of Smith's Gym now. Vern Smith is still recovering from his nervous breakdown. Saaren's a generous guy; he pays a shrink to come out to the farm once a week to treat Smith for his "delusions of persecution"; seems he thinks EVERYBODY'S out to tickle him. Saaren, the guys in The Order of the Feather, and even I have tried to convince him otherwise, but it hasn't worked yet. Patrick's my assistant manager (and my lover). Bob Morrell still works out here, but he's a lot easier to get along with. His bare foot workouts don't bug me anymore. In fact, Patrick and I are usually barefoot, too, when we're at work, and even most of the time when we're not. We've started a trend; a lot of the guys here have followed our example. We've gotten Bob to kind of "test" the guys who look promising, then either me or Patrick invite them to stay after hours for special instruction. Saaren's taken a keen interest in our new program, he's a very encouraging kind of guy, and has told Patrick and I that we could bring a bunch of guys up to the farm for an "intensive" sometime. Saaren also said that Vern has started to come out of his shell now that he knows that I'm so committed to my work. When he recovers more fully, his year of tickle servitude will officially begin.