Frank tried to appear casual as he made his way towards the man. He prayed nobody would take the seat beside him. He wanted to find out more about that shirt and the man wearing it.
As Frank slid into the stool next to his quarry, the blonde looked up. He was definitely handsome but there was a look of sadness in his eyes.
Frank introduced himself and bought the other a drink. He found out his name was Ben. Frank cautiously moved on to the next subject.
"That's an odd shirt you've got there. I've never seen one like it. What's it mean?"
"It means that I'm ticklish. I can't stand being tickled, it drives me crazy."
Frank's heart was pounding.
"Why let everyone know? You don't have to wear that shirt."
"Yes I do. HE makes me." Ben indicated a fellow in another part of the bar. The guy was big and burly and wearing a leather jacket. His piercing eyes were riveted on Frank and Ben.
"That is my Master and I am his Tickle-Slave."
Frank grabbed a drink and took a gulp to calm his nerves. With his other hand he adjusted the erection straining at his pants. He urged Ben to tell him more.
"It really started when I was a kid. I was very ticklish then too, even worse than now I guess. My brother who was two years older than me found out about it, and from then on I was at his mercy. If I didn't do exactly what he said, he threatened to tickle me. Many times he punished me for disobeying him by holding me down and tickling me until I screamed. He would straddle my hips with his knees and hold my arms over my head with his right hand. With his left hand he attacked me, tickling my armpits and ribs.
"The worst time was when I was about eighteen. My brother accused me of stealing ten dollars from him, which I never did. He was determined to get his cash back. He overpowered me and tied me up in the back of his van. I was bound to a seat that was bolted to the floor. He had tied my hands behind my head. My legs were tied together and propped in front of me. All I was wearing was a pair of shorts, so you can imagine how defenseless I was."
Frank had gulped down the rest of his first drink and was working on another. His roaring hard-on testified that he could indeed imagine the situation.
"Then my brother parked the van in a vacant lot in the grungiest part of town - the real pervert zone. He hung out a hand painted sign on the windshield: A NICKEL A TICKLE He offered anybody who came by the chance to tickle me for five cents. That's how he wanted to get his money back.
"Unfortunately for me, business was booming."
"All sorts of people came in to tickle my wiggling toes, or my sensitive armpits, or my delicate ribs. I thought I had died and gone to tickling hell.
"The worst was this teenage gang who came strutting by. A bunch of guys about my own age back then who called themselves The City Savages. Five punk teens with stubbly beards and ragged blue jeans. Man, they made me howl."
Frank was so turned on by this, he was getting dizzy. He almost thought he could hear the ticklish laughter from that van.
"All five of the guys worked me over at the same time. That's ten ticklish hands - fifty fingers all trying to see who could make me laugh the hardest. Laugh? It wasn't long before I was crying and yelling. Of course, nobody came to help. In that neighborhood, screaming was no big deal."
"One of the guys couldn't get his hands on any ticklish skin, so he started grabbing at my dick. It was hard. I couldn't help it! I was so keyed up from all those hairy-knuckled hands on me. The combination of being tickled and jacked off was too much. I shot my load and blacked out. When I woke up, I was untied and back at home. My brother never tickled me again. I guess when I fainted I scared the hell out of him. Good."
Frank's voice trembled as he asked the next question. "If you hated it so much, how did you get hooked up with that guy?" Frank's trembling hand indicated the leather man who was still staring at the storyteller and his listener.
"The little bastard who made me cum in that van that day, turned me on like never before. I started jacking off and reliving all the times my brother had tickled me. The tickling was awful, I couldn't stand it. But when I shot off, it felt great. For me, being tickled was an aphro.. aphro.. ?" Ben groped for the word.
Frank didn't want anything to interrupt this stunning story, so he spoke up.
Ben Nodded. "Yeah. But since my brother wouldn't touch me anymore, I started looking for some guy to do it to me. I was like a guy who goes out drinking even though he knows there's gonna be a hangover the next day. I wanted a super-intense orgasm and the tickling was the hangover."
"After some awful experiences -- most of the men who I asked to tickle me thought I was a lunatic - I met Roger. Roger seemed to understand what I needed. After I got to know him a bit, he invited me back to his place. I'll never forget that night."
"When I got there, he had this long wooden table in the center of a room. There were straps dangling from the ends. I got a hard-on the minute I saw it. It reminded me of the van. Roger smirked at me the whole time I was looking it over. He knew exactly what I was in for."
He tied me naked to that table, my arms and legs strapped spread-eagled so every inch of me was exposed for tickling."
"Once I was helpless, Roger left the room for a minute and then returned carrying a big fluffy feather. I freaked out. Nobody had ever used a feather to tickle me before. I was sorry I had ever come to Roger's place. I begged him to let me go. But he said that he was going to give me what I REALLY wanted. "
"He started by lightly flicking the feather all over my skin. That wasn't so bad - kinda like being a chair that was getting dusted. But then, Roger applied more and more pressure until the light touch tickled me intensely. The feather seemed to give me two feelings in one - the excruciating tickling and the good sex feeling."
"He began to zero in on my most sensitive spots. I was laughing hysterically and pleading with tears in my eyes for him to go easy. He ignored me. He kept assaulting me with the feather, he used his fingers to torture my feet. He drew little circles on my soles until all I could do was giggle breathlessly."
"Man, I thought I was gonna explode - you know, like that guy in `Scanners'? "
Frank was quivering all over. "This is the worst possible time to talk about movies."
"Sorry. So anyway, he finally took pity on me, sort of. He bent down and gobbled up my dick in his warm, wet mouth. Then his big, strong hands raked up and down my ticklish sides. I shot gallons of cum while I laughed my lungs out."
"I've been with Roger ever since."
Frank mopped the sweat from his brow. "So that's why he makes you wear that shirt. He wants everyone to know that you are his property."
Ben's eyes grew sad again. "No, I've been bad. Roger wants to punish me. He needs to find another man to help him do it. From the look in your eyes, I'd say that you are the guy he's looking for."
Suddenly a beefy paw clamped down on Frank's shoulder. He looked up to see Roger staring down at him. Roger spoke.
"Looks like my buddy's story has turned you on. Would you like to come back to my place and help me tickle him for his punishment?"
Frank's mouth was dry, but he managed to answer "Yes!!"
Ben reached out for Frank's hand and spoke in a pleading voice. "Please ... Tell me you won't be too rough on me. Say that you'll go easy and not tickle me too hard."
But Frank was unmoved. "Actually, it's been one of my deepest desires to tickle a hot stud until he's desperate with laughter. Now that I've got the chance, I plan to tickle and tickle you until you go nuts!"
The bartender watched as the three men left the place together. It seemed to him that the one with the strange T-shirt wiped a single tear from his eye...