Friendly Persuasion



The roar of a 3000GT engine and a screeching of brakes could only mean one thing; Jason was here to pick up my sister Vanessa--fifteen minutes late, as usual. With a flushed smile and a hurried "Goodbye," Vanessa was up and running, hastening out the door before he started blaring the horn impatiently. By now I was used to her dates with him and didn't even look up from the television, merely waving her off as the door slammed shut behind her.

I sighed deeply and sunk further into the couch. Damn, was she infatuated with him. The two of them had gone out virtually every weekend, partying till the early hours of the morning, the usual movie and dinner dates, walks along the beach at sunset, you name it. I thought his money would run out before my parent's patience did, but so far no expense had been spared and no curfew had remained unbroken. Perhaps if he wasn't so consistently tardy, they could get their asses back in on time. As it was, threats of grounding had been impending should she end up too late again.

Vanessa didn't seem to care, however. And why would she? As a junior, she was now the envy of the girls at Richter High, going out with one of the hunkiest (and richest) seniors at the school. Even beyond that, I could tell she was deeply and madly in love, Lord knows why. Jason Durham seemed too cool in his attitude towards her. Sure, he seemed every inch the perfect boyfriend, flowers and kisses and shit like that, but somehow I got the impression that he didn't quite return her feelings in the same way. But all he had to do was show the ol' pearly whites and dimples and she'd be putty in his hands. I didn't trust him any further than I could throw him (all two hundred pounds of him) and since he was a transfer student that had only been around since the beginning of the year, I couldn't find out much more about him.

Of course, all my suspicions were labeled as pure jealousy. It has been a long-running joke in the family that my sister, almost my twin and just a year older, had gotten all the looks and I'd gotten the brains. Naturally, Vanessa always stated that she'd gotten all the dates, too. I couldn't deny that I was a tiny bit envious that went out three times as much as I, and I'd never had a steady as serious as she was with Jason now. Still, something bugged me about Jason...

That something finally came to the surface the next Friday afternoon, however. Dateless as usual, I was going to hang out with my friend Mike that night. Somehow I could tell something was on his mind that day when we met in the parking lot after school. However, he didn't say anything about it until we both were in the car and driving home.

"Hey, Pete, Jason's been talkin' shit about your sister recently--"

Mike was on the football team with Jason, though certainly not one of Jason's friends. Undoubtedly he had just heard Jason's offhand remark in passing, so I cut him off. "C'mon, Mikey, all guys like that like to brag about their conquests; it's their little--"

"No, not this time," he said more urgently. "It was giving me the creeps. Last week he talked about not taking backtalk and stuff like that. He mentioned his old girlfriend, how she always pissed him off, and how he'd slap her around a bit when she wouldn't put out. Then he said he was so glad his current 'bitch' was all over him, because she'd do anything as he liked."

I didn't like the sound of that, although it still could have been self-confident boasting to his football buddies. "You sure about all this?"

"Damn straight. One of the guys thinks his cousin goes to Jason's old school. And are there ever stories circulating around there about him! You'd better tell your sister to back off."

"I can't. She'll never listen to me!"

He sighed deeply and then patted my shoulder. "You'd better think of something else, then. He's trouble. Fucking trouble, man."

Mike's words continued to echo throughout my head on the drive home, and by the time we got to my house I decided I'd have to have a serious talk with my sister. However, the talk was delayed when I discovered she was no longer home.

"Don't look so surprised," my mother said. "These dates with Jason are getting quite frequent, aren't they?"

I considered spilling my guts to my parents then and there--who knew what that sleazeball could be up to at that point?--but I couldn't, not yet. Not without solid proof. My sister would scream fraud, Jason would never admit anything, and my parents rarely paid attention to school rumors. Mike was too close a friend to provide unbiased evidence. I'd have to speak with Jason myself, I decided. I thought I would try and catch him that night when he dropped her off, perhaps on his way back to his car. My parents would be asleep long before her curfew expired, and I'd confront him myself.

Fortunately, I managed to keep myself occupied while she was gone.

Mike and I went out for a burger, saw the latest blood-and-guts action flick at the movies, and just kicked back for a while. By the time we were back in my room and talking girls, sports, and the usual crap, I had almost forgotten about my sister's predicament and lost track of time. It wasn't until we were engrossed in "Doom" at around 2:00 AM that I heard the front door opening and remembered my mission. I didn't feel the need to drag Mike into it yet, so I let him take over the computer game and waited for my sister to come up the stairs before I tried going after Jake. She didn't--the hall remained empty for ten minutes. Shit, how long did they have to draw out a goodnight kiss, anyway? After fifteen minutes had passed, both the front door and the hallway remained silent. Something was up, and I excused myself to survey the situation. I told Mike to ignore whatever he heard going on, and trailed downstairs...maybe I could take some incriminating photos or something.

At first I thought I almost would need my camera. The two of them appeared to be curled up on the sofa, but in fact nothing was happening yet. As I approached closer, the wave of alcoholic vapors hit me like a Mack truck. No wonder they were lying down, the bastard must have had a fake ID on him or something; hell, he was so big he could have passed for twenty-one without it. Boy, this would really fix things. My parents would blow their stacks and forbid any dates between them in the future. That plan fell through immediately, also. Parental authority wouldn't stand in the way of true love the way Vanessa saw it, and anyways they WERE going to the same school. No, the only thing I could do was convince her or get a confession out of him, both which seemed to be dauntingly impossible tasks.

I tiptoed up closer, still intent on having a word with Jason. As my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, I noticed Jason's bare foot propped up on the back of the sofa. He must have taken his shoes off to walk quietly into the house, and wasn't wearing any socks to begin with. Closing in on the last few steps, I could just make out Jason sprawled comfortably out with her curled up on top of him. He must have tried to bring the dead-drunk Vanessa inside secretly, stopped to take a break on the sofa, and then fallen asleep also.

Contemplating what the hell to do next, I eyed his foot again. It wouldn't hurt to wake him up, at least. I playfully ran my finger down his sole, not expecting much of a reaction. The foot twitched much harder than I expected. Feeling more mischievous, I began delicately tracing my nails up...and down...up... and down. He was indeed far more ticklish than I could possibly have hoped for, and (sadly) awoke with a snort. Apparently he wasn't as drunk as I thought (so, yer pretty experienced with alcohol, hey, buddy-boy?) and was merely dozing. His eyes quickly focused on the mysterious visitor tormenting his foot, and he gasped in recognition.

"You!" His voice came out in a harsh whisper. "What the fuck are you doing, Pete?"

"Funny, I thought that was my line. You mind explaining why you two are zonked out here on the couch together?"

Caught off-guard, he sputtered a bit before replying. "C'mon, it isn't my fault. How was I supposed to know your sister would take so many drinks before she'd--uh--"

I was glad it was dark and he couldn't see me turning purple with anger. "Before WHAT?"

"Well, you know..." That was all the confirmation I needed for Mike's theory. My fists clenched. "Look, pal," he continued. "What we've been doing is none of your business. You can ask your sister and if she wants to, she'll tell you. Just do me a big favor and keep your mouth shut right now, okay?"

"I..." hm, I decided I was going to have a little fun here.

"Sure. I'll keep quiet."

"Cool. Since you're here, could you help get her off of me?"

While snuggling up together, his arms had gotten trapped beneath her, and he couldn't free his hands without rolling her off the couch and onto the floor. That gave me an even better idea.

"Noooo, I don't think so." Instead, I lowered my finger back down and lightly stroked his vulnerable sole again.

"Hey, that tickles! Knock it off," he protested. He tried to pull his leg away and Vanessa shifted dangerously.

"Sorry, I can't hear you. Speak up." I grinned evilly as this time I used all five fingers to do a little dance on his arch. The foot twitched and bounced in agitation.

"Fuck! Stoppit!" I enjoyed the way he was having trouble keeping his voice down. "You said you were gonna stay quiet, you little dickwad."

"Hey, I AM being quiet, you're the one making all the noise," I replied sweetly, now using my other hand to pin the ankle and restrain the ticklish appendage.

Indeed he was. Helpless giggles emitted from his mouth, only partially smothered. Jason was being kept quite busy trying to simultaneously fight me, fight his laughter, and prevent Vanessa from nose-diving onto the carpet. He wasn't doing very well on any task, I noted.

With him thus distracted, I tickled away at his foot, finding increased sensitivity as I moved upwards to his toes. Boy, was this fun. It would have been much easier had he not been so damn strong, but the battle was soon over (too soon, I thought) as my sister thumped to the ground. I wasn't worried about her getting hurt; I figured Jason's biggest problems would be the noise and waking her up.

"Jason, sweetie," Vanessa slurred loudly. "I thought the bronco ride was supposed to come later..." She continued to mumble incoherently as she tried to sit up. Free from his burden, Jason yanked his leg out of my grasp and dove onto the floor to silence her.

"Quiet," he hissed. "Do you know where we are?!"

I don't think she even knew her own name. "All I know," she murmured, a blissfully shitfaced smile plastered on her mug, "is that we didn't get to play Circus like you said. Can we do the jump through the ring of fire, the human cannonball, the lion-trainer? Now?" As if her drunken babble wasn't entertaining enough--too bad I didn't have a tape recorder--she was feeling playful and started running her fingers along his stomach. "Can we play?" Jason yelped involuntarily, flinching back. She kind of cackled in a teasing way as she began a tickling attack on his stomach. "Huh, can we can we can we?" He retreated hastily, torn between shutting her up and self-defense. "You prooomised," she wheedled.

This was almost a dream come true. Apparently his ticklishness was no secret to her, either. I watched, thoroughly amused and not realizing they were making quite a racket when I saw a light switch on upstairs. My father's voice said, "Vanessa, is that you?"

Jason froze, and I think even Vanessa knew to clam up. I quickly checked my watch. Half an hour to her curfew. It wouldn't be any fun to give them away now, not according to my plans, at least. "No, Dad, it's just me and Mike. We're, uh, watching a video."

"Okay, just keep it down, please. Have you seen your sister yet?"

"Nope. Sorry, we'll be quiet."

I turned back to my trembling comrades. They both wore mixed expressions of still-lingering piss-in-the-pants surprise and relieved gratitude. I smiled warmly back at them, indicating that of course I was quite happy to save their asses. Jason couldn't have known I wasn't done with HIM yet, though.

Five minutes later, Vanessa was in bed (five minutes and three seconds later, she was back in drunken slumberland ). While Jason had been tucking her in and whispering his good-byes, I ran back to my room and had a quick conference with Mike. It didn't take much persuasion to convince him to provide some verbal backup in my accusations to Jason. Apparently Mike had been itching to take the big prick on himself; unsurprisingly, Jason was not the most cooperative of people to be around, and he liked showing his dominance over the younger members of the football team in his inimitable style. It didn't hurt that Mike was also sizable enough to help out should I end up pissing Jason off too much, although I felt that in this case he'd only have to lend a hand--his fingertips, specifically. Mike's face lit up when I told him Jason's secret weakness, and he mentioned something about extreme humiliation and how much the rest of the varsity team would love to hear about it. He stayed behind temporarily as I rejoined Jason in Vanessa's bedroom.

As we watched her sleep Jason regarded me cheerfully, apparently ready to forgive me for my little wake-up call earlier. He even extended his hand for a handshake. "Thanks, Pete. You're all right."

I ignored his hand. "Thanks, Jason, you're not."

His face fell. "What, what now?"

"Basement," I replied, gesturing downstairs. "I got somethin' I wanna say to you. Now."

"Fuck, no. I've got to get on home."

"Hmm...if I start screaming now, my parents could be awake in just enough time to catch you leaving their daughter's bedroom. Besides, you'll need these, won't you?" I held up his car keys, which had fallen out of his pocket while I was tickling him on the couch.

Jason followed me into the basement, fuming all the way, but not arguing. He shot a few smoldering glares at Mike, whom I picked up along the way with minimal explanation. I shut the door behind us, and turned to confront him. My voice halted momentarily; now in the fully lit room, I realized just how big and tough-looking he actually was. Fleeting glances at school or in passing with Vanessa didn't do justice to his bulk as he loomed over me up close. I almost rethought my strategy as I eyed the huge arms almost bursting their sleeves. I doubted that he could seriously take me and Mike on simultaneously, but it would be certainly be quite painful to find out for sure.

He spoke first: "Look, I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but you're not getting in the way of me and her bod, okay? Those tits are MINE." He punctuated his words by grabbing the front of my shirt and dragging me close to him.

Any fear I should have felt melted away at his remark. What a fucking asshole! I was really going to make him sorry now, and was pleased to hear Mike muttering under his breath, too. I'd fix him...uh...just as soon as I could get my shirt out his grasp...I squirmed, trying to stare him down as I worked to push him away. Having no success in releasing myself, I cheerfully decided it was time to call upon his one proven weakness and reached forward to pinch and poke at his ribcage. He burst out laughing as I tickled away, forcing him to let me go.

"Hey, quit doing that, you little shit! I hate that!" He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth and shot a worried glance at the basement door.

"Don't worry, big guy, nobody can hear us down in here. And I know you hate it, that's why I'm doin' it." I stepped up my attack, driving him back into a corner.

He was giggling and squirming pretty hard, but he was successfully deflecting most of my blows. "I mean it, man, lay off. What do you want from me?"

With measured syllables, I said, "I WANT you to stay the fuck away from my sister. And I mean COMPLETELY away. For that matter, you and all your dirty minded little buddies. She's gonna hear the truth about you, and you're not going to deny any of it. And--"

"Look, kid, you're not in any position to give me orders, okay? It's a free country. And the school is a public place."

"I don't give a damn. I mean it. You leave her alone. And I certainly don't want to be hearing any shit about what went on between you two either. She's coming out of this clean. What I'm saying, shithead, is that you're goin' down!"

"Amen," said Mike.

"This is fuckin' unbelievable. Just how do you think you can enforce this, anyway, huh? Ever think about that?" He leaned over me intimidatingly, clearly trying to remind me how huge he was. "What're ya gonna do about it, little man? You gonna run crying to your friend there for help?"

"Heh heh. Oh, I don't know. Maybe I can TICKLE you into complying."

I watched about eighty percent of his cockiness vanish right there. "You're kidding."

"Not a chance. I'm serious, stay away, or die of laughter," I grinned, approaching him with the familiar extended fingers of death. I nodded to Mike, who joined me, cracking his knuckles.

The other twenty percent went away, too. He backed away, sputtering some sort of retort, mentally gauging the distance to the door. Nervous as he was, his forearms became masses of steel cables as he clenched his fists. "Go ahead and try it," he threatened unconvincingly.

We pressed forwards as he retreated, debating whether it would be better to strike as one or separate and surround him. As long as we got the first blow, it was in the bag. As luck had it, though, he wasn't watching where he was going amongst the horrid mess of the basement. A pile of boxes gave way as he stumbled into them, toppling over with a shuddering crunch. He fell over backwards into them, crash-landing smack in the middle. I rushed over, hoping he hadn't gotten seriously hurt (not before I was through with him). The boxes were old and not full of solid objects, and the ones beneath him had collapsed. He was now stuck in an awkward position, trapped on his back within a crater of boxes with his legs sticking up in the air. As he struggled to extract himself, some of the junk avalanched down upon him. The surrounding boxes provided no support, leaving him to flounder helplessly within the mess.

"Hey, help me up, will you?"

"What's wrong, are you stuck?"

"Yeah--I mean, no--I think I--uh..."

I think he knew what I was getting at. His bare feet were right where I wanted them. I latched onto an ankle and scowled menacingly down at him. "Well, looky here, I guess the tables are turned on you. Seems to me that if you've been doing a bit of slap and tickle with my sister, you oughta get a taste of your own medicine. And I don't think I'll even need the slap." With that comment, I lightly scraped his sole with my fingernails. Now with no worries of being quiet, he squealed loudly in response, the leg jerking out of my grasp. "We'll have none of that," I said as I snagged the leg again, this time securing the foot in the crook of my elbow. "Cootchie-cootchie-cooooooo..."

His reaction was immediate as I began playing with his sole, tracing random patterns with my nails around his toes, the ball of his foot, his heel, the instep, the arch, all the while enjoying his unchecked howls of laughter and dirty curses. It wasn't easy holding on, as my torment was obviously killing him and he had quite a bit of mobility even when buried beneath the boxes. The free leg tried wildly to kick at me, adding to the challenge. Mike initially seemed a bit self-conscious about taking part in this most unusual torture, but he quickly warmed up to the idea once he had Jason's other ankle and watched his reaction increase threefold with the dual tickling. At that point, Jason seemed to figure out that he was completely and totally outclassed and replaced his oaths with pathetic whines for mercy. After a bit of trial and error it was decided that it was best to have Mike restrain the legs while I took over all the tickling myself (although he seemed a bit reluctant to relinquish the sensitive sole--I think he was enjoying this as much as I). His legs caught in the hold of two strong arms, there was nothing Jason could do in defense but wiggle his toes in distress as I teased away. His upper body bucked and pitched among the increasingly decomposing pile around him, still unable to dig out of the ever-shifting mess.

"Hell, I shoulda thought of this a long time ago," Mike smirked, watching our prey over his shoulder.

I was thinking I could keep this up all night when suddenly the laughter ceased, Jason's body going limp. Naturally, this startled us both completely, and we jumped down to find out what was the matter with him. "Holy shit, I think I killed him," I said.

"No, no, he's just unconscious, dummy." Mike sounded relieved. Further investigation revealed that he had finally been beaned on the skull by one of the falling boxes in the midst of his squirming. He couldn't possibly have been seriously injured, but he was at least out for the count.

As I surveyed the scene, I realized that we could devise a far more effective torture if we could get at his entire body; my previous encounters had shown him to be quite sensitive elsewhere beyond just those ticklish feet. If he was properly restrained by ropes instead of Mike's hands, it would allow us to attack him with twenty fingers instead of just ten. And that was quite an enticing prospect.

Leaving Jason under the supervision of Mike, I scoped out the basement for other materials to aid in our playtime. I don't think anyone had ever thoroughly cleaned the place out, and poking into various boxes yielded untold treasures, particularly some long ropes. Wonderful! I gathered up the supplies and dumped them in a pile nearby. I returned to my friend and, rubbing my hands in anticipation, said, "Okay, let's go to work."

Jason came to fairly quickly--he hadn't gotten more than just a bump to the head. However, once he fully regained coherence, he found himself in a completely different situation. We had managed to drag him off the mess of boxes and lain him on an old mattress more to the middle of the basement. With some effort, we had managed to stretch his arms and legs out spread-eagled and secured them with ropes to the support posts around the room. And for good measure, we had divulged him of all his clothes (except for his boxers, at Mike's request), leaving his sensitive skin wide open to the impending torture. His expression went from dazed to total panic.

"Shit...holy fucking SHIT, what the hell are you morons DOING to me?" He began pulling violently against his restraints, making me glad I had been in the boy scouts all those years ago. As I watched his sinewy tendons strain against his bonds, I hoped that the old ropes were stronger than my knots. "I knew it, you're a fuckin' homo, you little asshole!" he hollered, eyeing his near-naked body. "What're ya gonna do to me, you goddamn pervert?"

I stifled a snicker. "Don't flatter yourself, pal. I'm gonna do nothing of the sort. This is just payback, pure and simple. Besides, you'd probably enjoy it too much--I've got something far more agonizing in mind." From behind my back, I drew out my hand, holding a large, white feather. On cue, Mike pulled out an equal-sized black plume.

And didn't that change his attitude a bit! He nearly began hyperventilating. "Oh, c'mon--you mean you're not done with all that yet?

W-wait, that's not can't--"

"Done? Pal, we haven't even BEGUN yet. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. I think you were agreeing to stay away from Vanessa?"

As I spoke, I twirled the feather on its axis, sweeping it up and around in graceful motions. His eyes bulged as he watched every movement of it, wondering when it would actually strike. He grunted, "I told you, there's no way in fuckin' hell that you're gonna stop me with that. Never, do you hear?"

"Oh really," Mike added. "Are you that desperate for a woman?"

"I--I--I, no get away, stop it, FUCK!" The first touch of the feather automatically raised his voice an octave.

I couldn't resist going for his foot once seemed a good place to start. The entire leg convulsed like I had hit him with a cattle prod as I ran the delicate tip eagerly down the center of his sole. The sensation wasn't enough to crack him immediately, but he inhaled sharply as his jaws clamped together. He squeezed his eyes shut, arching his neck and head back in silent agony. It was almost too easy. Mike started up a second later, evoking another monumental flinch. As he kicked and bucked almost in pain, the first few giggles began to escape his lips. This was far more fun--the gentle brush of the feathers drew out the torment longer rather than giving an immediate sensory overload. Working as lightly as possible, I continued stroking along his arch and then proceeded to run it between his toes. He squeaked, his face turning several shades darker red, and began to quiver all over with internal laughter.

Feeling more daring, Mike ventured upwards Jason's torso. As I ran the feather in and out, in and out through the toes, Mike made his way up to the stomach. Jason gasped, almost a cough, and started laughing even harder as the plume was drawn in circles all across his taut belly. He began to strain harder, his entire frame wanting to double over in protect, but restricted by the ropes. "So, you don't like that, you stupid punk, do ya?" Mike whispered, stroking away. He ran the tip of the feather along inside the clefts dividing the ripples of his abdominal muscles, causing an explosive jump each time the navel was hit. "Well let me tell YOU somethin', I don't like big studboys who enjoy forcing themselves on women. I had a close friend that almost got killed by the likes of one of you self-centered macho men. Now, how do you feel getting picked on for once?"

"Uh-hahahahaHAAAhaahaa, ah ha hahahaha, ooh hoo, hoo hoo, ha hah hah hah haaauuuugh," Jason replied.

"Oh, he must like it, Mike, he's smiling like his face is about to split."

Mike continued on and struck the armpit. It didn't seem possible, but Jason began struggling even harder. Delighted at this result, I moved upwards and worked on the opposite side. Attacked from the left and right at once, Jason's laughs peaked at an agonized howl. Every single instinct he had to bring his arms down in protection was overridden. I tried running my feather inside the armpit, all along the upper arm and down his rib, while Mike seemed to prefer digging his fingers into the hairy axilla. Jason was screaming for mercy, flinching away to one side then the other. It quickly became a contest to see who could tickle him worse, a tug-of-war as he wrenched to and fro from the sensations. Our fingers worked up and down his sides, kneading each and every rib, tenderizing his flank, occasionally working up onto his belly, and still teasing the armpits.

Damn, was this ever a power trip. Soon, gleeful in our dominance, the insults began to fly at him.






"Aiieeeheehee, yeeeahahahaha, ha ha ha--" came more laughter.

"Don't interrupt, you big sissy. Aw, whatsa matter, you gonna cry now?" I taunted, watching tears being forced out of his eyes.

"Sure, he can push around little girls, but once he's up against REAL men, it's game over."



"Waaahahahahhaaaa, ah ha, ah ha, no-ho-ho-ho, bwah-ha, aha ha ha ha ha haa..."

After a couple minutes, I called for a break. Jason interpreted this as a time to try plea bargaining. I had merely intended it to see what kind of fun we could have with the other junk strewn around the basement, and ignored every word he sputtered out as I poked through the toys I had collected.

"C-c-gasp-come on. I promise I'll treat her real good. Wheeze. You know how much money I spend on her, she has a good time.

Just let me cough go. I'll be nice..."

"No, it's back off, or more punishment," Mike said.

"Fuck!" he scowled, thoroughly frustrated. "You're tryin' to make me break up with her with a fuckin' feather?!"

"Some say love has a fragile bond." Mike grinned as he lowered the feather again. Wanting to let Jason catch his breath still, he tried simply irritating his neck with the plume. Even that forced out more giggles, so he relented and let up.

I hadn't a clue as to best way to accomplish our torture, but I took heart in the fact that we had many options. The big decision was how to begin. I'm very bad a snap decisions. Once we did start up, however, the more important decision became when to stop. And we sure didn't feel like stopping very soon. So many toys, so little time! I could hardly keep track of what we tried. It didn't really seem to matter what sized brush we tried, from the wide house-painting brush that successfully covered the entire width of his sole, to the tiny watercolor brush that made mincemeat out of his navel. My sister's old dolls worked well, from dangling the hair of Barbie-type figures over sensitive areas, to nuzzling him with fuzzy plush animals--my favorite method turned out to be dragging Mr. Tiger's long tail up and down his body. Various work tools made for good scrapers and pokers if used lightly enough. Even a box of Christmas decorations offered lethal weapons.

Jason was obviously going out of his mind the whole time, his raucous laughter echoing off the walls, becoming increasingly hoarse as time passed. I think he had a change of heart somewhere between the cleaning sponge and an old fur stole, but we wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise to say so. I was really enjoying the way he pleaded for mercy, and it annoyed me somewhat when his voice gave out; I had been in the middle of rolling toy cars up and down his soles and was shocked to hear him fall silent again. I looked up, wondering if he'd been knocked out again. Nope, neck straining, mouth wide open, shoulders shaking--everything was fine. I shrugged and plunged onwards.

Before long, we had run through the supply of tools and began picking back through them for our favorites. I couldn't deny that simply using my fingers was the most satisfying and one of the most effective methods at that. I concentrated on his sensitized feet, while Mike settled happily for his upper body.

Somewhere around 3:30 AM, Mike tapped me on the shoulder. He whispered, "Maybe we should stop--I've got to get home soon." I was chagrined, but agreed that perhaps he was ready for a surrender. Jason collapsed completely as we let up, and was seemingly only just coherent enough to understand our words.

"Had 'nuff?"

All he could manage was a nod.

"So you're gonna leave her and all our other female friends alone, right?"


"And no bullshit either, no rumors, nothing behind our backs. You're well aware we can take revenge should we find out you're not cooperating?"

Emphatic nod.

"We know we can't keep you from finding some other girl, but hopefully you'll think about this the next time you do. Won't you?"


"Okay, then. Repeat after me..." I got struck by sudden inspiration. "I'll just spell out the words, and you say them aloud." Only I wasn't going to spell the letters verbally. Instead, I picked up a paintbrush, grasped his foot, and began to trace the letters out his sole with the brush.

He began laughing again, and was unable to concentrate on the spelling. "Well?" I said.


"Let's try that again." I very, VERY slowly traced an 'I' on his foot.

More uncontrollable laughter, but he said, "I..."


"Hee hee, hee, ahhh, 'I give'..."

It took quite a while, with many repeated spellings as his giggles overwhelmed him and he lost track of the words. But after much effort (on his part), he got out a sentence, "I give an unconditional surrender, and will leave your sister alone."

I just wanted to hear him say the words. I couldn't draw it out any longer, because Mike did have to go now. I didn't untie Jason as I showed Mike off to the door, thanking him profusely and promising that we'd have to have more Friday nights like this. Mike replied that people going out on dates didn't know what they were missing, and took his leave. I told him I'd see him in school on Monday, and maybe we'd see Jason around, too. Upon my return downstairs I once again shut and locked the basement as I approached my captive menacingly. "Now I gots ya all to myself, eh?"

"Huh? Look, I told you I give up. Please, you gotta let me go now."

"I don't think so. I just have one more thing in mind." With that, I found my the last item on my itinerary in the pile. A pocketknife. I flicked a blade out and pretended to test the blade for sharpness. Wearing the most dangerous smile I could muster, I pressed the knife against his throat and said, "I've decided that the best way to keep you in check is to give you a little something to remember this night by--something more than just MENTAL scars, if you know what I mean."

I wasn't sure if he'd prefer being impaled to being tickled--most likely it'd be a close contest--but he sure as hell looked petrified. Really enjoying myself, I continued: "In fact, maybe killing you is the only 100% certain method of keeping you out of my hair...the only real way of preventing your revenge." Still frightened, he shook his head vigorously. I motioned around the basement. "After all, with the mess down here, I could hide the body and no one would ever find you." I drew the duller side of the blade lightly along his neck. He flinched away from the cold metal.

Stepping back to survey his body a bit, I paused thoughtfully, as if pondering which method of murder would take the longest for him to die. I mumbled a few words under my breath about the base of the skull, severed tendons, extraction of internal organs. Hell, he looked ready to piss in his pants. I knelt down near his side and said, "'Course, if I wanted to off you silently, all I'd have to do is give you a nice jab here, puncturing upwards and rupturing the diaphragm--you wouldn't be able to scream at all." As I spoke, I dug my fingers into the aforementioned spot, into the flank just below the ribcage. Of course, this was an extremely ticklish area, and in the midst of his fear he almost hit the ceiling from the unexpected stimulation.

"Kidding, kidding," I said cheerfully, making sure to give him a few more pokes for good measure. "You're one gullible sonovabitch, you know that? There are far more interesting things I'd rather do with you--you're far more entertaining while alive." With that, I used the knife to cut apart his boxers, and soon his shorts fell away in ribbons, leaving his crotch and his masculinity completely exposed.

"Erik--you-you ARE a fuckin' pervert, you little faggot! Shit, I knew it all along! Goddamnit..."

"There you go again," I said. "Is that all you can think about?

And you call me a pervert." One hand was resting near his knee, and I reached over to tickle it a bit. My fingers playfully made their way up his thigh, inducing rather satisfying reactions. He really went nuts as I started working on his inner thighs and under his balls, laughing uncontrollably and at the same time getting very hard very fast. "See, the way I look at it, Mr. Happy here is the one who seems the be the source of all our problems; after all, he's been the brains of this operation from the start, no? I think he deserves a good tickle torture most of all. But don't worry, I'll get you out of here before everyone wakes up tomorrow morning." I checked my watch. "Only another couple hours." I scanned the room, and located our favorite matching black and white feathers. "Ah, yes, these ought to be a good start. They'll do quite nicely indeed..."