The Intruder




It had been a long day and all I could think of as I drove home was the comfortable bed awaiting my arrival home. My current assignment had required weekly travel out of town and this was the first Friday I'd made it home in weeks. After glancing at the day's mail and spending a few minutes with my neglected cat, I popped out my contacts, brushed my teeth, anxiously stripped to my underwear and plopped in bed. The support of the firm mattress felt so good on my tired back. I stretched my arms above my head, giving my weary back a good stretch, and closed my eyes. That was the last thing I remembered...

 A noise awoke me from a deep sleep. I felt disoriented and confused trying to figure out why I was awake. What is that--a man staring at me, only inches from my face? No, couldn't be. I focused my eyes again and realized I wasn't dreaming. Then I felt a cold, sharp object press against my neck. A knife! The intruder spoke haltingly in a deep hushed voice.

 "Make a move and I'll kill you!" he warned. "Where do you keep your money?" The blade pressed firmly against my neck. I swallowed hard and felt the pounding of my racing heart banging in my chest. My immediate thought was that I was going to die. My mind raced, trying to think of a way to save my life. Glancing up, I realized my right arm was still laying above my head. I remembered the heavy, crystal sculpture perched on my headboard.

 "See the valet box on the dresser across the room?" I asked him, my voice quivering from fear. He turned to look where I directed him, squinting his eyes in the dark to identify the spot I was indicating.

 "I don't see any...." he started to argue. I interrupted his statement by instantly grabbing the sculpture lying near my fingers and swinging it with all my might at my assailant's head. His lifeless body slumped onto the bed pinning me under the weight of his heavy body. The knife fell beside me onto the bed. I lay motionless, trying to regain my composure and half afraid he was faking. But after a moment, common sense kicked in and I wriggled quickly out from under the unconscious man. Grabbing the knife, I held it out toward him ready for him to raise up and come after me. My heart was beating so loud, I was sure the neighbors could hear.

 When I finally convinced myself he wasn't going to move, my mind began to race thinking of what to do. "I should tie him up and call the police," was the answer that came to me from somewhere inside of me. Moving quickly to my dresser, I opened the top drawer where I kept my ropes. Funny, I had tied up plenty of guys before but never after having been introduced like this. This time wasn't so fun. It took some effort to pull his body up onto the bed and turn him over on his back. He wasn't fat, just heavy. He appeared to be a pretty solid mass of muscle.

 I pulled his arms above his head, tied his wrists securely together, and then attached the rope to one of the posts in the headboard. Moving to the foot of the bed, I started to repeat the action with his ankles. Unfortunately, he wore long black boots. This taxed my rope and gave him too much leverage should he awake. So I quickly pulled his boots off before binding his ankles together and securing the rope to the foot board. I sat down beside my captive to catch my breath and assess the situation.



Now that I was out of immediate danger and back in control of the situation, my fear turned to curiosity. I wondered about this intruder who threatened my life. I flicked on the bedside lamp to take a better look. He was tall (six feet plus), appeared to be about 30, and wore the regulation black turtle neck and black corduroys all of the bad guys on TV wear. Ironically, although I expected him to look like a crazed druggie, he actually looked very normal. A gentlemen burglar, you might say. He had dark, thick hair longish in the front and neatly trimmed on the sides and possessed dark, chiseled features. He was actually a very good looking guy--like you might see in the bar during happy hour, dressed in a crisp white cotton shirt and silk tie, looking as though he just stepped out of a fashion magazine. In fact, I thought to myself, he's the type I'd normally like to get to know better!

 Feeling a little more relaxed and in control, my mind began to wander. The skin tight shirt he wore painted the image of a hard, sculptured torso in the classic broad-shoulder, tapered waist mold. He boasted a powerful chest and arms and a very flat stomach. Growing curious, I wondered if he sported any hair on that chiseled torso--a feature of particular appeal to me. My heart sped again as I contemplated the idea of exploring a little more deeply to find out. "Gee," I reasoned, "he is pretty helpless and he did threaten me--why not take advantage of a bad situation, I rationalized.

 I gazed down at my captive's flat stomach bobbing rhythmically up and down as he slept. My heart started pounding quickly again, this time a reflection of me feeling a little naughty--it was that odd combination of being both scared and excited at the possibilities before me, kind of like when you were a kid and you discovered your dad's secret stash of Penthouse magazines. Very slowly, I reached my hand down to his waist pulling his shirt from out of his pants. ever so careful not to awake him. It seemed to keep coming and coming until finally the end popped out from his pants.

 Now growing excited at my clandestine actions, I held my breath as I gingerly grasped the shirt edge between my fingers and inched it slowly upward, revealing his bare skin. I pulled his shirt up over his belly button and looked eagerly at what I had revealed. Sure enough, his rippled, rock-hard stomach was decorated with wisps of soft black hair, radiating out from his belly button and covering his belly. A thick , black river of hair cascaded down the center of his stomach, dipping into each crevice formed by his washboard ab formation, down into his belly button and disappearing into his pants. His sexy stomach moved rhythmically up and down with each breath he took.

 I swallowed hard as I continued to pull his shirt up further, stretching the end up until I revealed his solid, muscular chest. Perfect! It was completely coated with a thick silky, soft matte of black hair too. This is precisely the type of guy I love to tie up and have some fun with. Suddenly, I started feeling as if my night might actually be lucky!



Now my curiosity was raging. It was fine that he have "the look." But my sole reason for tying guys up is to test their threshold of endurance. But not of pain. Actually, quite the opposite. You see, I like to tie them up and tickle them mercilessly. Naturally, this presents it's own prerequisite--the guy must be very sensitive, yet I'm often surprised how many of them really aren't. And even more rare is the guy so damn sensitive that to tickle him is just about the worst torture he could imagine, so much so that he'd do just about anything to avoid it. I wondered if this guy, by any stroke of luck, was one of those rare gems. If so, I could turn the tables on him and give him a little taste of his own medicine--show him what it's like to be a victim, at the mercy of a crazed lunatic willing to do anything to get what he wants.

 The ultimate test, I decided, would be to see if he displayed any reaction while unconscious. While his reactions might be dulled, his defenses would probably be down. And in theory, if he responds to my touches while unconscious, he should really be reactive when conscious.

 I reached my index finger slowly toward his stomach. I carefully placed my finger nail on the invisible line stretching across the stomach on either side of the belly button--this line is like a string of land mines. On a ticklish person, contact with various points across this line causes an involuntary reflexive spasm (often followed by laughter--and begging in the case of some particularly sensitive guys I've met!). I stroked my nail across this line at an agonizingly slow pace. Sure enough, his stomach jumped reflexively from my touches. I stroked back and forth, witnessing constant reaction from my subject. Suddenly, I was startled by noise coming from his mouth. He was emitting soft giggles from his mouth but he didn't wake up. Bingo! I'd found a winner.

 I was becoming excited at the prospect lying at my disposal. Since he was unconscious, another test should be administered to confirm my findings. I decided to test another area of extreme vulnerability on a ticklish person-- his feet. His feet awaited me, motionless and clad only in sheer, black socks. Sitting at the foot of the bed, I reached up and grabbed the top of one of his socks pulling it slowly down his hairy leg. I carefully maneuvered it over his heel and continued up his soft foot until it pulled loose in my hand, his toes springing free. Now his bare foot rested helplessly restrained on the bed. He had nice feet, about a size 11 with beautiful high arches.

 I lightly touched his sole with my finger, noticing his skin was very soft and supple, free of calluses or other rough spots. To my surprise, I even noticed that his toe nails appeared to be manicured. This guy was into his feet! Once again holding my breath, I placed my index finger nail at the base of his heel and very slowly scraped it up the sole of his foot, stopping at his toes. His foot jerked at my touches, his toes wiggling frantically. Definitely a good sign. I took a couple more strokes, causing similar reactions and this time causing him to giggle and stir a little. I froze, afraid my victim was about to wake. But he remained unconscious.

 That cinched it. I was going to have me some fun!

 This "Adonis burglar" was going to sorely regret ever invading my house, I vowed. Looking down, I realized I was still in my underwear, a hard-on stretching against the fabric. I quickly threw on some shorts and a shirt and grabbed some "tools" for my impending torture session. Scissors were used to cut away his shirt. I chuckled as he jumped reflexively when the cold metal of the scissors scraped against the skin of his armpit. I paused for a moment to drink in the sight before me, his incredible sculptured and hairy torso completely vulnerable to me thanks to his outstretched and restrained sinewy arms. Just to be on the safe side--in case he was as ticklish as I suspected--I reinforced my restraints with an extra length across his elbows effectively pinning them in place against the mattress. I added another across his knees, locking those in place as well. I looked at his one bare foot and one socked foot but decided to wait to reveal the other foot until he was awake. Now ready, I pulled up a chair bedside to await his surprised arousal. As I waited, gazing happily at my catch, I traced a series of random patterns across his immobile upper body with a long, ostrich feather. Not really to tickle him but in hopes of sensitizing his body for when he awoke.



Fortunately, it didn't take long for him to regain consciousness. I put my feather on the headboard (not wanting to tip my hand yet) as he stirred and slowly opened his eyes. He reacted immediately to the pain resulting from the knot I put on his head, moaning and displaying a frown on his face. He was groggy and disoriented, trying to comprehend the situation. But his lethargy soon turned to panic as he surveyed the strange surroundings and became aware of his helpless, semi-clothed state. He began to pull anxiously at the ropes and protest. "Hey, what the hell is going on here?!" he demanded looking more and more frantic.

 I stayed calm, sitting relaxed and definitely feeling in control. "Well, my friend," I explained glibly, "looks like you picked the wrong house to hit tonight! And I've turned the tables on you."

 "What the hell...?" he challenged still unclear of what was happening. His muscles strained and his torso twisted as he thrashed about trying desperately to free his immobile arms and legs. "Let me go now or I'll fucking kill you!" His face was turning red as his frustration grew stronger. He continued to yank wildly yet unsuccessfully at his restraints. While I was enjoying my dominance over this guy, I remembered the seriousness by which the evening begun and the way he threatened and held me captive earlier.

 "Look, pal!" I challenged angrily, jumping up and moving to the bed sitting beside his rib. "You're in no position to threaten me. " I moved the knife menacingly to his neck mimicking his earlier move toward me when our positions were reversed. "If I were you, I'd be real nice to me. 'Cause now I'm the one with the upper hand."

 He swallowed hard and nervous as his eyes strained to see his own knife perched precariously at his own throat. He backed off, feeling more and more desperate and out of control. "What...what do you want, man?" he stammered, becoming acutely aware of his vulnerability. "Money, jewelry, stereo?" he offered with a twinkle of mischief in his hopeful eye. I just laughed at his attempt to plea bargain.

 "Nah, that would be too easy for you," I cajoled. "You see, I want you to see how it feels to be at the mercy of a madman. To be completely vulnerable. I want you to squirm like you've made others squirm." His eyes were wide open by this point, looking scared and confused. He swallowed hard again trying to appear tough but looking awfully pregnable and scared, his eyes fixed on mine for a clue as to what might convince me to release him. Dropping the knife on the bed, my hand moved down to his side. "You see, the way I see it you're in a pretty ticklish situation here." I punctuated my comment with a jab to his rib. He was so tense by this point that he jumped what would have been ten feet if he hadn't been tied down.

 "Gee, speaking of ticklish!" I teased poking my finger again into his side, again producing a nervous responsive jump. I laughed and started rhythmically poking and stroking my finger tips against his rib cage. He burst out with laughter and tried desperately to pull his body away from my touches but the rope allowed him little movement. "Hey, a big strong tough guy like you isn't ticklish, are you?" He looked anxious and confused, not sure what I had in mind but plenty afraid he was in for some serious shit.

 "Cut that out!" he cried in protest between giggles.

 God, I couldn't believe my eyes! Here was this strong, Greek Adonis writhing and giggling like a little boy. Normally the strong ones can tough it out a little, revealing little reaction and forcing me to really break down their defenses. But this guy was unusually sensitive, showing little resistance. I allowed my other hand to join in the fun by attacking his other side, really sending him into ticklish spasms. His body rocked back and forth attempting to break free of my dancing fingers but his movement was too limited offering him no respite. I slid my hands up his side attacking his hair-filled armpits. This produced an even wilder reaction from my victim. I laughed out loud enjoying the frantic reactions my devilish attack produced from my poor, sensitive, tormented captive.

 Climbing on top of him straddling his waist with my knees, I settled in for a prolonged tickling attack. While one hand scraped across his rippling stomach the other explored his sides and arms. His torso wrenched wildly giving me quite a ride. It was like riding a renegade horse--I was really glad I had used extra reinforcements when tying him up. I couldn't believe how incredibly responsive this guy was, definitely one of the most ticklish I'd ever encountered. The room was filled with laughter and his threats had long since turned to pleading as I explored every inch of his vulnerable torso with my finger tips. After five intense minutes, I decided to give him a break.

 As he worked to regain his breath, I moved to the foot of the bed sitting beside his helpless feet. "Man, if you're that ticklish up there, I can't help but wonder how sensitive you must be down here." I pondered aloud, gazing at his one socked and one bare foot. I glanced up at my victim, his face filled with panic and terror as he too stared at his vulnerable feet only inches from my hand.

 "No, please, not my fee...ah...ha, ha, ha..." his plea turned to hysterical laughter as my fingertips began to dance unmercifully across his naked sole. I had obviously found a weak spot judging from his reactions. He exhibited absolutely no resistance roaring loudly with fits of laughter as my finger nails traced a slow, agonizing path up and down, back and forth across his bare foot. His toes wriggled and foot flexed uncontrollably but no amount of movement could provide an escape from my tortuous touches. My fingers concentrated on his one naked sole for several minutes before I decided to check out the socked foot. I stopped tickling and rubbed the top of his socked foot gently while he fought to regain his breath.

 "Surely you must not be that sensitive with a sock covering your foot," I pondered. Instead of attacking his sole, I allowed my hand to slowly massage his whole sock-covered foot while he wondered what I was planning. A sock, even as sheer as this one, can dull the senses pretty well. But even as I ran my hand across the bottom of his foot not intending to tickle him, he would giggle occasionally. This dude was ticklish!

 "Man, this...this is crazy!" he exclaimed now that his breath had returned. I said nothing, continuing my slow massage of his foot. "Listen, you're really fucked in the head!" he barked with frustration, "Jesus, why don't you just hurt me or something like a normal person would?" Mmmm, I thought to myself. Here's a guy who'd put up with just about anything not to be tickled. Looks like my lucky night!

 "Because after breaking into my house and holding me at knife point, pain would be too kind. I wanted to find a weakness of yours greater than pain, something with a lower threshold, something that would teach you a lesson and have you begging for mercy, yet leave no marks!" My massage turned into scraping as my fingernails traced random patterns across his socked sole. He started laughing and squirming. Soon he was roaring with laughter and begging me to stop. But instead, I pulled his sock off and really started some rapid nail action on his now unprotected foot. "Looks like I found it," I added, my mouth curved into a devilish grin.

 He squealed and yanked wildly at his ropes, his foot flapping uncontrollably. So much so that I was having trouble making contact. So I grabbed his foot around the heel with my other hand and held it firmly in place leaving the bottom of his foot completely vulnerable to uninterrupted tickling. He really lost it, howling and screaming. I was glad that my apartment building was new and nobody lived above or beside me yet, for my victim would surely have been heard.



I continued teasing his feet for a while and made another trip back to his torso for a recap. Finally, I looked up at the clock and was shocked to see the digital display reading 12:15. I couldn't believe it--I had been torturing this poor guy non-stop for nearly an hour and a half! We both needed a break. So I stopped and went to the bathroom. Returning to the bedroom, I examined my captive. I actually felt sorry for him. He looked worn out, his eyes swollen and cheeks wet from tears (I'd actually driven this grown man to crying!). Still, it was an awfully delicious scene, this incredible hunk tied up and totally at my mercy. But I needed my sleep.

 "OK, time for some shut eye!" I announced. "Lights out." I quickly undressed and moved to the other side of the bed. He stared at me as moved around the room.

 "Hey, man!" he argued. "You're not going to leave me tied up all night are you?" He pulled at his restraints punctuating his question.

 "Well, you don't expect me to untie you so you can fucking kill me, do you?"

 "Look, you've had your fun. Now let me go, faggot!"

 He was yelling now, obviously frustrated.

 His attitude was really starting to get to me; it was time for a dose of reality. I was lying on the bed beside him by this point. I rolled over resting my elbow on his chest, my finger pointing menacingly at his nose, my eyes meeting his. "Let's get something straight, here," I lectured. "You are my prisoner. I'm the one in charge--you take orders, not give demands. You're lucky I haven't called the fucking police. Or killed you, for that matter. Now if you're cool, we'll have a few laughs and you'll stay out of prison. But if you keep being a pain in the ass, then you'll leave me no choice but to call the cops." He stared intensely at me, obviously pissed at my smugness but realizing he wasn't in a situation to argue.

 "You know what those boys in prison will do to a good-looking thing like you?" I continued. "I guarantee it won't be a little tickling. Let me put it this way, you won't be laughing, I assure you. Now, let's get some sleep. Understand?"

 He maintained his cool stare at me, speechless. "I can't hear you!" I prodded, jabbing my finger into his rib.

 He cried out, surprised by my move. "Y-y-yes," he stammered.

 "I can't hear you!" I cajoled louder mimicking an Army drill sergeant, giving his rib another jab. He screamed again and repeated his answer a little louder, obviously pissed off at my relentlessness. "I still can't hear you!" I insisted, poking and twisting my finger non-stop into his jumpy ribcage.

 "Yes...hah, hah...yes...hah, hah, hah....YES!" he was yelling by now between fits of laughter, trying to answer loud enough to satisfy me and end my tickling attacking.

 "Yes, what?" I barked, keeping the pressure against his rib.

 He looked confused at first, unsure of what I was looking for. And then he caught on. "Yes, SIR!" he hollered. But I was having too much fun now to stop. "Please...hah...hah...stop...please, sir!" he begged pathetically. I was still propped up on his body, and his laughter and pulling made for a wild ride. I finally took pity on him and stopped my assault.

 "That's more like it," I offered softly. "Now, are you ready to get some sleep?" He nodded and I turned out the light. My head no sooner hit the pillow than I was out, exhausted from the unexpected twist in the evening. I imagine he fell asleep pretty quickly, having endured a much harder workout than I did.



I woke up, the room still dark, the clock reading 3:12.

 Still groggy, I looked over at my prisoner. No wonder I had waken--he was snoring loudly, enjoying a deep sleep. I propped my head up on one arm and gazed at my sleeping beauty. A full moon shone through the picture window illuminating the bed amazingly well. I had totally forgotten to cover his body leaving him lying on top of the covers, his shirtless upper body and bare feet exposed. Fortunately it was summer so he hadn't been too cold to sleep. Or snore!

 The moonlight bathed his body, the hundreds of silky hairs covering his stomach and chest glistening in the light. His stomach bobbed rhythmically moving upward with every snore. He looked so peaceful. Reaching down, I felt my dick getting hard as I gazed at this helpless hunk and remembered his wonderfully violent reaction to my tickling attack earlier that evening. God, was he ticklish! As I lay there admiring his bulging, well-defined muscles I wondered how many more marvelous weak spots on his sensitive body I'd not even discovered yet. But there was still plenty of time.

 I glanced up at the thick patch of hair lining his armpit, each hair sparkling in the moonlight. I've always enjoyed photos in ads of a guy's exposed armpit. It represents such an incredibly vulnerable spot when exposed and helpless to tickling touches. Now here was this armpit staring me in the face. And his powerful, sculpted arm made it that much better. I reached my hand over to his side and gently stroked through the long, luxurious hairs bursting from his armpit. As my mind wandered, my thoughts were interrupted by the obnoxious noise of his snoring, growing even louder. That was it! He deserved it...

 I reached up to the headboard and dragged down the feather I'd placed up there earlier. I carefully pulled it down to his arm, allowing it to hover and twist for a moment just centimeters above his arm. I bet his eyes would have popped out of his head had he been awake. But now he was asleep, completely unaware of the menacing dagger spinning in the moonlight so close to his ultra-sensitive skin. I made contact with his arm just below his elbow, dragging it agonizingly slowly down the soft underneath side of his pec. It bounced into the hair of his armpit as I swirled the feather around inside his armpit, scraping the tentacles menacingly against his skin. He squirmed a little but didn't awake.

 The snoring continued with just a little sputter of interruption. So I moved the feather back up his arm and dragged it repeatedly up and down his arm, dipping it into his armpit when it reached bottom and then repeating the path. I twisted the shaft, scraping different sides against his skin. Again he sputtered and giggled a little but still didn't wake. I bet he wished he wasn't such a sound sleeper, as my tickling was obviously integrating into his dream yet the sensations proved not to be strong enough to wake him.

 Finally, I moved the feather down his side to his belly, dragging the point over his firm skin. The point dipped into his belly button and sprang free as the feather roamed across and down his other side. As I dragged it back and forth tracing a horizontal line running perpendicular to the dark line of hair running vertically through his belly button, his stomach spasmed uncontrollably at the feather's touches. He spurted and giggled between snores and even mumbled the words "cut that out" but still his mind wouldn't release his body from the deep dream he was in. Poor guy, it wasn't enough that his waking reality was filled with uncontrolled tickling but his dream state was subjected to relentless tickling also!

 I increased the pressure on the feather poking the shaft into his skin. This produced even more violent spasms, finally stirring him awake. Of course, I kept stroking his touchy skin while he begun to wake. "No more...please," he murmured softly, still a little dazed. He was giggling now as I moved the feather back up his side to the underneath side of his upper arm, brushing the feather back and forth across his sensitive skin. His eyes were still closed yet he was laughing and his body began to wriggle from the touches. "Th-th-that really tickles!" he admitted, still not fully awake.

 "I know," I answered with a smile, "I noticed this was a real weak spot for you." His eyes sprang open, his mind startling awake to reality. His body was now really twisting and reacting to my touches. His giggles grew to full bodied laughter.

 "Hey, cut that out!" he protested, now fully awake and aware of what was happening. I gave a few more strokes before stopping. "Why'd you wake me up? Didn't you get enough last night?" he asked sarcastically.

 "Well, first of all, I don't think I'll ever get enough of tickling you. You're just too damn fun! But the reason I woke you is because you were snoring so loud you woke me."

 "I only snore when I'm on my back. If you'd just untie me...ha, ha...I could sleep on my side or stomach and...ha, wouldn't have a problem." He was really starting to squirm from the feather's touches, intermittent fits of giggles exploding from his mouth.

 "Yeah, right. Like you'd just casually roll over and go back to sleep. Nope, I like you just the way you are-- helpless and harmless. Except for a little snoring. And I've obviously found a sure-fire way to stop you from doing that. So, let's go back to sleep." I patted my pillow fluffing it into a big ball. "Oh, and if I were you, I'd try not to snore. 'Cause I get meaner every time I'm woken up! Comprende?"

 He shook his head uneasily. I turned over and closed my eyes. "Uhh, listen, I'm a little cold," the intruder noted. "I guess it'd be too much to ask to get my shirt and socks back on?" I just laughed. "Well, how 'bout a blanket then?" I appreciated his new humbleness and got up to get a blanket out of the closet. I was actually starting to like him, not really a bad guy once he calmed down. I moved to his side of the bed and draped the blanket over his feet and legs pulling it up until it covered his stomach just to his ribs (I wanted to keep my options open).

 I playfully tucked it in around his sides seizing another opportunity to poke his ribs with my index fingers. He jumped and laughed heartily as I allowed my finger nails to scrape around his rib cage for a moment while I ever so carefully tucked the blanket in. "Sleep tight! And remember, no snoring. Unless you want another rude awakening!" I admonished with a wicked smile on my face as I gave each rib another jab and then moved to my side of the bed.



5:16? I stared at the clock somewhat in disbelief.

 But this is Saturday, I thought to myself. And then I heard that awful noise again, the stranger lying in the bed beside me was snoring loudly, deep asleep again. I normally can sleep through the night, often without waking once. And now this was twice I'd been awakened in the same night. "That does it," I decided, "time for some snore prevention." Poor guy. Although he HAD been warned.

 Grabbing the feather from the headboard, I slid my body to the foot of the bed this time, my feet laying at my pillow. Propping my head on one elbow, I used my free hand to gingerly lift the blanket covering my prisoner's feet. I moved the end over his toes and laid it resting on his ankles, leaving his bare feet exposed and vulnerable to the early morning air. My heart started beating fast as I exchanged glances between those beautiful size-11 feet and my handsome prisoner's face, peaceful and deep in sleep, completely unaware and unprepared for another tortuous tickling assault on his tender and sexy soles.

 A lot of people's feet aren't quite sensitive enough that the touches of a single feather are enough to break down their defenses. But something told me this guy was different, so hyper sensitive that I could probably produce a reaction just by blowing on them! As I stared at his feet contemplating my plan of attack, one of his feet jumped and his toes wriggled. I shot a glance back at his head to see if he was waking up. But it must have been a dream for he remained soundly sleeping. Now I was about to turn his dream into a nightmare. I reached my hand down to massage my rock hard dick as I grew more excited by the raw power at my disposal.

 I slowly lowered the tip of the feather to the bottom of his foot until it touched. I began dragging the feather up and down the delicate skin of his sole, twisting the barbs around to keep the maximum feather surface in contact with his skin. His foot writhed reflexively, his toes wiggling, yet he remained asleep. I brought my dagger up his foot to his toes where I scraped it back and forth along the ridge connecting his toes to his foot. He giggled softly and moaned in his sleep but his stubborn mind refused to release him from the dream, forcing him to endure prolonged tickling sensations on his weakest spot.

 I was surprised that a full minute of feather torture on both of his naked, ticklish soles pushed him only to murmuring and quiet giggles. I'm sure that were he awake, his reactions would be quite different. I decided to try a little more aggressive techniques. Placing the handle of the feather between his big and second toe, I pulled up on the shaft of the feather dragging it through the opening between his toes, each tentacle scraping against the underneath side of each toe and then springing free on the other side so that it tickled the top of each toe for good measure. His foot squirmed anxiously at the touches and he snorted with laughter.

 I repeated this action with his other foot. This seemed to be more effective at waking him. So as he began to awake, I returned the feather to the bottom of his feet and scraped up and down his sole with the dozens of diabolical tentacles. His whole body began to twist and move in reaction to the tickling assault on his feet. He laughed out loud now but still wasn't quite alert.

 "Hey, cut that out man!" he whimpered. But I kept up the slow, agonizing strokes up and down his feet, my head nonchalantly propped on my hand and gazing at his face watching earnestly for that moment of reality to hit him. Suddenly he came to with a jerk. He began pulling at his ropes and laughing hysterically. I kept up a steady, deliberate pace with the feather, like I was painting the bottom of his foot with the feather.

 "Awe, come on!" he pleaded between laughs. Then it hit him why I was tickling him. "Look, I'm sorry!" I kept tickling. "I'm sorry I was snoring." No relief. "Please, I won't snore again." More tickling. His face was looking more and more pitiful, his eyes pleading with mine. "Oh please, stop. Stop ti-i-ickling my f-f-feet. Ple-e-e-ease!" he begged, now roaring with laughter.

 "Look, I warned you," I argued, "that's twice tonight, and I told you I'd be more determined this time to teach you a lesson." I continued stroking the feather with a nonchalant attitude, as though I was just fulfilling an obligation. My outer cool masked my inner excitement and disbelief at how incredibly sensitive this guy was, a single feather driving him insane and turning him into a babbling idiot! I increased the pace a little, causing him to laugh even harder.

 "You promise you won't snore anymore?" I asked.

 "Y-YES!" he yelled. "I won't! I promise! Just sto-o-o-op, please!" I stopped tickling for a moment, his laughter dying down, a look of relief in his eyes.

 "Oh, I don't know," I pondered, "I don't know if I can trust you." I moved the feather back to his sole touching it against his skin.

 "YES you can!" he cried out desperately. "I promise.

 Aeeah!" he cried out as I started the feather moving again, obviously not convinced by his coerced commitments.

 "Let me leave you with this warning--no more. Understand?" I pressed the feather firmly against his foot and stroked it up his skin.

 "Yes, yes!" he laughed. I withdrew the feather and slid back up the bed. He was breathing heavily trying to catch his breath after my attack. I could tell that had been pretty intense for him. I was beginning to feel sorry for this guy, his attitude having done an about face, his sad blue eyes pleading for mercy.

 "Man, you have about the most goddamn ticklish feet I've ever seen!" I commented. "You must have been a constant target for the other kids when you were horsing around while growing up."

 "I was," he answered softly, sadly, "I was. And still am," he admitted with a frank sense of humility. My mind wandered for a moment fantasizing him and some buddies horsing around in the pool, when one of them grabs his ankle, holds it above water and starts tickling as he cries out. I looked at my pitiful looking guest.

 "Well, we're done for now, my friend," I assured him softly. "But I'm going to keep your feet uncovered as a reminder and warning of the next attack if I'm woken again. This time it won't be feathers!" The poor guy looked petrified, realizing that he really couldn't prevent himself from snoring. I turned over and went to sleep. I really didn't expect him to be able to sleep again out of fear he'd snore.



Fortunately for him, the next time I awoke I did so naturally. The clock read 9:08 and sun streamed through the blinds. I looked over at my sleeping beauty, his face serene and slumbering. My eyes wandered down his body, confirming what the lamp had teased me with last night--he had an absolutely perfect body, muscle-bound, finely sculptured and adorned in soft, silky black hair. I glanced down to his bare feet protruding from under the blanket. My night session began coming back to me, my dick becoming hard fast.

 The blanket still covered his stomach so I lightly picked it up and dragged it down his body until his pants popped into sight. His rippled stomach was moving up and down with each deep breath, the matte of thick hair glistening in the morning sunlight. My eyes roamed back up to his solid, hairy chest. I reached my hand over to his chest and began lightly running my finger nails through the lustrous hair. I traced a random path through the thick coating of fur fanning out completely across his firm chest, around his nipples (which grew rigid from my soft touches) and then followed the path painted by the thick, dark line of hair running from the center of his chest down his stomach through his belly button and disappearing into his jeans. I backtracked following the same path back up before veering off the clearly defined line, careful not to tread into that incredibly susceptible mine field I'd identified last night radiating out from either side of his belly button. I continued tracing a random pattern outlining the thick coat of hair on his belly spraying generously out from the center thick line of hair, enjoying the feel of his sexy hairiness. The flat shelf of his stomach, cutting a natural ridge down either side, also formed a natural boundary for the hair.

 Even though I was not trying to tickle him, the sensations managed to get to him and he began to stir. I continued running my finger nail across his stomach. Feeling a little devilish, I allowed it to dip down into the ticklish zone around his belly button, producing a reflexive spasm from his flat stomach. He jumped and his eyes opened.

 "Good morning," I greeted him softly, my finger nails still tracing a pattern across his belly.

 "Good mo-OR EEH-ning," he replied groggily. Apparently I had hit a sensitive spot while he was answering me. I lightly massaged his stomach and chest with my finger tips occasionally purposely dipping my fingernails into a ticklish spot, on his stomach, ribs or even down into his armpit. He jumped and giggled with each callous dip.

 "Sleep well?" I asked.

 "Yeah," he answered grumpily, stretching his body out as much as his restraints permitted. His stretches were continually cut short by a reactive jolt each time I hit a sensitive spot. "God, my arms are sore," he complained, "think I could have a break, man?"

 "Well, I'm not surprised your arms are tired, the way you pulled at those ropes last night." I gave his rib a jab, causing him to yank against the ropes and yelp like an injured dog.

 "C'mon, asshole!" he barked. "Cut it out!"

 "Hmm, perhaps you've forgotten the importance of manners. And who's in charge." I twisted my fingers into his armpit, again causing him to twist and shout.

 "Look, O.K., you've had your fun. You've proved that I am ticklish. Ha. Ha." His voice was sarcastic and caustic, obviously departing from his humble attitude earlier this morning. "Please, move on to something else."

 "Oh, I don't know. I have a feeling I've just begun to scratch the surface of your sensitivity. I'd like to get to know you even better!" My fingers stepped up their tickling, concentrating on his ultra sensitive belly. He began laughing wildly, his torso twisting and moving.

 "Hey!" he managed between laughter. "I'm warning you, you'd better stop. I'm about to piss my pants!" Now that's a threat I was willing to heed. I stopped tickling. "I have to go to the bathroom."

 "In a minute," I responded, picking up the phone receiver on the headboard and dialing a number. "Hello, Brian? It's me. Listen, what would you say if I told you I have a gorgeous, awesomely-built hunk lying here in my bed, tied up and completely helpless?"

 "I'd say I'm interested," was his response. Brian and I shared this passion for enforced tickling, with Brian sometimes even playing the victim. And a fun one at that. We shared many similar preferences in our victims and I knew he'd love to join me in some fun.

 "And what would you say if I told you he had a perfectly hairy chest and stomach, as good as if not better than Dan's?" Dan was Brian's favorite tickling victim, incredibly built with a wonderful hairy chest (also a favorite of Brian's) and the single most ticklish person he'd ever found. Perhaps until now.

 "I'd say I'm definitely interested."

 "O.K., and how 'bout if I told you he was insanely ticklish, so sensitive he absolutely hated to be tickled?" I began scraping my finger nails on my bound victim's stomach, eliciting movement and a raucous laughter I was certain Brian could hear on his end of the line. . "Maybe even more sensitive than Dan?!" I teased.

 "I'd say I'll be over in 15 minutes!"

 "C'mon over, man! It's all true and we have some information to pry out of him. Like his name, for starters!" My victim's face looked ashen at the thought of another aggressor tickling his sensitive and vulnerable body. I had maintained my gentle stroking of his belly and it was beginning to really get to him. He was arching his back completely off the bed now, trying desperately to escape my dancing fingers. He was laughing hysterically. "Hear that? And wait 'til you hear his reaction when I tickle his feet!"

 Brian hung up anxiously. I knew he'd waste no time in coming over. I stopped tickling for fear I'd push my victim to piss in the bed. Now to take care of that little problem. I went into the kitchen while he regained his breath. First I poured myself a frosty glass of orange juice. Then I grabbed my rubber sink cleaning gloves and a jar with a wide rim. Pulling the gloves on, I returned to the room with the other two objects.

 Sitting the empty jar down on the bedside table, I moved near his side reaching the glass down to his side until the ice cold glass touched his skin. He jumped like crazy. "Jeez, you're not tense are you?" I teased him. "Hmmm, then this should really get an action then." I moved to the foot of the bed and despite his begging for me not to, I touched the glass against his bare foot, a wicked smile on my face. His foot jerked so strongly that I almost spilled the glass of juice. I touched it to the other foot observing a similar reaction. He even giggled with each touch--now that's sensitive!

 Taking a big gulp and putting the glass on the night stand on the other side of the bed, I knelt on the bed beside him. I disconnected the two ropes holding his body down at his knees and elbows. Reaching my arms underneath his back until my hands reached the other side gripping around his rib cage (which of course caused him to jump), I gave his torso a hard yank twisting his body onto its side, his back now to me, his wrists and ankles still securely tied. Moving to his front side, I unbuttoned the button of his jeans. I teasingly pressed my palm against his zipper feeling the bulge underneath. "Hmmm, that is full, isn't it?" He looked very nervous, not quite sure what I was planning.

 His zipper opened easily revealing his cotton boxers.

 I reached in with my gloved hands opening the material until his enlarged cock sprang free, saluting me. "Hmmm, very nice," I commented, much to his dismay. Holding the jar up until the head of his cock was safely inside. "OK, let her rip!"

 "You've got to be kidding!" he demanded, obviously not approving of my method of penile relief. "Why don't you just let me go to the fuckin' bathroom?"

 "Because I have no way of making sure you won't try to kill me. I can't take any chances and untie you at this point. Just do it and stop arguing."

 "No fuckin' way!" he argued obstinately, trying desperately to protect his dignity.

 "Aw, c'mon, man!" I was losing patience. "It's no big deal, we're grown boys." But he still refused. Not sure what to do now, I glanced around and spotted the glistening white feather on the headboard. I smiled and grabbed the feather. Feathers are amazing tools at overcoming inhibitions. "This should do the trick," I stated teasingly as I lowered the tip of the feather to his extended shaft and began stroking the feather up and down his cock. "Kitchy, kitchy, koo," I mocked.

 "No, c'mon, hey stop that!" he cried out desperately, obviously in distress trying to hold back his piss while I fiendishly tickled the hell out of his swollen shaft ready to burst. He giggled and shook uncontrollably but finally couldn't hold it back any longer and burst, his piss shooting into the jar. I laughed and stopped tickling him so he could finish his business. He went for a long time, filling about a third of the jar.

 "You know," I said after he finished, "if you'd just stop resisting so much, you'd make it a hell of a lot easier on yourself." I reached in and shook his retreating dick to make sure all extra drops were in the jar, setting the jar down beside the bed. "Is there any place on your damn body that isn't ticklish?" I pondered, stroking the feather up and down his now relaxed cock. He started laughing and it began growing like Pinocchio's nose. I dipped the tip of the feather inside his underwear tickling his swollen balls. This really caused him to giggle and twist. "Well, we'll have plenty more of this when Brian arrives."

 I put the feather down and pushed his body back down on the bed flat. "You know, it occurs to me that we've not been properly introduced. I'm Fred. What's your name?" He just looked at me, a snarled look on his face. "Now there you go being uncooperative again," I mocked. "I know, let's play cowboys and Indians. I'll be the Indian and you can be the cowboy." I moved to the closet removing an authentic Indian headdress, lined with dozens of colorful stiff-barbed feathers.

 His face filled with panic as I moved toward the bed holding the headdress in front of me. "You see, I've captured you and have you tied to the stake. But instead of something mean like burning or scalping you, I'm going to be nice and even have a few laughs!" Now standing beside him, I lowered the menacing collection of feathers towards his petrified face. "Now you can get a reprieve simply by telling me your name. But until you do, you're going to practice an ancient Indian dance called the Yatchy-yitchy-kitchy-koo, known in English as the Ticklish Cowboy!" I laughed out loud at the devilish scenario I had just painted.

 He burst into laughter as I slowly dragged the line of feathers down his body. The headdress was long enough that feathers extended completely across the width of his torso and dipping down each side, ensuring that every inch of his ultra-sensitive skin was tickled simultaneously by more than a dozen feathers. As I crossed his stomach, I applied a little more pressure causing the feathers to bend slightly and press even harder into the hypersensitive skin of his abdomen. He cried out with laughter, screaming for relief, and arching his torso off the bed. I had forgotten to reattach the extra two ropes so his body had a greater range of motion which he exercised fully, at times making it difficult to keep the feathers in contact with his body.

 I continued down his body allowing the feathers to graze over his cock, protruding from his open pants and fully erect. I moved down his pants legs offering him a quick respite before hitting his bare feet, helplessly perched at the foot of the bed. He yelled, almost as in pain, as the feathers grazed across the top of his feet heading uncontrollably for his far more sensitive soles. I pulled the headdress up and down and back and forth across the bottom of his ticklish feet, ensuring every single feather made contact at least once with his shuddering skin. He roared loudly with laughter, tears streaming down his face. Again, the lack of restraints across his knees allowed him greater movement. He yanked wildly, until I began to worry about him breaking lose (or breaking the poor bed!).

 "Remember, you can easily stop the tickling madness, just by telling me your name," I reminded, hoping he would comply. I even held the feathers still trying to give him some time to think. But even the simple touching of the feathers against his feet were too much for him and he continued laughing and pulling, but not complying with my demands.

 Concerned about him breaking loose, I just set the feathers down on the bed at his feet, folding the ends together to place the maximum number of feathers against his soft and vulnerable skin. The feathers engulfed his poor feet, every single inch of his sensitive skin touched by a feather. With each movement of his foot, he managed to actually tickle himself by pressing his skin into the bank of feathers. While he calmed down some, he kept giggling because he couldn't stop his feet from wriggling from the overload of feathery sensations against his tender soles.

 So I let him tickle himself--an incredibly funny and outrageous situation as far as I was concerned--while I moved to reattach the extra ropes at his elbows and knees. He moaned and giggled as his feet bounced among the feathers. He tried desperately to hold his feet still but the unbearable tingling sensations proved too much and his foot would instinctively flex, brushing against the feathers and providing an even greater tickling sensation. I stood back and watched with amazement as he struggled with his self control and grew more frustrated at his inability to stop punishing his poor feet.

 "Listen, I'm going to give you a few minutes to think about it," I explained, moving next to his side. "I'm going to take a shower. Meanwhile, I'll leave you in auto-tickle mode. And if you change your mind, just holler." I jabbed his rib with my finger causing him to jump and plunge his feet deeper into the feather bath. Which caused him to burst out laughing and wriggle his feet, and only proved to tickle him more. What a vicious cycle. I thought about really being mean and really give his upper body a quick tickling session-so that his reactive yanking and wiggling movements would naturally jostle his feet deeper into the feather forest engulfing his bare soles--but decided to give him a break and leave him to himself.

 Even with the bathroom door closed, I could hear his occasional giggling from the bedroom. I stripped and entered the shower, turning on the water. As I soaped up, I thought about my captive's ticklish situation. While I could no longer hear him laugh, I could still see him in my mind. What a fun night it had been. Soon, my cock was standing at attention and my soaped hands were stroking it. It didn't take long to explode. I leaned against the wall and caught my breath, the water still running. It was going to be a fun day!



After a quick shower, I toweled off and wrapped it around my waist. As I brushed my wet hair back, I could barely hear the captive in the bedroom still occasionally giggling softly. He sounded a lot like one of those loony patients at a mental hospital that just sits in a wheelchair all day and giggles to himself, enjoying some silent amusement invisible to everyone around him.

 Returning to the bedroom, I found my hunk still safely bound to the bed. He looked at me with pitiful eyes, they seemed to beg me for mercy. I sat on the bed at his waist and began to scrape my fingernail along the ridge at his belly button. "Getting any of your memory back, yet?" I asked sarcastically. The grimace on his face transformed into laughter as my finger sought out his sensitive skin. He writhed at the touches, his feet bouncing among the feathers at the foot of the bed. But still he didn't crack. "OK, have it your way. I've got all the time in the world. And reinforcements on the way. I bet you'll remember that name soon enough!"

 I got up and went to the dresser, his eyes following me the whole time. Pulling out a pair of fresh underwear, I slid it up under the towel allowing the towel to fall to the floor. I could feel his eyes staring me down. I turned to find him intently watching me. "Enjoying the view?" I queried, wondering if there weren't some truth to that.

 He glanced around nervously, his eyes settling on the feathers engulfing his feet. "You know, you are a sick person!" he challenged.

 "Thank you for your assessment doctor," I answered with bemusement. I continued dressing.

 "I'm not going to tell you my name or any other fucking thing," he insisted.

 "Well, that's what you say now. But we'll see. I think we'll find your threshold today." I moved to the foot of the bed. "You know, you may want to reconsider holding back now. Because Brian will be here any minute. And he makes me look like a nice guy. He loves mercilessly torturing poor helpless guys like you. He's got no conscious, no mercy. And he has a mean arsenal of weapons he uses. You think these feathers tickle..." I picked up the headdress and began stroking them up and down his feet, producing a violent fit of laughter. "Bet you've never felt a wire brush scraping up these tender, sensitive soles of yours!"

 He was yanking wildly now, trying desperately to escape my touches. The doorbell rang, signaling Brian's arrival. I stopped tickling. "Uh-oh, too late!" I announced. His eyes were filled with terror, pondering what Brian's arrival meant. I laid the headdress down on the bed and left to answer the door. Greeting Brian, I quickly filled him in on the incredulous story of how I ended up with this ticklish guy tied to my bed. Brian was dying to see him, so I took his bag of goodies and led him into the bedroom.

 "Brain, meet...oops, I don't know his name yet. In fact, I was just trying to coax it out of him when you arrived. Maybe you can get him to talk."

 "If he's as sensitive as you say, I bet we'll have him singing before long!" Brian answered, his eyes mesmerized by the site of this muscle-bound, hairy Adonis helplessly bound to the bed. The guy pulled nervously at his restraints. As Brain sat on the bed beside him, the prisoner looked petrified at the site of Brian. "Now let's see. Are you the strong, SENSITIVE type?" He scraped his fingernail across the captive's belly romping through the forbidden land mine. The guy jumped and started giggling which only served to egg Brian on, his pace increasing. "My, you are a sensitive one!"

 "If you think he's ticklish there, watch this!" I exclaimed, grabbing the single white feather and moving to the foot of the bed. I dragged the tip swiftly up and down his soles, alternating between feet. The prisoner lost it, howling with laughter and yanking at the ropes. "And that's just with a feather!"

 "Shit, we're going to have some fun here!" Brian agreed, mounting the waist of the captive resting his body on his hips. "Now let's talk about your name." Brian's hands slid up his body wrapping around his ribs and squeezing. The guy roared with laughter and tried to yank loose but Brian's weight on top of him restricted his movement even further. As he moved up his sides to his vulnerable armpits, I went to the kitchen to grab a couple of beers. From the kitchen, I could hear the poor guy howling and Brian laughing cruelly and verbally taunting him. Ever so often, the prisoner would really cry out sometimes yelling "No, please!" Brian must have been finding some really weak spots. My dick was at full attention now and I quickly returned to the scene of the crime.

 Handing Brian the ice cold beer, I couldn't resist touching the bottle against the captive's taut belly and ribs, producing a predictable jump and scream with each touch. Brian laughed. "He's giving me quite a ride!" Brian announced happily.

 "Did he come up with a name yet?" I asked, moving to the foot of the bed.

 "Nope." Brian resumed the tickling action sending the guy into hysterics again. I gave his feet a few scrapes with my finger nail and then picked up the headdress, climbing onto the bed and straddling his ankles, my back to Brian. I swooped the mass of feathers down and began dusting his wriggling soles with the feathers. The victim cried out loudly and began yanking even harder, but we had him severely pinned with little room for movement.

 Tears streamed down his face at this unprecedented double attack. I was sure we were creating the ultimate nightmare for this poor guy--to be helplessly subjected to an all out merciless tickling attack by not one but two overzealous guys. Plus, we were mixing the sensations, with Brian scraping his sharp fingernails across his firm skin while I delicately tickled his tender and ultra-sensitive soles with the light, airy touches of a dozen feathers. I was sure he would crack any moment.

 "O.K., OK!" the prisoner cried out after just a few minutes of this intense, non-stop tickling attack.

 "OK, what?" Brian demanded, our tickling unabated.

 "I'll...hah, ah...tell...ha,!" he managed to eke out between cries of laughter. "Just stop, please!"

 Brian and I stopped our attack while the stranger worked to regain his breath. We both stared at him, anxiously awaiting his answer. It took a few seconds before he was even able to talk.

 "On one condition," he finally added.

 "Oh, come on now!" Brian exclaimed. "You're in no position to negotiate, here." Brian pressed his fingers into his ribs ready to resume the assault. Brian always was a tough one.

 "No, wait!" he cried out desperately. "Please, I'll tell you my name. But then you've got to let me go to the bathroom.

 "You've already taken care of that," I answered, referring to my earlier jar incident. "Brian, you should've seen it. I had to get a jar and turn him over. And then, the son-of-a-bitch refused to piss in the jar, so I guess you could say I tickled the piss out of him! It worked." We both laughed.

 "But that's just it," the prisoner protested, "now you're about to tickle the SHIT out of me! Get the picture?"

 "O.K., OK," I answered, "we'll get you relief. But quit stalling for time!" I brushed the feathers against his feet threateningly. He jumped and laughed out loud.

 "No, no, O.K." he responded. He took a deep breath and finally mumbled his name, the result being indistinguishable.

 "I can't hear you!" I barked, tickling his feet but this time with my finger nail.

 "Aye, no!" he cried out. "I said, Luke!"

 "Now there," I replied, "that's more like it. Wasn't that easy?" Brian and I jumped down from the bed to prepare Luke for a trip to the bathroom. This was going to take some work. First, we moved the rope from his knees up to his waist. Then, we untied his ankles allowing his feet to move freely. Brian and I each grabbed a cuff of his jeans and, after advantageously throwing in a finger-nail scrape up his soles that almost resulted in us both getting kicked (God, Luke was sensitive!), we pulled with all of our might to pull his tight jeans off his body. The pants finally pulled free throwing his bare legs down on the bed.

 Luke was enjoying the minor freedom using it to stretch out his cramped legs and scratching his itchy soles with the toenails from the other foot. We didn't dare tickle his feet now for fear of turning his legs into dangerous flying objects. I climbed onto the bed between his legs and quickly tugged his boxer shorts down his legs, his rather large dick springing loose wagging in the air. He was now completely naked.

 Brian grabbed a formidable pair of steel shackles from his bag and attached them to his ankles. Then, we removed the rope from his elbows and finally from his wrists, leaving his arms free and the only rope attaching him to the bed around his waist. He gladly pulled his arms down and massaged his tired limbs, which were no doubt extremely cramped by this point. I noticed Brian had sat down on the other side of the bed, his back to Luke while he rummaged through his back. Before I could suggest Brian be more careful around this potentially dangerous prisoner, Luke seized the opportunity and lunged for Brian. Brian was caught completely off guard and before he knew what had happened, he was in a choke hold fighting for his breath but unable to get the strong assailant off of him.

 Luke had lost it, screaming that he was going to kill Brian. Not exactly sure what to do but afraid for Brian's life and of losing control of our prisoner, I instinctively lunged for Luke's exposed and vulnerable ribs. My hands grasped both of his rib cages and I began squeezing and poking his ticklish ribs, hoping it would force him to loosen his grip on Brian. Luke began roaring with laughter and twisting wildly trying desperately to escape my touches. Fortunately, one rope held his waist to the bed preventing him from getting away from my hands.

 The scene had turned to chaos, with Brian yelling and trying to fight his attacker, me tickling the hell out of his ribs and insisting he let go of Brian and the prisoner thrashing about trying to maintain his grip while avoiding my attack on his ribs. His armpits were also exposed by his outstretched arms so I decided to move up there, hoping they were even more sensitive. Sure enough, he cried out and loosened his grip some trying to bring his arms down and block my touches.

 That was all the break Brian needed as he managed to twist around slightly until his hands had access to Luke's extremely sensitive belly. Brian began a tickling assault on his stomach. Luke cried out, now dying from the simultaneous tickling attack on his stomach and armpits. He finally couldn't stand the sensations any more and loosened his grip on Brian to go after and prevent our hands from touching his sensitive skin.

 While Brian kept working at him I grabbed open the top drawer of the bedside stand where I kept my gun. Pointing the loaded gun at Luke, I breathlessly ordered him to stop and get his hands into the air. He looked at me and realized his one chance for freedom was gone. He tried to put his hands up but Brian was so pissed he couldn't stop attacking his torso. Luke was laughing and trying to keep his hands in the air but the sensations kept forcing his arms down to protect his vulnerable stomach and sides.

 "Brian, cut it out!" I ordered. Brian stopped and Luke raised his hands sheepishly. "That was really stupid, man!" I told Luke.

 "You son-of-a-bitch!" Brian exclaimed, trying to regain his breath. "Man, I'm going to make you wish you'd never done that, asshole! You just threw away your one mercy card."

 "We'll do payback in a minute, let's just get him to the john and back in bed where we can get him safely restrained." I kept the gun on Luke as Brian pulled a pair of handcuffs from his bag. He pulled Luke's surrendered hands down behind his back and cuffed them.

 "You're going to be sorry," Brian said mockingly as he poked his finger nail into Luke's now vulnerable belly. Luke laughed and started squirming from Brian's touches. Losing his balance, Luke fell back and started rolling all over the bed trying desperately to avoid Brian's tickling. Brian started to mount the prisoner to hold him in place and inflict a prolonged tickling assault.

 "Brian!" I shouted. "C'mon, man. Give it a rest and help me get him to the bathroom. We grabbed our naked prisoner up and marched him into the bathroom, the gun pointed at him the whole time. He wasn't able to walk easily with the shackles on his ankles so he shuffled slowly along, his dick bouncing up and down in a funny dance as he walked. Sitting him on the toilet, I moved just outside the bathroom with the door opened, offering him a little privacy but no opportunity for foolish escape attempts.

 Brian was still rubbing his neck, reddened from the assailants tight grip, obviously a little shaken. I figured he'd learned his lesson. "I'm ready for that son-of-a-bitch!" he exclaimed, still feeling burned by the surprise attack. "Wait till he sees what I've got in my trusty little bag. He doesn't know what tickling is!" I nodded with a smile, glancing at the prisoner who looked a little disturbed by Brian's comments.

 We led Luke back into the bedroom and threw his body on the bed on his back. It took both Brian and I struggling to center his lead-like body onto the bed. Attaching ropes at each corner of the bed, we unshackled his ankles and reattached them to the ropes at each corner. Sitting Luke up, we removed the cuffs and pulled him back down with his hands outstretched toward the upper corners of the bed, quickly securing his wrists with the rope. Now our prisoner was helplessly spread-eagled, his muscular naked body open and inviting to our devilish whims. Just to be on the safe side, we reattached a length of rope across his elbows and knees to prevent escape by excessive movement.



"Oh, Luke!" Brian sang mockingly as he picked up a feather, examining it like it was a knife. "We're back. And ready to retaliate for your stupid attack." Luke squirmed anxiously as Brian slowly lowered the feather toward Luke's bare sole. I picked up another feather and headed for the same foot. We both began scraping the feathers up and down and around his highly sensitive foot. He screamed and began cackling with laughter while pulling wildly at the ropes.

 "God, can you believe feathers alone can drive him this fuckin' crazy?"

 "Now that's a ticklish guy! More sensitive than Dan?"

 "Hell, yeah!"

 "Pick up that other feather and use it on his other foot. That should really get him!"

 Luke was begging for mercy but we were pretty much ignoring him. After tickling his feet for a while, we started moving up his bare legs, four feathers in motion. His thighs proved to be quite sensitive, sending him howling and thrashing. Now without pants protecting his crotch, we couldn't help but explore his swollen cock. Four feathers attacked stroking up his shaft, across his enlarged head, tickling his balls and sliding under to tease his ass. He really went wild his butt jumping clear off the bed. We only worked this area for a few minutes for fear of stroking him off by mistake.

 Continuing up his body, every inch of ultra-sensitive skin was tortured with feathers. No area was safe, not his stomach, ribs, armpits, arms--even hands! Brian even attacked his neck taunting him for having choked his own neck. Not surprisingly, his neck was also very sensitive.

 After a few minutes of four-feather frolicking, I moved to Brian's ear and quietly suggested it was time for some more truth and dare. When we removed his pants earlier, I noted a set of keys in the pants pocket. While Brian continued tormenting Luke, I Moved to the pants lying on the floor, searching the pockets but finding only a set of keys. One appeared to be a car key with the other being a house key. I moved to the foot of the bed and scraped the cold, metal shaft of the car key up the prisoner's bare foot. That grabbed his attention!

 "Luke, there's something else we'd like to know," I explained. "This appears to be a car key. We want to know what kind of car it is and where it's parked."

 "Yeah," Brian chimed in, "we want to take a little joy ride."

 "Fuck you!" Luke blurted out.

 "Well, that's not a very cooperative spirit!" I joked.

 "Brian, think we can convince Luke here to be a little more cooperative?"

 "Let me get some things out of my bag that might just manage to coax the information out of him." Brian opened his sinister black bag producing another half dozen exotic and intense looking feathers, some makeup brushes, a toothbrush, a bottle of vegetable oil and some silk flowers including a diabolical evergreen branch with dozens of sharp tentacles. Luke's eyes bulged wide open at the arsenal Brian assembled. He started breathing hard and twisting at the ropes trying desperately to free himself from the impending torture. He looked panicked and trapped, extremely vulnerable to exploitation of his extreme weakness.

 "You guys are crazy if you think I'm going to tell you tha...hah, hah, aye!" his declaration cut short by our attack with the objects before us. We put this poor guy through the most severe punishment yet scraping the various implements across his most sensitive areas, sending him into fits of laughter and twisting and bouncing that had the bed in motion. The evergreen branch proved most lethal causing him to scream until horse as we dragged its needles across his soles, belly, ribs and armpits. We continued to remind him that relief was available if he'd just tell us what we looked for but he was determined not to reveal these critical facts, obviously aware that doing so might lead us to his private life.

 We hadn't used the brushes yet so we decided to give him a short respite to reconsider his silence. "Listen, Luke," I implored. "If you've never felt the intense sensations of a brush--and I suspect you haven't--you don't want to. Brian can attest to that. He's had them used on him and knows they are the most diabolical of all tickling devices. Are you sure you don't want to tell us?"

 He looked at me, a terribly sad and pitiful look on his face. Not wanting to divulge the information and certainly not wanting to endure the brushes, he nonetheless remained silent. So Brian and I began massaging his feet with the vegetable oil, a necessary lubricant with brushes. Naturally, this sent him into fits of laughter. But that didn't compare to his reaction when we began scraping the brushes up his feet. His reactions were the most violent we had witnessed yet, with wild thrashing and cries of anguish. I thought this would most certainly do the trick and force him to spill his guts. Even Brian, who manages quite a resistance and can hold out for quite a while to my tickling attacks on him, can't stand the brush treatment. The nastiest attitude can turn into begging and pleading when I apply a brush. So for a guy as ticklish as Luke, I was even a little hesitant to use them. He rocked back and forth and laughed until he was horse. Tears streamed down his face and he broke out into a sweat from all of the movement. He was truly in agony, pure and simple. Yet, he refused to give us the information we demanded. We put him through pure hell, torturing his bare soles with a variety of brushes for a full ten minutes--undoubtedly for what must of seemed like an eternity to poor Luke--but he remained close-lipped.

 We stood perplexed, not sure what it would take, but determined to get the information out of him, somehow. For lack of a better idea, we decided to turn him over. Maybe some fresh, untouched places might become extra sensitive in light of the other sensations he'd endured. So, we worked to turn his solid body over, reattaching the ropes. His naked body was now tied spread-eagled to the bed with his back side to us, his face turned sideways on the pillow. The poor guy was moaning, begging us to stop. He offered money and all kinds of merchandise, anything if only we'd stop tickling him. Anything, of course, but what we really wanted. I was growing even more curious--why was he willing to endure such punishment and agony in order to hide any information which could lead us to his regular life. I wondered what he was so desperate to hide.

 So we forged ahead exploiting what we believed to be his greatest weakness. We each took a feather in hand and moved to his feet, now helplessly pinned to the bed with his sensitive soles facing up and completely vulnerable to our touches. He buried his face into the pillow and began another series of raucous laughter as we stroked the feathers up and down his feet. Face down tends to make the feet even more vulnerable because the victim can't really bend or twist them much so the feather (or other tickling device) makes more consistent contact.

 We slowly dragged the feathers up his legs. He cried out when we reached the indentation behind his knees, apparently a particularly sensitive spot. Naturally, we hung out for a while in that region circling the area with the tip of the feathers. As we continued our path up his legs, the volume and intensity of laughter increased indicating extreme sensitivity. Our plan had worked, providing us with a fresh hot spot to tickle. His butt wriggled as we stroked the feathers up and down the back of his thighs, dipping down into the inner regions of both legs. We alternated between using the tip of the feather and turning it on its side so that dozens of tentacles made contact with his skin.

 He cried out as I drew my feather up and started tickling his ass. I'm sure it was the combination of vulnerability and potential risk of having his ass exposed and vulnerable to us as well as his sensitivity that was causing him to react. Brian plunged the tip of his feather down his ass scraping along the crack and reaching the underneath side of his balls. As Brian tickled his balls, Luke howled and rolled back and forth as much as possible.

 Brian and I shot each other a knowing glance, conceding that we might be close to breaking him. It was time to divide and conquer. I took over the ass, thigh and ball tickling position while Brian climbed on top of our prisoner straddling his hips. Brian wrapped his hands around Luke's sides starting near is armpits and drug his fingernails down Luke's side. Luke roared with laughter and shook uncontrollably. Brian's nails scraped down his side reaching his sensitive ribs where they began a gentle kneading and fingernail massage. Meanwhile, I was teasing Luke's ass and balls with my feather. The pressure had to be incredibly intense. We kept reminding Luke he could stop the attack simply by telling us what we wanted to know.

 Brian's hands continued their trek down his side reaching his abdomen. Brian is very good at locating an incredibly intense spot on the lower abdomen and the leverage of coming from behind makes it that much more effective. His fingers probed this area thoroughly, locating a spot that caused violent rocking when he began scraping his nails and squeezing with his hands. Luke was moving violently on the bed trying to escape our touches.

 Suddenly, Luke cried out. But kind of in a strange way. He gasped and acted odd. Brian and I stopped our tickling to figure out what was going on. Luke moaned and carried on breathing hard, his whole body shaking. We finally figured it out--he'd gotten himself off from the rubbing of his cock on the bed below.

 "You son-of-a-bitch!" Brian cried out. "Did you just jack off?" Luke didn't answer, looking like he was truly physically and emotionally spent and working hard to regain his breath. Brian climbed off and lifted his body slightly to confirm. Sure enough, the bed was soaked with a creamy substance. "So, could it be that you really get off on being tickled?" Brian teased. Luke just rolled his eyes in disgust.

 "Brian, I don't think Luke has any idea what happens to his body when he comes," I suggested. "Luke, did you know that after you come, your entire body is about twenty times as ticklish?"

 "Bullshit!" he argued, weary and spent.

 "More like forty percent!" Brian chimed in.

 "You guys are full of shit. You're just trying to psyche me out."

 "We can prove it," I offered. I began stroking the feather across his leg to demonstrate. "Tickle just a little?" Luke's eyes opened wide with fear as he suddenly realized we weren't lying and that the feather did tickle even more.

 "Oh shit!" he cried out as the laughter resumed. That was our cue as Brian and I dug in, this time with our fingernails. We began a tickling frenzy that included every inch of skin we could get to. We scraped his sides, armpits, stomach, legs and feet sending him into spasms of laughter.

 I think his feet were the most sensitized so I climbed on top of his ankles and began a ferocious tickling attack on his soles. His laughter soon turned to weeping as the sensations became too intense to handle. This time, it only took us a few minutes before he cried out for a truce. We stopped tickling to allow him to regain his breath. Tears steamed down his face, a look of pain and anguish overtaking his eyes.

 "Fuck!" he conceded, out of breath, "I'll tell you. I can't take any more of this."

 "O.K., where is the car?" He hesitated for a moment so I began scraping my nail down his foot. "You're stalling!" I accused.

 "O.K., OK!" he cried out between laughs. "It's BMW."

 "Where?" My finger made contact with his foot.

 "Aye! OK, OK! It's down the block by the tennis courts." Brian moved to the window to see if he could see it.

 "I don't see it," he complained. I immediately dug my fingernail into his foot.

 "C'mon, don't jerk us around!" I demanded.

 "Hey! Stop! I'm not lying. It's at the top end of the courts, the convertible."

 "Oh, I can't see that far," Brian conceded. He moved to the living room where his view extended to the far end of the courts. "O.K., I see it."

 "Now see, that wasn't so hard was it?" I mocked. I climbed off his sweaty legs. "Brian, I'm going to go make sure this guy isn't full of shit. I'll be right back."

 "O.K., I'll keep an eye on ol' Luke here," Brian said slyly. I suspected Brian still felt some anger from the earlier attack on his throat and he might want to see Luke suffer some more.

 "C'mon, man," I urged, "give the guy a break. We promised we'd give him a break if he told us. We have to keep our word."

 "Don't worry," he reassured me, "I promise I won't tickle Luke any more while you're gone."



I left and walked to the car. It was a gorgeous, late-model BMW convertible in sapphire blue. "Geez, he must be pretty successful at this burglary thing!" I thought to myself. Inserting the key into the lock and turning, I swung open the door. Immediately it hit me that this car probably had an alarm! I held my breath and waited for the alarm to sound. But there was only silence. My heart was beating loudly as I regained my senses. "Funny," I thought to myself, "a burglar doesn't even use his alarm!"

 Just to be certain, I climbed into the car, enjoying the luxurious feel of the leather seat. I grew excited as I inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared to life, the car purring like a tiger. I couldn't resist taking the car for a quick spin around the parking lot, enjoying the feeling of raw power. What a great car it was! After a couple of spins around the complex, I returned to my building and careened it swiftly into a parking spot. I admired the fine automobile as I got out and closed the door.

 "Nice car!" a voice called out from behind. My heart stopped. Without looking, I recognized the voice to be that of one of the leasing agents from the complex. I started sweating, trying to figure out how to explain the car. I turned to face her, a smile plastered on my face.

 "Thanks," I said dryly, "'s not mine!" My confession really backed me into a corner. "Er, it's...uh...a friend's car." That seemed fairly smooth. "I'm just watching it for the weekend."

 "Fun assignment," she responded and began her walk back to the office. I leaned against the car and tried to regain my breath and bring my heart back to a normal pace.

 "Fun assignment, indeed," I thought to myself. If only she knew the half of it! Moving to the passenger side, I opened the door and plopped down in the seat popping open the glove box. Bingo! There sat our victim's wallet. Upon opening the wallet, his handsome face immediately stared back at me, his driver's license displayed in a cellophane pocket. It was a terrible picture of him, not very flattering. But then whose driver's license is flattering?

 "Henry Lucas Miller," I read aloud from his license.

 "3200 Franklin Blvd., Apartment 1102. Hmmm..." That address sounded terribly familiar. Then it hit me--that's the high-rise just down the street from me. In fact, I looked out the car window and observed the building rising majestically from a grove of trees across the way. "Well, I'll be damned. A neighbor!" I wondered if he had been casing my place from his balcony or something.

 I returned to my apartment. As I unlocked the door, I heard Luke cry out, as though in pain, followed by raucous laughter. Man, Brian just couldn't help from tickling him. I felt bad because I feel strongly about my word and I'd promised him a break. I walked swiftly into the bedroom.

 "Brian, c'mon!" I complained. "Give the guy a break, huh?" I was surprised at what I saw in the bedroom. Luke, still tied down on his stomach, was laughing hysterically while Brian's tongue vigorously lapped globs of ice cream dripping down poor Luke's bare soles. A few drops had trickled down between his toes and Brian eagerly thrust his tongue after them, really driving Luke crazy. The cry of pain I heard as I came in must have been the ice cold dessert being dolloped onto his sensitive skin.

 "Look, I did as I promised," Brian argued. "I haven't tickled him once since you left!" Brian was right, if not at least on a technicality. "Fact is, he was lucky he's on his stomach. I love belly button sundaes!"

 I felt sorry for Luke, Brian cleaning off the last few trickles of ice cream from his soles. A glass of melting ice also sat on the bed and the back of Luke's legs and ass were wet. Brian must have done some glacier exploration as well. Ouch! I sat on the bed beside Luke's rib. Pulling Luke's drivers license from my pocket, I scraped the edge along his exposed rib. He jumped and whirled his face around in my direction.

 "Guess what, Brian," I said coyly. "Our friend here's name isn't Luke, after all!"

 "What, why the son of a bitch!" Brian shouted out, ready to attack him.

 "Wait, it is too!" Luke shouted out desperately.

 "Your driver's license says your name is Henry." Brian looked ready to really attack him.

 "Yeah, that's my first name!" Luke argued. "But my middle name is Lucas, or Luke!"

 "He's right," I conceded. "I was just playing with you!" I laughed and quickly shared my findings with Brian, taking a few opportunities to scrape the crisp driver's license up his side, which I also noticed was wet, apparently from the ice. Even his armpits contained a few droplets of water hanging on his armpit hair. "See, I told you Brian was pretty vicious, Luke! I think it's time I paid a little visit to Luke's apartment and see what dirt I can dig up." Luke's eyes were filled with alarm, realizing how incredibly vulnerable he really was at this moment.

 "Look, guys," Luke pleaded. "Couldn't we just make some sort of deal here. I can get you pretty much anything you want." He really was desperate not to have us learn more about him. Which made me even more curious.

 "Well, actually, Luke," I offered sincerely, "a deal is just what I had in mind." His eyes lit up. "But you see, I really feel that our bargaining position would be much stronger if we knew a little more about you. That's why I need to visit your place." His eyes sunk, realizing we were going to play his misfortune to the max. "But first, we need to get you cleaned up and fed."

 This was going to be tricky. First, we started the water running in the tub. Then we untied him from the bed, this time using the gun for control as we led him into the bathroom. His arms were sore, his hands rubbing them on the way in. The hair of his stomach was matted down and sticky from his earlier explosion. Stopping the water filling the tub, we ordered him to get in.

 Fortunately, my building was a new one and the tub had been equipped with a railing on three sides for assisting the handicap. We took four sets of handcuffs and cuffed his wrists to the rail above his head. His ankles were cuffed to the railing at the foot of the tub, forcing his legs and feet to be suspended on the side of the tub and wall. Naturally, we didn't pass up the opportunity to scrape our nails up and down his exposed and vulnerable feet, his whole body reacting and sloshing the water in the tub.

 Brian and I settled in for one of the most fun baths we'd ever encountered. We ran our hands along his body, sloshing water on every inch of his skin. He'd giggle each time our finger nails caressed his skin in a ticklish spot. Then we drained the water until about an inch and a half remained in the tub. He was cold and shivering slightly from the air drying his wet body.

 Then came the fun cycle--the soaping. His laughter echoed off the tile walls as four completely lathered hands explored every inch of his body. The soap served as a lubricant as our nails scraped across his stomach, ribs, armpits and those wildly sensitive feet. Brian spotted a back brush near the tub and devilishly scraped it across all of Luke's lathered skin. He roared with laughter, especially when Brian took the brush bristles to his lubricated bare feet.

 We were thoroughly enjoying this bath. While Brian "cleaned" Luke's feet, I lathered my hands and cleaned up Luke's swollen cock. My hands glided effortlessly up and down his shaft. Unfortunately, I went a little too far and suddenly he started coming, crying out in ecstasy. Brian looked up to see what was happening, his brushing stopping. Luke's look of happiness soon turned to concern as he remembered the effect of jacking off on his sensitivity.

 "C'mon guys!" he pleaded anxiously. "Give me a break, please!"

 "Yeah, I suppose so," I offered, winking slyly at Brian. Let's rinse him off. Brian and I cupped our hands in the water and rinsed the soap off Luke's body. He looked relieved at our sudden display of human decency.

 "Oops," I said teasingly, as we finished rinsing him.

 "Look, he still has some semen on his stomach here."

 "Well, you know what that means," Brian teased. "We'll just have to lather him up again." We laughed devilishly as we soaped up our hands again, Luke's face falling realizing we weren't going to cut him any slack. Our hands attacked his helpless body, applying a fresh coat of soap. He cried out like an injured animal, the sensations now intensified. We tickled every inch of his skin clean...


(THIS IS THE END...I never finished the story but perhaps I will now that I've got it back. I will give you some highlights of the upcoming story. You'll never guess who Luke is and what he does for a living (when he's not burgling houses). This is the reason for his intense desire to keep his life private. Naturally, however, this gives us some incredible leverage over him. Imagine being in the catbird's seat in a blackmail scheme involving an unbearably sensitive stud who can't stand the idea of being tickled, hmmm? If I get around to the rest, I'll send it along....)


A Conclusion by Kitelcat

"Oops," I said teasingly, as we finished rinsing him. "Look, he still has some semen on his stomach here."

 "Well, you know what that means," Brian teased. "We'll just have to lather him up again." We laughed devilishly as we soaped up our hands again, Luke's face falling realizing we weren't going to cut him any slack. Our hands attacked his helpless body, applying a fresh coat of soap. He cried out like an injured animal, the sensations now intensified. We tickled every inch of his skin clean, delving deeply into each and every tender crevice to ensure complete sanitization. He was going to be clean enough to glow in the dark--though somehow he didn't seem very appreciative of our efforts.

 I was tempted to "accidentally" spill something on the now-immaculate Luke and start the process over again, but I realized that we hadn't quite finished up yet anyway. "So," I commented, "how do we dry him off?"

 Luke had assumed an almost martyred expression, but it didn't stop him from offering, "How 'bout a hairdryer?"

 "You wish," Brian smirked. I ran to the closet outside and retrieved two choice towels, one thin, and one thick and rough.

 Toweling off the hysterical Luke wasn't easy, even with his handcuffs, but it certainly was entertaining. I had opted for the thicker towel, running it through the more sensitive areas, massaging it in good and hard. The most entertaining reactions were produced as I dug into his hairy armpits and around his crotch and ass, and I made a point of trying to soak the water out of every individual hair. Naturally, this took quite some time. Brian, on the other hand, had the towel thin enough for him dig through it with his fingers and tickle Luke's body as he pinched and kneaded along the ribs and thighs. We had decided to share his feet, both towels rubbing viciously up the tenderized soles and working between the writhing toes.

 "Come now, quit squirming. You don't want to catch cold, do you?"

 Luke was laughing too hard to give much of a reply.

 It was pretty simple to dry off his back, since he automatically arched away from our hands as we reached underneath him and explored his spine and ribs. Finally we were left with two soggy towels and one exhausted prisoner. We immediately went into the usual drill, uncuffing his limbs, directing him with the tip of the gun, and finally restoring him back to his familiar position on the bed.

 --The Next Intruder

 After the elevator doors slipped quietly to a close in front of me, the noise of the motors whirring was almost as unnoticeable as the motion of our ascent. Luke certainly lived in an expensive apartment. I was grateful to be alone in the elevator, and quietly mused if anyone would notice how lost I looked upon entering the building, even after we had wheedled specific instructions out of Luke after giving him his breakfast. I hadn't felt completely comfortable leaving Luke in Brian's 'care'--again--but given Luke's penchant for secrecy I knew this matter had to be handled discretely. Discreteness never was Brian's strong suit.

 2731...2732...27-3-3! Got it. The key fit neatly into its lock (as Luke had sworn up and down), and the door opened to reveal an apartment more sumptuous than I could have expected. Not the tacky, thrown-together pad of a burglar, it was luxurious, immaculate, filled with fine antiques as well as works of modern art. This belonged to someone definitely more upper-class and with a proper image to uphold. Luke was no common criminal, not even a highly successful one. This definitely called for more exploring.

 My wanderings led straight to his bedroom, where a telescope rested on the windowsill. The direction it was pointing seemed suspiciously familiar, so I took a peek through it. Sure enough, there was a view right through my apartment window across the way. The focus was so sharp I could see Luke's face. Contorted with helpless laughter. With Brian tickling the shit out of him again. I couldn't help chuckling at the sight; after all, what the hell did I expect out of Brian? I stepped back from the telescope, and decided that Luke had been scoping out my place while I was away on business and thought the apartment would be empty when he got there. I had gone to bed so quickly after arriving home that he had probably just stepped away from the telescope long enough to miss me, and not checked again until after I was asleep in the dark. Poor bastard, a bit of mis-timing had led to quite the downfall...

 Curiosity took over again, and soon I was prowling around another room, and it turned out to be a bedroom-turned-office. My eyes caught upon a degree hanging on the wall above a desk. I looked closer. A law degree? For a thief? Hm, more answers had to be found. I poked into his desk and shortly found a business card, revealing another shocking revelation. Luke, it professed, was an aide to the state senator? No way! Who would have thought, I pondered, putting the card into my pocket. Shuffling more of the drawer revealed what seemed to be miscellaneous junk at first, however when I took a closer look I discovered it was mostly various paraphernalia from Las Vegas. Tokens. Airline tickets and vouchers. Casino pamphlets; Mirage, Grand, Caesar's Palace, and more. He must travel there constantly!

 Yet none of that explained why such a successful man tried to rob me unless he was some sort of kleptomaniac. I spied the computer on his desk and flipped it on in an impulse. People these days rely on their computers so much, there had to be some more details inside. After it booted up, I decided to open Quicken, praying there was no password protection. Luck held, and I found his checkbook account within. I combed the records and found more records pointing at Las Vegas: ATM receipts from within casinos, maxed-out credit cards, the works. I searched the rest of the desk and found literally dozens of corresponding transactions on his credit card bills, and kept some of those, too. Well, well, well, Luke was no klepto. Just a completely compulsive (and apparently unlucky) gambler, one willing to steal in order to support his habit.

 Still on the computer, I decided to try Excel. I smiled with satisfaction when I found a spreadsheet detailing his inventory of goods stolen and the status--whether it's been sold or not and for how much. His break-in to my apartment hadn't been a whim. He'd become quite the professional thief, probably working for some time. Cross-referencing Quicken, he looked like he was renting a large storage locker in the warehouse district. Most likely, this was where he held his loot. Taking more of this info as evidence was as easy as storing the Quicken and Excel files to a diskette, soon safe in my pocket also.

 I wasn't finished. I returned to the bedroom and found a clothes closet. He possessed quite a wardrobe, I reflected, feeling the fine materials with a slight twinge of envy. With a body like his, he must have to hire excellent tailors to get suits that fit well. The clothes were forgotten once I saw the box of magazines half-hidden on the floor of the wardrobe. Poring over them, I saw great expanses of bare flesh. Not female, though. These were gay men's magazines! At least a dozen, complete with a "Bound & Gagged" magazine that contained stories and explicit photos of hot guys tied into various, occasionally superhuman positions. The great sunbeam of enlightenment filled the entire sky; Luke was into bondage. Hell, he must have loved the prospect of us tying him up, and I remembered him sporting a distinct hard-on before. Had we not tickled him half to death, this could have been quite the fantasy for him. Near the top of the box was an unopened magazine still in its mailing envelope. It was addressed to this apartment, all right, but the name on the address read "John Smith" instead of "H. Luke Miller." So, he was gay but keeping all this in the closet, eh? I almost slapped myself for the rotten pun, but knew this was further confidential information that could be infinitely useful.

 I took the envelope with the pseudonym and put it with the rest of his possessions I'd picked up. I inventoried what I'd found and reviewed what I knew now. Luke was attempting to rise up through politics, while at the same time he supported a gambling habit through organized thievery and harbored a closeted fetish for gay bondage. Did I ever have an earful to tell Brian now!

 A quick visit to my safety deposit box allowed me to squirrel away all of Luke's incriminating evidence, except for the business card. That I kept with me when I returned to my own apartment, feeling a sensation of tangible power surging through me. Armed with all this juicy info, I had the potential for ruining Luke's life permanently; this went beyond arrest and imprisonment...public humiliation and scandal was a better description. This was turning out too good to be true.

 I opened the door just in time to hear Brian say, "Well, if Fred already played Cowboys and Indians with you, how about Medieval Times?" I peered around the corner and watched Brian running rampant over Luke's ribcage. He then pulled out a feather and headed for Luke's cock. "Wanna try some jousting...?" Both were thoroughly occupied, so I approached the foot of the bed unnoticed. Before the quills could make contact I ran one crisp edge of the business card up Luke's sole to get their attention; his yelp startled them both. Brian's disappointment in curtailing his playtime was quickly masked by excitement.

 "So, what did you find out?" he queried eagerly, and tried to snatch the card out of my hand.

 "Oooh, I don't know, just this itty-bitty piece of paper. Couldn't be all that important, right, Luke?" I evaded Brian's grasp cheerfully, drawing this out as much as possible.

 Luke craned his neck to see what I was holding, and Brian was similarly unsuccessful in reading its contents. "Tell me, dammit," Brian sputtered, "the suspense is killing me."

 I tossed the card airily over my shoulder, making Brian pounce and fumble for it. I waited a few seconds for the gleeful, "Oh, YES!" and evil cackles as he gathered the implications of the info. He gave Luke a nasty grin. "So, how do we make use of this?"

 "Hell, that's not the half of it!" I filled him in on the details of all I had seen, read, and taken from the apartment. Brian's grin got bigger and bigger. Luke, on the other hand, looked utterly despairing, as if wishing he could self-destruct then and there. After I had finished, we both crowded around our unfortunate victim, beaming maliciously. He cringed like a beached fish surrounded by starving wolverines.

 "I think," Brian began, "this is the beginning of a nice, long friendship."

 --A Two-For-One Bargain

 To call our power over Luke 'blackmail' would fail to convey that we utterly had him by the balls and under our control. It took little more than retrieving the incriminating diskette and dangling it under his nose to convince him to literally negotiate his soul away to us. In short, Brian and I had him agree to a meeting with us every single week where we could do with him and to him whatever we so desired.

 And did we ever! Concerned with a lack of privacy, even in my empty apartment building, we had Luke set up a special little place for us in the quiet confines of the warehouse district. We even had enough leverage to force him to order some equipment to dress the place up--courtesy of resources we found in his magazines--enough to create permanent dungeon of torment for him. I didn't mind the expenses he would subsequently incur, mainly because our weekly sessions eliminated his spare time to waste more money in Vegas. In fact, we were probably doing him a grand favor in that respect. Speaking of favors, I couldn't help noticing that Luke's reluctance and inhibitions alleviated (not completely disappearing though) over time. After all, the bondage and dominance had been a part of him long before we showed up. I even specifically asked him if he had any particular preferences in his bondage, knowing how excruciating our blend of nightmarish tickling torment and Luke's personal fantasies would be. I'm sure he's yet to fully enjoy a single session, but that hard-on of his means he must be getting as much out of it as we do.

 Every so often, like now, I pull out the safety deposit box and muse over its devious contents, putting in the disk and looking incredulously through his files. Maybe eventually we'll let him have it back. It's anyone's guess if Luke will crack soon, but Brian and I sure aren't showing signs of slowing down.



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