Patrick Colby

Reprinted by permission of the author.
Originally published in "MACH #8" by Alternate Publishing.

I had gotten so I didn't even know the color of the sky. I walked along the city streets mesmerized by the countless shapes and sizes of men's feet. I seemed always to be in a state of arousal, wondering how their feet would feel rubbing over my face and chest, their taste and smell exciting me.

What once was a mild sexual turn-on had now become an obsession, a commanding driving force compelling me to go through all the rest-the whippings, the hot wax, the often brutal insertions of countless cocks and fists just to get a chance with their feet.

Sometimes I thought I would go mad, strapped down while my captors abused my vulnerable body for their own pleasures, taking me to levels I before had thought unobtainable, unquestionable tests of endurance for mere bones and flesh; satiating themselves, reveling in my agonized screams and pleas for mercy, laughing at me once through, propping their big bare feet on my heaving, wax- and welt-covered chest-their toes wiggling just inches from my face, the pungent smell of sweat and leather making a direct connection from my nose to my swollen cock.

Perhaps the worst torture of all was seeing their feet, smelling them but not being able to touch or taste. They knew. I was like a starving man chained only inches away from food, my straining, dripping cock aching for release, my mouth dry, begging for their sweat to quench my thirst. They laughed as they slowly stroked my helpless bare soles until the whole room that once echoed my screams for mercy now resounded with my hysterical laughter.

Helpless to stop the merciless torture as their large, deft fingers teased and tickled my sensitive foot flesh, I was caught between laughing and screaming, tears rolling down my face; my laughter turning to aching sobs, while I stared through wet, glassy eyes at their feet.

Finally, after long hours of merciless tickling, my entire body, bathed in sweat, would become rigid. My torture and tension reaching the breaking point, I would spill over my stomach and chest, never having been allowed to touch their feet or myself.

Each time it happened, I needed more. I became more open with the men who approached me sometimes rewarded/ punished, other times shunned and regarded a some kind of freak.

Not wanting to take the risk of rejection and unfulfillment, I placed a personal ad in a well-known leather/SM magazine:

EXTREMELY TICKLISH I enjoy the sight, taste, feel, and smell of men's bare feet. I also need to be bound and subjected to merciless torture tickling; feet, armpits, legs, balls, ass-everywhere. Reduce me to hysteria. Also enjoy the active role. Am looking for someone who shares my interests. Some travel. My sensitive body is yours.

I secured a P.O. Box in the small town where I lived, and waited.

After a week passed I checked for responses. The box was full! Driving home my mind reeled with all the possibilities.

I had received responses from men all over the country telling me of the long hours of slow, merciless ticking they would make me endure.

One letter particularly caught my attention. He was from the Bay Area and had a lot of experience with both bondage and tickling while in the service and after he was out. I called and we arranged for a meeting a few days later. Nothing was said about the scene, nor were any names exchanged; just his address.

The days passed, and my nights were spent in my room surrounded by my photograph collection of men's bare feet. I masturbated several times nightly, stretching my balls with a cord wrapped around them connected to my toes, remembering other tickling scenes I was lucky enough to have been involved in.

When the day of our meeting arrived, my mind raced as I drove along the freeway. The anticipation of the relentless scene I would soon be forced to endure was almost becoming too strong for me to concentrate on the road ahead.

When I arrived at his address, I sat in the driveway for a moment coming to grips with my desire to be a victim whose only need was to be totally at the mercy of another, knowing full well that I would be driven to the point of insanity, but wanting and needing it so badly.

I rang the bell, my heart feeling like it would rather burst through my chest than supply me with what I was going to need for this torture.

He answered the door, his large frame towering over me.

"Hi! I'm-"

His hand stung as it met with my face. "Shut-up! Nobody told you to speak."

Fuck, I thought, this is going to be more intense that I'd hoped. I kept my head bowed, taking in the view of his large booted feet. My mouth was getting dry, but my cock was already starting to ooze. I could feel the head working its way past my foreskin and pressing against my jock.

"Take off your shoes and socks and leave them outside."

I just stood there, unable to move. He quickly brought me back to reality with another sharp, stinging slap across my face.

"You deaf, asshole? I said, take off your fucking shoes and socks!"

I moved as quickly as my trembling hands would allow, tossing my boots and socks in the corner of the porch. He grabbed me, yanked me inside and slammed the door behind me.

"The guards tell me that you've been a real son of a bitch lately. I've been assigned for a one-on-one with you to try and calm you down."

I said nothing, my face still burning from his last slap. He walked behind me and roughly handcuffed my wrists. My breathing was rapid and shallow as he slowly circled me. I continued to stare at the floor, feeling the sweat trickling down my sides. He stopped and planted his big feet in front of me. I felt his hands on the collar of my shirt, and with one effortless jerk my torso was naked. I was scared shitless. This man was dead serious and I was in no position to argue, let alone opt for the active role as my ad had stated.

He grabbed my shoulders and drug me through the hall, forcing me down the steps that steeply led to the basement. When my eyes had adjusted to the dim lights, I saw before me a large prison cell built along one wall. All it contained was one mattressless steel bed.

"You'll be in solitary for a while, shithead, and I'll be your guard. Nobody will be able to hear you. We're sealed off from the rest of the prison. I'm going to break you, asshole. Break you hard!"

He dragged me into the cell and deposited me in a heap on the cold stone floor. I lay there watching him, his dark eyes burning into mine, splitting through me as if he knew my every thought, touching my soul and gripping my guts as he tightened his hold over me.

Slowly he started to remove his shirt, revealing his massive, hairy chest. It rose and fell evenly, giving me no clue as to what to expect. I followed the thick mat of hair until it disappeared into his pants.

His eyes never left mine as he walked towards me. He leered at me in such a way that it made my skin come alive. I felt cold and helpless.

"Take off my boots." I looked at him questioningly. "With your teeth, asshole."

Clumsily I rose to my knees, bending over his booted feet, kneeling before them as if they were gods. I grabbed the lace of his right boot with my teeth, struggling to untie it. I groveled at his feet, awkwardly untying one, then the other. The smell of sweat and leather reached my nose and sent my mind reeling. Like a dog I growled and grunted, tugging at his boots as he lifted first one foot, and then the other.

"Now my socks."

Slowly I worked his socks over his heels with my teeth, rutting and sniffing like a pig to get in as much of his smell as I could. My lips brushed along his high arches, finally managing to pull his thick socks off over his long, tendoned toes. My cock was rock-hard. His perfectly formed feet and toes were just inches away from my face, the manly smell rising up into my nose like incense from a pagan ritual. I couldn't help myself and threw my face upon them, inhaling the aroma deeply, tasting them with my tongue.

"Why you little son of a bitch," he said, roughly kicking me aside. "You'll pay for that one, fucker. You're not even worthy of licking my feet."

He picked me up and carried me over to the steel bed, throwing me down roughly in the icy springs. The back of my head crashed into the heavy steel bar at the head of the bed. I was enveloped in darkness.

When I came to I found myself roped down spread-eagled on the slats of the bed. I was totally naked and he had pulled my cock and balls through the cold slats.

Lying on my stomach made it possible to see him. My head throbbed and I could feel his presence.

"My feet are cold, asshole. Warm em up," he said as he roughly thrust one foot between my legs, his toes playing with my ass and his heel smashing my dangling genitals against the steel slats. I yelped and tried to rise up. The pain in my balls was excruciating. He had tied them to a ring embedded in the concrete floor. "That's just so you don't get too wild." He laughed.

I felt him straddle me, sitting on my ass, his massive weight pushing me further into the metal. He brought his big feet up to my face and began rubbing his soft soles over my mouth and nose, his large feet curving against my face. I knew better than to try to lick them without his permission.

"Do they smell good? Yeah. How does it feel to have a real man's feet caressing your face? Smell those toes, boy. If you're able to please me, maybe I'll let you lick them."

His litany was so quiet it almost seemed as though he was saying the words for himself alone to hear. All I could do was lie there, bound and helpless, taking in the aroma given off my his two hot feet. My cock was so hard it ached.

Suddenly I felt his fingers slowly tracing down my back. His light touch sent shivers up and down my spine, raising goosebumps everywhere on my body. He stood alongside the bed frame and continued to slowly drag his fingernails from my neck down to my exposed ass, gradually encompassing more of my torso and adding my sides and armpits to his tickling, torturous route. He kept up until my sighs started turning into light giggling. He sped up his actions until I was laughing and crying out of control. He zeroed in on my hairy, sweating armpits using all his fingers to tickle me until I was bucking to be free, my balls aching every time I raised up. The louder I laughed the more he tickled me. He threw himself on top of me, pinning me down, and dug into my ribs. I screamed. He continued. I could feel his hard cock pressing against my sweating ass. He tickled the back of my neck with his tongue while his fingers continued to dig into my ribs. I was screaming. "Please, stop... Oh God ... PLEASE!" He was too far gone to even hear me. With one quick thrust he drove his huge cock into me. I was frantic, pulling at my bonds while his cock pulled and pushed into my guts. My captor kept up his relentless tickling and thrusting until at last he was screaming as loudly as I was, shooting deep into my guts.

My body was alive with sensations. The hard metal of the bed beneath me bit into my flesh, my asshole felt like it was on fire, and still he continued to lightly toy with the hair in my pits. I felt his chest rise and fall rapidly against my back, the rhythm of his heart matching my own.

I felt him rising off of me, meanly pulling his now softening cock out of my abused ass. I lay there sobbing, my cock hard but unreachable.

"Shut up! I'm not through with you yet," he said, and gave me a stinging slap across my aching ass. I lay there both dreading and anticipating what lay in store for me. He walked to the head of the bed, grabbed my hair and lifted my head up. "Rest. You're going to need it," he said as he turned, left the cell and walked up the stairs, leaving me alone with my erection dripping on the cement floor. I was cold, aching, and terribly exhausted. I dozed.

It must have been his menacing presence that first alerted my sleeping body. I hadn't heard him come down the stairs into the basement, but I could sense him. I listened. Silence. Then I heard him chuckle.

"Well, asshole! Are you ready for another session?"

Judging from his cold and cynical tone of voice, I knew he neither wanted nor expected a reply. I craned my head as much as I could to see him. He was standing there half smiling at me, playing with his already swollen cock. I dreaded another brutal fucking so soon. My asshole ached and I could still feel his juice oozing out of my ripped hole and dripping off my balls onto the concrete floor beneath me.

As he walked toward the head of the steel bed, he ran his fingernails slowly from the soles of my feet to my neck. My sensitivity was still very much alive and heightened by anticipation of what was to come. I shivered at his touch and gagged as he grasped my hair and impaled my face on his swollen cock. He ran his fingertips mercilessly through my left armpit until I was laughing and choking, unable to free myself from his pounding cock.

He must have been hot. As quickly as the tickling and facefucking had started, it also ended as he shot his load down my spasming throat.

"Now let's get serious," he said.

He untied my hands and I made my move to escape. I raised my knees-forgetting that my balls were still tied to the ring in the floor-and came screaming down onto the metal slats. He laughed as he watched me struggle, allowing me to cause my own discomfort in my futile attempt to break free.

In all my anger and frustration I was still his prisoner. I surrendered to his superiority, moaning while he cuffed my hands behind my back.

"Now that's better," he said. He untied my ankles. "Things will go a lot smoother for you if you'll just cooperate." He loosened the binding on my balls just enough to allow me to turn over onto my back; the metal bit into my bound arms while he secured my ankles to the steel bed frame and tied each of my big toes to the metal cross-bar at the foot of the bed. He then re-tightened the rawhide around my balls, undid the handcuffs, and spread my arms wide above my head, tying them securely.

My captor stood back and viewed my new but still very compromised position.

"Know what? I bet you'd be a lot more sensitive if I got rid of all that hair of yours!"

"Oh no! Please Sir, don't..." I didn't have a chance to finish before he stuck his sweaty wool socks in my mouth. They pacified me. The smell and taste of his unwashed socks calmed my soul and aroused my cock.

"There," he said stroking the side of my face with his magnificent soft sole. "Chew on those for a while. Remember, these are your reward if you don't break under me." He propped his foot up on my naked chest and wiggled his long toes in my face. I moaned.

He used an old-fashioned bristled shaving brush to spread the lather across my hairy chest and down my stomach. The lather was soft and cool, the brush coarse; it sent goosebumps everywhere. When it reached my armpit I writhed and laughed through his socks. He ran the brush in circles through my armpits while I chewed and worked his socks to keep from going out of my mind.

The cold steel edge of the razor moved steadily, methodically over my erect nipples, nicking them as I watched the white lather grow red with my blood. One side, then the other. He lathered my legs. Steel scraping against skin as long broad strokes robbed my legs of their heavy covering. Untying my balls, he took a long time to lather up my swollen crotch. The bristles tickled. Short, sharp, stinging strokes from the cold blade stole the last remaining hint of masculinity. I scarcely breathed, sucking the sweat out of his socks as the icy blade traced the outline of my balls.

When he finished, the excess lather was wiped away with a towel from my upper body and legs. The rawhide was re-tightened around my balls, and he used his piss to rinse away the lather on my crotch. It :stung, and I knew when the rawhide dried it would tighten even more around my already strangled balls.

He wheeled a table covered with instruments of torture next to the bed. Before I could discern what everything was, he encased my head in a leather mask, zipped the eye holes shut, left me with nothing but my imagination and the taste of his feet in my mouth. I was lost in a sightless void.

The sound of his movement was muffled by the tight leather. Time passed. Nothing happened. My sweat started to trickle down my bare skin, void of any barriers to halt its slow torturous route. Please, my mind cried out, do anything, but stop this unbearable waiting!

He struck. One quick blow across my erect nipples with a leather strap set my senses ablaze. It was followed by one, two, three more; each increasing in their intensity while I struggled to evade his blows. Impossible. I anticipated the next. It never came. Instead he attacked my armpits with two brushes. I tried to bring my arms down but the restraints bit into my flesh. Every attempt made to move triggered an influx of pain from somewhere else in my body. He ripped his socks from my mouth and my once muffled laughter became hysterical as the brushes traced a pattern from my pits down my sides and across my stomach, sometimes lingering long enough to torment the head of my engorged cock. He dig his fingers into my ribs until I was laughing so hard I couldn't speak.

Then, suddenly, without warning, he snapped clamps on both of my tits, reversing my laughter into screams. He tapped the clamps, setting sensor against sensor, timing them with quick feathered strokes along my cock and balls. My tits felt as though they were on fire, yet the pain gradually melted into the pleasure I felt in my crotch. He sped up his rhythm equally, never allowing the pain to dominate the pleasure. His first act of compassion.

My entire body tensed. I needed only a few more seconds of his exquisite torture before my strangled balls could emit their contents. So close. He stopped!

"Nooo!" The perfect balance was broken. "Oh God, please Sir, let me come, please!" My body shook with my pleas, I begged him for release. There was no response.

He removed the leather casing from my head. My eyes were wet; the vision of my captor was blurry but I could make out the sneer on his face well enough. He sat up on the bar above my head and brought one of his stinking bare feet down on my face.

"Lick it!" he commanded, and I obeyed. I watched him, pleading with my eyes and with the earnestness with which I licked the sole of his foot. He didn't even notice. The sensation of my tongue against his bare sole spurned him on while he leisurely stroked his massive prick, quickly spewing the contents of his bouncing balls on my chest.

Without acknowledgment he rose up and moved to the foot of the bed. Kneeling down he licked the soles of my feet. I laughed. The convulsions of my chest reawakened my clamped tits. The harder I laughed, the more they bit into my flesh. He kept licking the soles of my feet until once again he had caught me between laughing and crying uncontrollably. When his tongue tired he used his fingers, then brushes and feathers. I was reaching my breaking point, my stomach cramping as the room echoed my peals of laughter. Half laughing and half screaming I yelled, "Stop!....I've got to piss! stop-"'

"Finally," I heard him say. He untied my toes from the bar and rejoined my shackles together at the ankles. Next he hooked my ankles to a large hook and chain suspended over the bed from a pulley in the ceiling. My balls were freed and he sadistically pressed on my abdomen, smashing his hand into my already screaming bladder. I was too weak to struggle when he untied my arms and resecured them behind me with the cuffs.

Walking over to the wall, he grabbed the loose end of the chain and hoisted me up, hanging me by the ankles with my face barely inches from the floor. The blood rushed to my head, making me dizzy.

My ass was roughly greased and a butt plug inserted, torturing my bladder even further.

"Now asshole, let's see how much will you have left. If you can hold out without pissing on yourself, my feet are yours. I don't have to tell you what will happen if you can't."

He reached down and removed the tit clamps. The sudden reawakening alone was almost enough to trigger my piss. He slapped my ass and worked the butt plug in and out a few times and I could feel drops of piss escape and run down my stomach and chest. He laughed. He stood where I could see his two bare feet-my reward just inches from my nose. Slowly he started tracing the outline of my feet. I started to giggle. He increased the intensity of the tickling and I roared. I was jerking and swinging from my heels. The harder I fought the urge to piss the faster his fingers raced over my soles and toes. He wiggled his toes in front of my face. I was yelling and screaming as I felt a flood of piss stream down my stomach over my chest and into my yelling mouth. The tickling stopped.

He was laughing at my defeat and the sight of my piss-soaked body as he lowered me into a pile on the wet floor. I was too exhausted to fight as he released me from my bonds. I watched in horror as he began dressing, saving his feet for last.

"Please, Sir, let me lick your feet; beat off while I smell them, anything. . . "

''I won. You don't deserve them. Maybe next time." He threw me what was left of my clothes and left. I dressed and sorely walked upstairs. He walked me to the door in silence. Standing on the porch I put on my socks and shoes and glanced up at him.

"Come back" was all he said. He was smiling. I began to speak, but he silenced me; the role held to the bitter end. I turned and left.

When I reached my car there was a bag sitting on the seat. Inside were his thick smelly socks and a note - "Next time, they're all yours." His second act of kindness.

I knew I'd be back.

Patrick Colby