A Snowy Winter Day

by

J.P.

j.j.porter@worldnet.att.net


You never know when you wake up in the morning whether your life is going to change in a profound way during the course of the day. Ethan Brown certainly didn't expect February 17th to be any different from any other midwinter day in his Michigan town. He had the day off, so planned on watching football with some guys at his buddy Hank's place over on Stetson Road. Hank lived in an old apartment building with a decent sized apartment and, most importantly, a big-screen TV.

Ethan jumped into his new pickup truck and cursed as he noticed the start of another snow storm. "Damn," he thought. "These roads are going to be slicker than a motherfucker." Ethan had on his usual uniform of faded jeans, cowboy boots, and leather bomber jacket over a tight white T-shirt. He was built. Four years ago in high school he was a star athlete, and he kept in shape at the gym and on his job at the warehouse. His cocky swagger showed that he still saw himself on the baseball diamond or football field. His short, thick brown hair was covered by a baseball cap, and a perpetual smirk was on his structured face. His skin was smooth and would tan in the summer. His green eyes flickered with arrogance.

He grabbed a six-pack at the 7-Eleven and started drinking on his way over. He laid on his horn when an old woman walking with a cane took too long to cross 7th Ave. "Move it, grandma!"

Hank was already parked on the couch with a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other. "Take those fucking shitckickers off. My old lady just scrubbed the floor." Hank's old lady was a sad-looking girl named Lonnie who had been waiting for Hank to marry her since high school. Fat chance. Ethan stood on one foot and then the other to remove the scuffed, size 10 1/2 boots. His white socks looked dirty and a hole in the right one showed the pink flesh of his foot.

"Jesus, your feet stink."

"Shut the fuck up."

The two buddies sat side by side on the couch, downing beer after beer and commenting hotly on the game and lewdly about the cheerleaders. Ethan also spend a lot of lung power abusing Hank about his shitty job, his ugly girlfriend, and his old car. Hank seemed to ignore him.

At half-time, after many beers, Ethan stood and stretched. He lifted one leg and shoved his foot into the seated Hank's face. "How do these babies smell close-up?"

Hank grabbed Ethan's ankle and stood. "Now you're going to get it, buddy boy," he said with a strange new look on his face. "I've got my own half-time show in mind." Hank dropped the ankle and tackled Ethan. The two fell onto the carpeted living room floor.

Hank and Ethan were about the same size and build, and in fact Hank looked a lot like Ethan. He did have a more mature look because he didn't shave as often as Ethan and usually sported stubble. Both guys were strong and had been buddies for years.

Unfortunately for Ethan, he had played basketball in high school while Hank was a wrestler. Both had played football and baseball, but the years on the mat gave Hank a decided advantage now. Ethan fought hard, but Hank was skilled, strong, and determined. He played with Ethan, putting him in one painful hold after another.

"I'm sick of your attitude, Ethan."

"Fuck you. Ow! Let me up, asshole."

"Say, 'I give',"

"No!"

"Okay, you asked for it." Hank maneuvered Ethan into one of his favorite holds--the figure four leg-lock as seen on the WWF. The hold is extremely painful and put Ethan's foot within inches of Hank's face.

"Here's that stinky foot again. Man, you've got holes everywhere. Kitchy kitchy koo," Hank said as he poked his fingers through a hole and tickled the spot of pink. The effect was electric.

"AAAAAHH! Stoppit," Ethan screamed, his body stiffening and struggling anew.

"No way! You are not ticklish, are you?"

"No, that's, uh...my sore foot."

"Oh yeah, then how does this feel?" Hank sneered as he let all his fingers wriggle along the dirty white sock. Hank could see the outline of the arch and the wiggling toes where the socks pressed against Ethan's foot.

"NOOOOO! HA! OOOOH! N-N-AHHAHAAA!"

"Oh yeah, baby, we're going to have some fun now. I know all about how to treat ticklish little feet. That's how I keep Lonnie in line. I'm going to work you over, man. You'll be a fucking pussycat when I'm through with you. I can't believe you're actually TICKLISH like a bitch, man. Wait 'til I get you tied up." During this speech, Hank kept up the tickling on Ethan's foot as Ethan writhed, banged his feet on the floor, and laughed.

"I ain't letting you--OH--AAHAAAAHAA T-T-Tie--NO, st-stop-HAHAHA me up."

"Who said you have a choice, sweetheart?"

Hank pulled off the sock and continued tickling the squirming foot as he contemplated how he would get Ethan tied down so he could really get him. Hank had a lot of secret bondage equipment that he used on Lonnie, but she was a lot smaller and weaker than Ethan. It would be hard to get him tied. IN the meantime, he was surprised at how turned-on he was by this whole scene. Ethan's big foot was soft with strong, clean toes which wriggled frantically. Tickling Lonnie's feet was never this hot because it wasn't much of a challenge to overpower her and get her to scream. Making touch Ethan beg, however, was a different matter.

The problem resolved itself when there was a rap at the door, and a third person let himself into the apartment. Anybody home?"

"Deke! Man, am I glad to see you. Seems badass Ethan here is ticklish as a little boy. What say you we both work him over."

"N-N-NO! Help m-me HAAAHA Deke, B-B-Buddy. You OHHEEHEHAHA-g-gotta h-help me!"

"Help you? You gotta be kidding, Brown. After the way you fucked me over at work last week? This is perfect. You're gonna suffer, dude."

"Deke, go into my closet in the bedroom. I got all kinds of rope and shit. Let's get this fucker tied down."

"Alright, man."

Deke, a tall blond with a mean look in his face, did as Hank directed and came back into the living room carrying some white cotton rope and leather restraints. He tapped the leather cuffs on his palm and smirked. "Hank, you are one kinky motherfucker."

"Shut up and hold his arms."

Deke planted himself on Ethan's upper chest and pinned the flailing arms over Ethan's head. "Payback time, buddy-boy."

Meanwhile, Hank was moving like an expert. He released the hold on Ethan's legs and quickly used one of the leather restraints to hobble him. One socked and one bare foot struggled to no avail. He used the rope to bind Ethan's knees and thighs. On a signal from Hank, the two guys flipped Ethan over onto his stomach and brought both of his arms down. While Deke sat on Ethan's head, Hank coolly tied his bend arms left wrist to right elbow and vice versa. More rope was added to his biceps and chest. They again flipped him so that he was on his back, trussed up and helpless. He glared at his captors.

"You fuckers, let me up right now. I'll kick both your asses, you faggots. What kind of shit is this? Let me go!"

"Noisy little thing, isn't it?" Deke said.

Both Deke and Hank were kneeling next to Ethan and grinning at the sight he presented. Deke then sat on his chest and then planted his size 12 socked feet on either side of Ethan's head, pinning it. "Man, we're going to have some fun," Deke said as he tweaked Ethan's nose. He lightly slapped Ethan's face. "How's it feel, big man, to be on the bottom?"

"You asshole...OOOOHHHNOO! Stop it!" This outburst was caused not only by Deke's teasing, but also by Hank's fingers which were going over both the socked and the bare foot. Hank really did know what he was doing and alternated light teasing touches to the base of the toes with a scratching of the muscular arch.

"Which is worse, Brownie, socked or bare? How 'bout if run my knuckles up and down this sock. Or, let's see, yeah, how about my fingers in between your toes? How's that feel? Yeah, that's the spot, isn't it?"

Ethan was going crazy from being so immobilized and form the expert tickling. He couldn't move at all and Deke was constantly taunting him. Plus Deke's feet really stunk. At least Deke wasn't tickling him too.

"Hey, I think I'll get in on the act," Deke said.

"Help yourself. Check out his ribs."

"NO!"

Deke scooted down Ethan's body to his thighs and began lifting Ethan's T-shirt out of his jeans. "Let's see what's underneath here. Look at that flat stomach. Been keeping up with the sit-ups, eh? Man, that skin looks smooth. Wonder how these fingers will feel on your belly?" Deke asked as he wiggled his fingers just over Ethan's newly exposed midsection. Ethan sucked in his ridged stomach in an instinctive attempt to avoid the inevitable.

"Here we go, kitchy kitchy koooo," Deke said as the wiggling fingers descended and made contact with the belly. He stroked all over the lower belly which caused Ethan to jerk wildly. He began circling the belly button with one finger and his other fingers danced below.

"Oh--n-no--not--th-there!"

"What's the matter Ethan, can't take it? Afraid I'm going to tickle your belly button? Man that would drive me crazy. Guess what? I am going to tickle that belly button." As he spoke, he let his fingers enter the navel the effect on Ethan was profound. He felt like he was being invaded or raped by that finger and that feeling, along with the relentless, ever-changing assault on his toes, was maddening. Ethan screamed with laughter.

"Shut that guy up," Hank said.

Deke complied by pulling off his own socks and gagging Ethan. He could breathe just fine, but his shrieks became muffled.

Deke now left the belly button and let his fingers roam over to Ethan's sides. He found that a light touch with all his fingers drove Ethan crazy and caused goosebumps to break out all over his body. Hank, meanwhile, removed Ethan's other sock and tied his big toes together. He was deep in concentration as he worked a tiny paintbrush between Ethan's toes.

"Hey, Hank, watch this," Deke said. He lowered his face onto Ethan's partially exposed belly. He placed his lips over the belly button and blew a raspberry.

"AAAAGH!"

"What's he trying to say?"

"I don't know, do it again."

"Okay."

"AAAHHHRRGGRRPPHA!"

"I think he's trying to tell us something."

Ethan nodded furiously. Deke untied his stinky socks and removed the gag as Hank slowed his fingers down to soft stroking.

"I-I gotta piss."

"Ooh. Little baby has to go pee-pee? Let's see if we can help out," said Deke as he dug into Ethan's ribs. Hank grinned and renewed his fierce foot-tickling.

"AAHHAHA STOP IT I-I'm ser-serious. I gotta p-p-pisss OH OH HEEHEHEHAAAH..."

"Hey Deke, check this out, this always gets Lonnie crazy." Hank lifted both bound feet and started nibbling on the rosy heels. Ethan's laugh went up an octave. When his teeth reached Ethan's straining arch as Deke's tongue darted into his belly button, Ethan screamed and a dark wet spot spread out from his groin.

"We made him piss in his pants. Holy shit!"

Hank was silent but he had a steely look in his eyes. He was studying the gasping, red-faced Ethan. He looked him right in the eye and they both know something fundamental had happened. Hank rose and went into the kitchen, and came back carrying scissors. He began cutting Ethan's jeans off his body.

"Hey! Stopprhm." Ethan's protest was muffled as Deke stuck the socks back into the his mouth. Hank was efficient and soon the jeans were cut from Ethan's muscular legs. The wet jockey shorts were next.

When Hank was finished, Ethan lay on the floor naked except for his white T-shirt which was hiked up over his chest. The black leather stood out against his pale legs. His big dick flopped on his thigh, half hard. He presented an obscene picture.

"Deke, help me carry him into the bathroom. I want to work him over some more. The snow's falling and we don't have anything else to do." The two hulks carried Ethan into the bedroom and put him into truly fiendish bondage. They spent the rest of that day working Ethan over. Hank managed to get plenty of Polaroid's of Ethan.

Now ol' Ethan isn't so tough. Hank makes him come over several times a week for "training sessions." Ethan has taken Lonnie's place as Hank's bitch. He's gotten pretty good at keeping Hank's apartment clean and keeping Hank satisfied. The threat of those fingers keeps him in line...

J.P.
j.j.porter@worldnet.att.net




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