The Flier



The flier looked innocent enough, glossy black and white photo of a college guy standing on one foot and holding his other as if he had stepped on a pebble, his eyes covered with sunglasses, shirtless, with the words "WHEN DID YOU LAST HAVE YOUR FEET LOOKED AT?" scrawled across. Underneath the picture was the name of some podiatrist, and had I had enough sense to write down his name, the police would have been able to help me. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My name is...well, we'll say Erik. I was a student at Berkeley finishing out my degree in Mathematics with one year to go when I got the flier. We often got questionnaires and advertisements, so this one didn't seem out of the ordinary. It was what appeared to be an advertisement for a free foot examine with a local podiatrist. It offered a discounted trip to the Bahamas for the first 100 respondents, so I filled it out and sent it back into the mail system as soon as I could.

It was simple enough; Was I single, What was my sex, what size feet did I have, did I have any previous history of foot ailments, what was my age, race, color of hair, weight and height. Also at the bottom of the survey was a section on ticklishness, which I thought a little curious, but appropriate I guessed. It had a list of body parts with columns for 3 different responses "Very", "Moderate", and "Not". I was honest and checked "moderate" and "very" down the line. The flier closed with a request for my name and address in case I won one of the trips. I didn't even have to pay for the postage - It had a preprinted "paid in the USA" bar-code on it. For all intents and purposes, I assumed it was legitimate.

Had I not returned it, had I known then and there what was going to happen, had I simply tossed it into the garbage and not greedily entered my stab at a bogus Bahamas trip, I wouldn't be locked in this hotel room. Trapped and scared that they...Sorry. I did it again - ahead of myself.

I had completely forgotten about the survey, going day to day, attending classes, coming and going from the coed dorm complex in which I lived. But they must have been watching. Clocking me, getting the timing down.

My apartment was a one room studio that was filled with the brass bed my brother had given me when I left home. Besides a small kitchen and bathroom, the bed was practically the whole living area. The complex was constructed with solid cement walls, and in the three previous years of living there I had never heard a sound from my adjacent neighbors. Not even through the door, or when parties were being thrown on Saturday nights and I was studying. Whatever was between the walls made sure that no one disturbed me ever, although now that I think of it, that is probably why they got away with it. That's probably why no one ever came running to help when they were working people over.

You know, I wasn't the only one...Adam know the short muscular guy with the black curly hair that was living one floor below me..they got him too. He won't say anything though and for some reason he changed his major from Political Science to English, although I don't know if it's because of the attack...maybe its not related, I don't know. Anyway, the campus police gave me a list of other "complaints" they had had. No one took me your tape still running? Oh? OK....yeah, I'll go on.

It was Wednesday night. I didn't have classes 'til Thursday at 3:30 and I had just gotten in for the evening. It was probably around 6:45. I had kicked off my loafers, tossed my book bag onto the floor and loosened my tie. The knock was a simple single rap on the door. Not expecting anyone, I hopped up and opened the door. As I pulled the door inward a group of five men in black ski masks pushed into the room. Three of them were carrying backpacks, the two others had grabbed me by the elbows. They pushed me onto the bed, disorienting me. I yelled out, but by then someone had closed the door and the three had dropped their packs and were opening them. I struggled, but quick as a flash four of them had me pinned to my bed. They were all around me; two at my arms, two at my knees. The fifth guy pulled out two pair of handcuffs and tossed them onto the bed. I screamed at the top of my lungs as they attached one set to my right wrist, securing it to the right side of the headboard and repeating the procedure with my left wrist. I glared at them and calmed down a little. Glancing over, I noticed that the fifth guy had set up a video camera. "Ah, yes....Erik...we are going to record this for posterity. And maybe for a little blackmail should we ever need it...OK. Set. Go ahead and strip him guys." I tried to kick as they undid my belt and removed my pants and underwear, but it was no use without my hands. My shirt and tie and tee shirt weren't as lucky. They tore and cut those from my body. My socks were removed and my feet were placed into a small set of metal stocks. The stocks were cast to have a hole for each ankle and a solid bar between the feet keeping my feet about 30 inches apart; allowing me no horizontal motion with them at all. A rope was run from the center of the stocks to the foot board and pulled tight. My pillows were inserted, one behind each of my knees. This completely immobilized my legs, removing any leverage I might have been capable of coordinating. Once this was done the four guys backed off and let the fifth one take in the whole scene with the camera. I could tell he was recording because the red light on top of the camera was lit.

"OK, Scene One", the camera man barked.

Two of the men returned to the bed. Each sat on opposite sides of the bed right at my shoulders. They began running their finger tips lightly from my wrists to my nipples, circling them, and then back up to my wrists. I froze for a second. Realization crept from the corners of my mind like the thoughts of an addict who wakes from a day dream only to realize he is about to reach inebriation. I bit back the smile that was forming on my mouth. "Get the fuck off me" I screamed. "GET OFF...HELP...HELP...HEEEEEELLLLPP."

At this the two guys moved their hands to my arm pits and began lightly tapping each finger there, as if kneading dough.

Whatever thoughts I entertained about not laughing for these guys vanished as they located one of the most ticklish places on my body, knowing that I'd break instantly. I began laughing, trying to hold back the laughter, but unable to move. Because of the way my feet had been bound, I couldn't even manage to roll away from these two. And there was no where to roll, with one on each side. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't block the ticklish sensations from overwhelming me. I was lost in a sea of sensations that only their mercy could ebb. I began to giggle. Not the kind of gentle cooing you hear a child make, but solid, uncontrolled, high pitched giggles. I began to beg and plead with the two men. Please, not there, not anywhere, I'll give you anything, please don't tickle me...don't..please....STOP!!!!!!! Despite my cries my fucking cock had gotten hard. Another guy approached the bed and fitted my dick with a leather cock ring.

Before he backed off, he slid his mouth over my dick, deep throating me and then jumped off the bed.

The tickling continued for what I think was about two hours. They tickled my armpits for two solid hours. Just the two, sitting there, while the video tape ran and the other three watched on. Finally the camera man said "Let him breath." The two jumped off the bed, and for the first time since they had started tickling me, I felt a little relieved.

What is interesting is they didn't steal anything, they didn't try to get any information from me and they didn't demand anything I had to give. For the most part all that was heard was me laughing. Their operations ran smoothly. They didn't accidentally call out one of their masked friends names by mistake or leave their wallets or monogrammed clothing behind. They were very ...uh...professional? Could they really be called that?...what..oh yeah. Guess I got off the subject again...where was I? Oh yes...the first break.

After what seemed like about 15 minutes the two who had been watching came to the bed, each on a side as the others had done, but this time they sat at my waist. From their pants pockets they extracted what I think were paint brushes of some sort or another. They were soft but firm...if that makes sense. They poised themselves, not tickling, but with the brushes held up until the camera man said "Scene Two".

Normally I am not that ticklish on my ribs and stomach. As I recall I had marked them as "moderate" on the flier, but these brushes caused my stomach to involuntarily spasm and quiver. One of the men gently brushed the region between my jutting cock and my belly button. The other concentrated on passing his brush over my midsection, above my belly button, up my ribs and back down. These two weren't as symmetrical as the first two had been, which made it much worse for me. Almost instantly I began coughing out bursts of laughter. Chuckles poured from me in a steady stream. My chest heaved and I gasped for air between laughs, but I simply could not stop laughing. I tried asking what they wanted, but couldn't get the words out. I rolled my head from side to side, laughing. Then I felt another pair of hands running up and down my inner thighs. These guys were tickling me with BOTH of their hands. My dick got harder, and tears began flowing from my eyes and any barriers I might have been able to hide behind crumbled to dust.

They caressed the laughter out of me, stroking my stomach, and thighs, and even gently tracing my balls with their fingers (even though by the time they started doing that I was finding it hard to concentrate. ) I think another 2 hours passed and the only thing that stopped them was the camera man yelling "STOP!"

Both men stood and took a step back. The camera man took out the video tape and put another in and then said, "OK, lets get ready for scene three...".

They moved the camera to the foot of the bed, lowering it to take in both of my feet and my face. A pump bottle of what I later found out to be Lube was put on the bed between my legs (resting against my balls for what its worth.) The Camera man knelt down at the foot of the bed and then began tracing small patterns on the base of my foot. "Yep. You marked these as VERY Ticklish. Based on what we saw of your moderate stomach, I think I'm going to have fun with these handsome devils". He was referring to my feet when he said that. Weird, I know, but that's what he said.

The tickling began very slowly, and I was crawling out of my skin before I knew what to do. The large metal ridge of the foot stock I was fitted with prevented me from even wiggling my foot. I laid there, unable to move an inch, while this guy stroked my foot up and down. After about 30 minutes he turned and said "Drill!". It was like a surgeon asking his nurse for a scalpel, and I freaked out when I saw what was handed to him. It was a black and Decker power drill that had been fitted with a feather in place of the bit. The camera man pulled the trigger on the drill and the feather whirled menacingly. He placed it in-between the second and third toe of my right foot and squeezed the trigger. Jolts of ticklish sensation shot through my body at a velocity I had never experienced. I was pole vaulted into hysterical laughter. My whole body shuddered as I tried in vain to pull away. I lay there giggling and laughing in a high pitched voice. It was impossible for me to comprehend this hellish torture that was being played upon my ticklish body. He moved the feather from toe to toe and then from foot to foot. It was another hour and a half , I think, before he finished. Then he shouted "Lets finish this and get out of here."

The five of them surrounded the bed. Each one positioned where they had had their turn. Their zippers made shrill opening sounds as they pulled their dicks from their pants. Each took a handful of lube and the camera man removed the cock ring from the base of my dick, as he slathered lube onto my cock as well. They began tickling me again, each pumping his own dick. I was wild with laughter. I laughed and I cried. It was the best of was the worst of times...if you know what I mean. It took 10 minutes for each of them to climax. They shot their loads all over my hairy chest and legs and feet. Finally, they pumped my dick until I burst. They kept jacking me after I came, and continued tickling me for another 15 minutes. Then they were gone.

I don't mean they vanished, or anything mystical like that. They pulled their dicks back in their pants, loaded the video camera back into their back pack. They untied my feet and took off the stocks, packing them away, and leaving me cuffed to the bed. Then the Camera man spoke "We've got you on tape. We know where you live. We know what your schedule is. Tell anyone about this and we'll find you and do it again. Tell anyone and we'll send the tape to your Parents or Your Wife or your Dean or whoever we think will use it best. In general we'll fuck up your life like you've never seen. In a moment I will undo the handcuffs - you just lie there. Keep those hands over your head until we are gone. Do you understand?" He punctuated the question by brushing my armpit with his open hand, once again sending me into hysterics. I said yes. Yes, just please let me out. He undid the cuffs slowly and then the five of them left. That was a year and a half ago.

Since then I graduated, and am working in a small research lab in Austin Texas. I saw on CNN that there were reports of men being sexually molested against their wills. Something about tickling. And that's when I contacted your firm. As I understand it, you are handling these reports right? I mean, I wouldn't be living in this hotel, if I weren't terrified of the possibility of being somewhere others couldn't hear me. What? Oh..the company I work for? Sure...uh...Mechanical Software Solutions...why? Huh? What? Oh no..I don't mind....wait..what's that gun? Shut up? I don't understand..I thought you worked for "current Affair"...You what? Oh my're one of them.................


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