My last tumblr was deleted but my new one is up and running at http://heavy-bondage.tumblr.com/

Please follow! I’ll be re-adding all my photos regularly!!

Here’s the video…

http://www.xtube.com/watch.php?v=xUfZm-G797-#.VMN4Ii7-uT0

A shiny sports kit and skintight white lycra short clad prisoner had his wrists, upper body, knees and ankles trussed up and was then tied hand and foot to a chair. A large ballgag was forced into his mouth and a tight black rubber hood with blacked out eye holes was placed over his head.

My last tumblr was deleted but my new one is up and running at http://heavy-bondage.tumblr.com/

Please follow! I’ll be re-adding all my photos regularly!!

Here’s the video…

http://www.xtube.com/watch.php?v=xUfZm-G797-#.VMN4Ii7-uT0

A shiny sports kit and skintight white lycra short clad prisoner had his wrists, upper body, knees and ankles trussed up and was then tied hand and foot to a chair. A large ballgag was forced into his mouth and a tight black rubber hood with blacked out eye holes was placed over his head.

This story was originally publish on the old Ropejock website…

i vividly remember the first time i ever made a tickling wager…

mike and i were in high school at the time and had both played hooky on a tuesday. we were at my house alone, since both my parents were at work. we started playing basketball early in the day. 20 point games. we became more and more competitive each game we played. we would rub it in and tease the other each time we won. i’d won the first game, lost the two next games, and then won the next two, and then mike won again. after he got through taunting me and we were about to start a new game, he suddenly turned to me “hey, you wanna’ play for something this time?”. i asked him what he meant. “you know”, he answered, “make a wager on this game, you scared?”. i told him that no, i wasn’t scared, i just didn’t have any money to put up. that’s when his eyes took on a wicked cast, “well… we could play for something else…?”

i asked what he meant and he said that we could play that the winner could make the loser do whatever he wanted for an hour. “like what?”, i warily asked. “that’s the fun part, the winner gets to devise any penalty he wants, the anxiety of not knowing exactly what’ll happen to you if you lose will be half the fun!!” i agreed, but was a little nervous about the whole thing, but kinda’ excited about the thought of winning and thinking up something really hellish for him to do. the game began. the wager hanging over our heads made us even more determined to win. we played with an energy and aggression that far surpassed the previous games. by the time it was over we were both soaked with sweat, but i was a happy boy. i won!!! after the relief of not being subject to mike’s whims i began to think of what i might like to do to him. i thought about making him do pushups, or jog for an hour beside my car while i set his pace, i thought about making him kiss my sweaty feet…then it occurred to me!! there had been many occasions in the past when mike’s bare feet had been in reach and i’d stroked em a couple times just to make him jump, so i knew he was ticklish! i wondered what it’d be like to tickle him for an hour while he was helpless. a perfectly evil plan!!! at first mike tried acting as if he’d forgotten all about the bet, but i reminded him and he couldn’t deny it. it had only been half an hour since we’d made the deal. “all right, what do i have to do? wash your car? do your homework? clean your room?” he was obviously thinking along different lines than i was! i looked around. there was a long metal-framed lounger in our backyard. i guided him reluctantly over to it and pulled off all the cushions to reveal it’s metal frame. ” lie down on this.” i instructed. ”’why?”, he wanted to know. ” remember”, i reminded him, “half the fun is not knowing what’s going to happen to you…”. he groaned at me throwing his own words back in his face and plopped himself down onto the patio recliner. i got some pieces of nylon rope from the shed and had him raise his arms above his head so i could tie his wrists securely to the top of the frame. “what? you’re just gonna tie me up in the backyard and leave me like this for an ho ur…ooooh, big deal…” i ignored him and moved down to his legs. i grabbed his ankles and pulled him down the chair till his body was stretched tight, anchored at the wrists. then, with his feet hanging just over the edge of the chair, i tied his ankles down, separately to each corner. i made sure that all his bindings were secure, then i went back to the foot of the chair and sat down in the grass. i remember, looking up into the sky and thinking what a beautiful day this was, and how this was going to be a much better way to enjoy the early afternoon than math class would have been. i pulled on his shoelaces, untying each one, and then slipped his sneakers off to reveal the sweat-drenched white cotton socks plastered to the form of his wide, athletic feet. “hey!!! what the heck are you doing? gonna give me a foot massage?”, he asked, still not getting a clue as to what my plans were. i grabbed the tops of his sweatsocks and slowly peeled the filthy material away from his bound feet. i sat back and gazed at his helpless feet for a minute… “well”, he said ” what now?”. without a word i picked up his smelly sneakers and took out the shoelaces. i used the laces to tie around his big toes, then pulled them tightly back and tied them off around his ankles so that his feet were held in a hyper-flexed position, the skin of the soles stretched tight with no way to budge his feet at all (he could barely even wiggle his toes). “you’re ticklish aren’t you mike?” i asked innocently, even though i already knew the answer. his eyes widened in sudden fear as the realization of what i had in store dawned on him all at once. he panicked and gave himself away “NO. not that!!! that’s the one thing that’s not allowed! NO WAY!!! NO TICKLING!!!” i shook my head slowly, smiling, and told him that i didn’t remember that distinction being mentioned. all i remembered was “anything the winner wants”. well, this was what i wanted. he looked so scared, ‘peeeeease…don’t do this! anything, i’ll do ANYTHING else!!” i cut short his begging when i made contact with all fingertips at once scrambling erratically around the surface of both his soles at once. his begging suddenly caught in his throat and the sounds he was making ceased to be words and became loud, frantic, laughter. his whole body tensed. i could see every muscle of his body (he wasn’t wearing a shirt, just little cotton running shorts) flexed in his agony, but i didn’t let up. i tickled him with my fingers for about ten minutes, enjoying every twitch, every agonized laugh, every fruitless attempt to appeal to my mercy and then began to wonder what reaction other devices might illicit. i excused myself for a couple minutes and went inside. when i returned i had in my possession a stainless steel fork, ice cubes, a feather, a hairbrush, toothpicks, a battery powered toothbrush, and a couple ball-point pens…i showed him the toys i’d collected inside and felt my cock get a little harder as i watched his reaction. he looked as if he were about to cry as his gaze darted, in horror, from one hous ehold-item-turned-instrument-of-torture to another! “no…please…no…”. i made myself comfortable and sat down again in front of his immobile and incredibly sensitive feet and reached into my box to choose a toy…still 45 minutes left to go…

…so there i sat in the grass on that beautiful tuesday afternoon, close enough to those smooth, bound soles of mike’s to smell the sweat produced during our basketball tournament. i was giving him a minute to catch his breath after only ten minutes of tickling. he was wrecked, and his torture had only begun!!! he hadn’t said a word since i showed him my box of goodies. i just sat and watched his chest rise and fall as he tried to catch his breath. he was breathing loudly, gulping in air. man, this guy was ticklish!! i think being tied up and completely helpless had made him even more susceptible to this form of punishment.

suddenly i heard him ask “so’s that it? am i done?”.

that tinge of desperate hope in his voice made my cock a little harder still, and i couldn’t help dashing his hopes against the rocks! ,”oh no, mike…i’m not even close to being done with you yet! it’s only been ten minutes so far (the little break i just gave you doesn’t count). you’ve still got fifty minutes left, tuff-guy!”, and with that i pulled 6 toothpicks from the box…

first i took a single toothpick and began to jab the soft flesh of his immovable soles with it’s sharp wooden point. i watched his face while i continued to poke him with it. he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes tight. i could tell he was trying not to react, but the sight of him struggling to maintain his composure was just as erotic to me as his outright tortured laughter had been earlier. if his plan was to make me bored with the session, it was failing miserably. i noticed that when i jabbed the point on the apparently VERY sensitive spot between his big and first toes, that his lips trembled slightly and he’d bite down harder on his lip, scrunching his handsome face even tighter! ah ha, a secret spot! i, of course, immediately began to concentrate on this area of both feet. i even picked up a second toothpick so that i could stimulate both hot spots at the same time. as soon as i had doubled my efforts i saw every muscle in his body become even more rigid, his arms and legs trying in vain to pull themselves free of their inescapable bondage. his breathing got harder and came faster! i could tell he was about to lose it, so i began poking even harder and more rapidly!

his face contorted in agony, sweat pouring down his forehead, he opened his mouth wide:

“OHHHHHHHHhhhhGOD….aaaaaaaaHAHAHAAArrrgh…JEEEeeezusgaaaaaahdaaaahaaa argrrrga,,,HEEEEEEeeeheeeeeehahaarg…pleeeeeze sthaaaaaaaaap…!!!”

i stopped.

“oh god, man”, he managed to say between big gulps of air, “that was fuckin’ horrible! thanx for stopping man, i was about to lose my mind. now please, hurry up and untie me, my toes are really starting to hurt!!”

i shook my head slowly, with what must have been an evil grin spreading across my face, “good try mike, but you know the wager was for an hour.”

“but surely it must be close to an hour, couldn’t you be a sport and knock the last few minutes off. seriously, i think i’ll lose my mind if you do this anymore.”

wow! this REALLY must be hell for him, i’d only been poking his feet with the toothpicks for 5 minutes. apparently the intense torment had distorted his since of time. i let him in on the facts with relish, and told him he still had 45 minutes to go. i also made it clear that i was going for the entire hour no matter what. it looked again like he was about to cry. “NOOOOOOOOOOO, PLEEEEEZE… that can’t be true! i KNOW it’s been longer than that! it HAS to have been!!…”

i showed him the stop watch i’d been keeping time with and i swear i think his eyes watered up a little. i sat back down on the grass in front of those tender, trapped soles. this time i pulled out the battery-powered toothbrush and switched it on. he lifted his exhausted head from the chair to look down and see what the noise was. when he saw me with the toothbrush on, only inches away from his helpless feet he lost it! he jerked and bucked against his restraints which refused give at all. “nonononononooooooo…”

and i hadn’t even made contact with the toothbrush yet!! i had an idea. “i’ll make a deal with ya, though…if you can keep from laughing for another five minutes, i’ll let you have another break”……

the battery-powered toothbrush hummed in the hot summer air and mike stared at me wild-eyed, shaking his head slowly back and forth, trying desperately to get me to change my mind. yeah, right!! there was NO WAY i’d pass on even a second of such a great opportunity! this was the first time i’d actually tickle TORTURED another guy and i was having a blast!!! i lowered the toothbrush to the trapped and stretched flesh on the instep of his left foot…

“NOOOOOO, n-n-n-ooooh, ho, ho, haaarghahahaaaaa, heee, h-h-heeshit! shit! god! pleeeze-hee hee hee, no more hahaaargh!!!…”

the sounds were like music to my ears! without letting up for a second i reminded him, “mike, remember, you don’t get your break till you can keep it in for a solid 5 minutes…heh, heh, heh!”

“no please..b-b-break n-n-n-owww! now please. b-b-break?”

“no way, mike!!! you’ve got to earn it!”

“o-o-oKAY ahhh! i w-w-won’t. la-la-laugh!!!”, he bit his lip again and i heard no sounds except the creaking of the metal chair as he pulled on his restraints, and the sound of air being sucked through his sexy, trembling lips…and, of course, the lovely hum of the toothbrush as i slowly let it travel up from his arch to that valley where his toes met the ball of his foot. the closer i got the louder his breathing got. his big toes were held splayed apart from his other toes due to their individual bondage, so once the toothbrush made it into that valley, i let it travel into that hellishly sensitive spot between his big and first toe. his chest began rising and falling more violently and i didn’t hear any laughing but i did hear something that sounded like wh impering…

i fixed the toothbrush so that it wouldn’t fall from between his toes while it vibrated. wedged it in good. then i moved to the other end of the chair to get a good look at his face while i left the toothbrush humming away…

i sat down beside him in the grass and looked at his handsome face trapped there between his stretched and bound arms. his face was red, sweat was running in rivulets down his cheeks, and tears of frustration and effort had actually welled up in his eyes, mixing with the sweat streaming from his pores. he looked at me intensely and i could see he wanted to say something, but was afraid to open his mouth for laughing. i guessed what it was, looked at my watch and said, “just 2 minutes to your break mike, you can make it.” i brushed some strands of sweaty, matted hair away from his drenched forehead and smiled, “well, i better get back to work”. mike whined loudly in protest as i got up and returned to the toothbrush still buzzing away between his poor toes. i left the toothbrush where it was and picked up one of the melting ice cubes instead. i began to tickle the sole of his right foot with the ice, and he must not have been expecting that extra sensation because he immediately lost what control he’d managed to maintain and busted out laughing: “NOOOHOOOHOHOHEEEEE, oh-oh-oh-GAAAAAHD noooohohohahahaaaarggh, aaaahahahaaaargh…”

“awwwww, mike”, i said in mock-sympathy, without stopping, ” you lost your break. now you’ll have to start all over…”

the ice had gotten such a great reaction that i decided to abandon the toothbrush for now and pick up a second ice cube. while continuing to swirl the first cube around the sole of his helpless foot i added his other foot into the mix as well. two ice cubes now, sliding sadistically up and down those taut arches, eliciting shrieks and unceasing laughter from my handsome victim. his whole body had tensed even more at this new phase of the torture, he bucked as much as he could (almost not at all) in his bondage: “oh god, oh god, ohgodohgodohgod….mmmmrgh, mmmmrgh, ah ah ah ahahahaaaaaa, ha ha haaaarrgh…!” “now, now, mike you want that break, don’t you, tuff-guy?”, i taunted my tortured friend. he shook his head earnestly up and down. “yes, y-y-yessss!!! b-b-b rea-aye-aye-ayeyahahahaaaa…”, he could barely form intelligible words now. “well then i suggest you get hold of yourself, bud, and STOP LAUGHING or you’ll never earn that break. five minutes, remember? no laughing!” “i c-c-can’t. i can’t s-s-s-top!! ah ah ahahaaa aaaaaaah ha ha haaraghaa…” “i suggest you try”, i answered putting all my concentration back to those sexy, vulnerable feet. i gave him just a second to catch his breath and bite down on his bottom lip again before placing each cube against a heel and slowly dragged them up the length of his soles… once again, i heard no laughing, only moaning sounds as his struggled to keep the agonized laughter from escaping his trembling lips and the sound of the iron chair groaning under the stress of a bound and struggling boy! his bound soles were wet now, from the melting ice. the tightly stretched skin gleamed in the sunlight, drops of cold water running in trails down his instep (hopefully adding to the ticklish sensations). they looked gorgeous! i changed positions so that i was lying on my stomach in the grass with my face so close to his trapped soles that i could smell them. this way i could press my hard cock against the ground through my shorts, while i continued to torture mike. it felt so good!! the pressure on my cock, the closeness of his bare, twitching feet! i could have cum in a second, but i held off. i still had a little more than a half hour of this torture left to inflict. i decided that if i was going to cum i’d do it in the last few seconds of his torture (okay, so i’m a little bit of a masochist, as well). since mike was way too preoccupied with desperately trying not to laugh to notice anything but the tormenting sensations of the ice, i took this opportunity to gingerly extend my tongue and move my head in close enough to push it in between the big and first toe of his right foot. this close i could really smell the hot sweat from the basketball game and i tasted the salty flesh of his taut, trembling flesh. i drew back. i had to! i was about to cum but wanted to wait and there was no way i’d have been able to hold back if i’d kept my tongue between those delicious toes. i sat back upright and abandoned his arches for his toes and the hyper-sensitive valley just below them. as soon as i’d guided the slippery ice cubes up to those toes, mike groaned loudly:

“MMMMMRGRRRRRGHHH AAAAAAAAH GOD GOD GOD THAT’S C-C-C-COLD!!! H-H-HOW L-L-L-ONG BEFORE THE BRE-BREAK?” i looked at my watch. ooops! i’d been so entranced with the close-up tickling and stolen licks at his toes that i’d lost track of time. it’d been almost ten minutes since he’d allowed himself to laugh. “sorry, mike, you earned your break a few minutes ago”, i stopped the tickling. “you mean it’s been longer than five minutes!?!” “sorry.” “YOU JACK-ASS!!” he yelled at me. i decided he’d pay for that after his break….

since i’d gone against my word and let mike continue his struggle not to laugh past the stated 5 minutes i decided to give him a 2 minute break instead of only 60 seconds. as i sat in the warm grass, listening to mike trying to catch his ragged breath, and staring at the soles of his feet so helplessly bound my hand trailed across the ground and came across the socks i’d pulled from his feet about a half hour ago. they’d gotten so soaked with sweat during the basketball game that they’d become stiff as they dried in the afternoon air. since mike had his eyes shut, trying to regain his composure and milk every bit of relaxation he could out of his 2 minutes, i took the opportunity to pick up one of his sweatsocks and smell it, breathing deeply the heavy scent of old rubber and leather from his sneaker, and the pungent sweat from his foot. it reeked! much worse than the scent i’d picked up from the surface of his barefoot when i leaned in close. i had an idea. looking at my watch, i piped up “Break’s over, dude!…” i heard mike groan softly in dread. i snatched up both socks and got up to move to the top of the chair where i found mike’s face, still sweating, between his arms. “we’re gonna change the way we’re doing things here, okay?”, i asked my victim/friend. he nodded eagerly “no more tickling?”, he asked hopefully. “actually…”, i responded with my slyest of smiles, “i was thinking ‘no more breaks’ ” his smile immediately dropped off his face to be replaced by a priceless look of sheer horror. i explained that it was just that he was my best friend and i couldn’t stand to prolong his agony any longer. it’d be over much quicker if i just went for the solid last 30 minutes all at once instead of stretching it out with all these interrupting breaks… “NO!!!…PLEASE, NO!!…NONONONO…” i easily shut him up by pulling out a roll of electrical tape and securely taped his mouth shut. then i pulled up his dirty socks so that he could see them. he looked confused. i tied the toes of the long sweatsocks together. he still looked at me in confusion and enforced silence. i then began to bring the now linked dirty socks closer to his face. he suddenly understood and began shaking his head violently from side to side as much as he could, sandwiched between his tied arms. alas, to no avail, i eventually got the socks over his face and tied them in a knot behind his head. i made sure to position the filthy knot made at the toes so that it directly covered his nostrils. to test my plan, i now used both hands to grab into his ribs! since he couldn’t laugh through his taped lips, he was forced to take deep breaths through his nose and smiled when i saw his eyes squeeze tight at being forced to smell the odor of his own pungent feet! my fingertips glided up to his pits, making unendurable ticklish spirals there while i watched him forced to smell his socks…he begged me with his eyes. poor boy…. ;) pulling out two hairbrushes i went back down to his trapped feet, “ready for your last half hour, tuff-guy?” the only answer i got was a panicked sounding muffled protest, but i couldn’t make it out…best just to ignore it, i decided, and went to work.

the brushes i’d selected had very stiff bristles. hundreds of them!! i placed a brush at each heel and s-l-o-o-o-w-l-y dragged them both up the surfaces of each hopelessly stretched and bound sole. the stiff bristles against the soft, tender flesh of his arches got the reaction i’d been hoping for. every muscle of the poor boy’s body looked like corded rope flexing uselessly beneath his sweating flesh. his body was involuntarily exerting all of it’s might against the bonds and yet did absolutely nothing as far as helping him out of his hellish predicament!! when the brushes had made it to the center of both soles, i began to spiral the cruel bristles in torturous circles over and over. he couldn’t handle it. for the first few seconds, he’d managed to take only very shallow breaths through his nose (since his lips were still taped) in order, i assumed, to keep fromgetting too big a whiff of his own filthy socks still tied tightly over his nose. but when i started in circling his insteps with the fiendish hairbrushes he let out a load moan and i heard him suck air ferociously and involuntarily through the sock-filter. i saw his face scrunch up in disgust as the odor hit him full-force again! he immediately tried taking shallow breaths again, but i was having way too much fun with this and decided to pick up the speed and pressure of the brushes. in a matter of seconds i had him groaning hysterically under his gag and taking in one stinking lung-full of air after another! i was having the time of my life!! i kept that up for about fifteen minutes, listening to the frantic sounds mike made. sounds that would have been nothing but pitiful begging if i had taken off the gag and let him form actual words. then i had yet another sadistic idea and reached into the toys i’d brought from the house and pulled out a pair of long, sharp-tipped scissors. i opened them a little, giving me two tips to work with. i chose his right foot and placed each of the two points in contact with either side of the ball of his foot, just under the toes. i used just enough pressure to cause a thin white line to appear behind each of the scissors’ tips as i slowly dragged them down the surface of his soles. i could tell mike found the sensation unbearable because, even though he couldn’t move his feet at all i could see the muscles in the sole of his right foot twitching and spasming under the tautly stretched flesh. after a few minutes i switched to the other foot and inflicted the same torture there.

looking at my watch, i realized i only had 15 minutes left. i suddenly stopped torturing mike with the scissors and used them to cut the laces binding his toes back to his ankles. i heard a sigh of relief come from under the tape as he immediately began flexing his stiff toes. then i moved up to his head and pulled off the socks and slowly peeled the tape from his sexy lips.

“THANK GOD THAT’S OVER!!!”, he mistakenly assumed, his face stained with tears of agony and pouring sweat, “i don’t think i could’ve taken one more second!!!”

i let a smile slowly creep over my face and shook my head as i looked down at his pitiful sweat-drenched form stretched so tight and vulnerably across the iron chair, ” it’s STILL not quite over mike”, i showed him the watch, “i’ve got ten minutes left. it’s just that i’ve decided to concentrate on our armpits and ribs for the last part and i wanted to be able to hear you laugh and watch your toes flexing while you suffered!” without giving him a chance to respond, i immediately placed myself behind the chair where i had a perfect view of his feet still bound at the ankles to the bottom of the chair and dove into his sweaty pits with all ten fingers at once!!

“Aaaaaarrrgh oh God, oh God, oh oh oh shit!!! ah-ah-ah-ahahahaaaa!!heeeeeeeeehahahaaaargh…! no please, no pluh-pluh-please,ple-hee-hee-hee-eeze!! i c-c-can’t t-t-take anymore ha hahaaaaaargh…PLEASE STAAAAAHP…!”

his reaction was wonderful! that deep, helpless laughter and screaming bubbling from his sexy lips involuntarily. he knew it was what i wanted to hear and yet he still couldn’t keep himself from begging and laughing. my cock had become absolutely rigid and i pressed it against the iron bar at the top of the chair where mike’s wrists were so soundly lashed. i pressed against the bar (where mike couldn’t see me) even harder and continued tickling his pits and ribs with my fingers while focusing my eyes on his toes wiggling in ticklish agony at the other end. in the midst of another gale of mike’s helpless laughter i came hard against the chair, his hysterical laughter blocking out the long moan of sheer pleasure that i couldn’t help producing as i finally brought myself off.

after i’d got my composure back, i let mike know it was over and untied him. he immediately jumped up off the chair and stretched his aching limbs, sweat beading down his almost naked body, and promised that he would get his revenge one day…one day soon!

my blood ran cold at the thought! i was so into torturing him that it never occurred to me that he might eventually have me at his mercy!! oh jeeeeze…

THE END

well that’s it for mike’s ordeal and the consequences of our first tickling-wager.

D

Tom Daley had been kidnapped from his training pool and taken deep into the ruins of an old factory where he had been chained hand and foot, gagged and then strung up from the ceiling support beams.

An old clock had been placed on the wall in front of Tom. It had now been over 24 hours since his captors had left him chained high and dry…

PART I
As consciousness returned, I remembered what had happened and tried to sit up – I couldn’t. I found I could barely move a muscle. My arms were tied tightly behind me; I felt something tied tight around my ankles, my knees and even my thighs. My wrists were secured and my elbows were pulled painfully tight together in the small of my back. My head was enclosed in something, the smell was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My mouth felt stuffed full of something soft, springy but tough and I could barely swallow. The contraption blindfolded me – it must have been a hood of some sort over my head.

As I grew more aware, I felt the strain of the bonds around my body, everything was painfully tight and my muscles ached from the strain of the unusual position my limbs were forced to adopt. I was lying on my side and couldn’t straighten my legs without pulling on my arms. I was hog-tied, I’d seen it before but I’d never thought that it could be this painful. My skin felt strange, I couldn’t work it out but I knew that every part of me was covered in some way. I must have the uniform on, but I knew how that felt and this didn’t feel the same, besides, I knew that the motorcycle boots were not on my feet – that much was clear.

I couldn’t help but try to relieve the strain on my limbs, I moved as best I could but could do nothing to relieve the pain. I realized that my arms were secured to my body and that bonds were secured around my chest and torso in some criss-cross fashion. I could feel them biting into my flesh and restricting all movement. I tried in vain to speak but couldn’t make myself understood, I heard gurgling and rasping and realized that it was me. Saliva was running from the side of my mouth and pooling at the side of my face and chin, held in place by the hood that was so tightly wrapped around my head. There was no light to relieve the darkness in which I was held. I didn’t know if it was day or night.

My body cried in pain. My 6’4″, muscular frame was not built for this type of punishment, and I could do nothing but try to move a little. My efforts paid off and I suddenly rolled onto my chest, pulling my legs up behind me still attached to my wrists as they were. As I settled into this new position, the pain eased slightly and I felt my cock and balls crushed under me, pinned between my body and the surface on which I lay. I sucked on the gag in my mouth as a sharp pain crashed through my body. I’d never been so aware of my equipment in this way, I wondered what those bastards had done to me.

I knew that the drug dealers had captured me, the sting had gone drastically wrong and I had no way of knowing where I was or who was holding me. As the head of the division, I was supposed to have been anonymous in the motorcycle copes uniform and just one of the guys, as it were. I was in serious trouble – that much was sure. I thought that I was finished when they shot me, but I didn’t expect to be drugged and captured. They must be after something and I was in no position to put up much resistance. The pressure was already too much to bare, I don’t know if I can put up with this much longer, but I can’t even talk to them. What the hell do they want? Why hasn’t someone realized that I was conscious; what’s going to happen next?

I tried to flex my fingers and found that my hands were enclosed in something like a mitten, they kept my hands tightly trapped and useless, I couldn’t feel anything through the material, it seemed so thick. Over all of this, I felt hot, my body was sweating and the perspiration wasn’t going anywhere, it seemed to make my body wet, the heat was at every part of my body, from my fingers to my toes and even my head. I couldn’t make it out, what the hell had they done to me? As I tried to clasp the material surrounding my mittened hands I suddenly realized what the smell was and suddenly knew the texture of the material that covered my entire body – it was rubber.

With this realization came another thought. What type of villain kidnaps a cop and then dresses him in rubber and keeps him tied up like this? Some perverted and demented bastard. I couldn’t believe it. I knew that some people found rubber a turn-on and I’d seen films where they used this type of situation for brainwashing and sensory depravation. Oh Jesus, what’s going to happen to me? Where are they, why haven’t they come for me? I can’t stay like this… “Come on you bastards, get started”, were the words I shouted, but they were not the sounds I heard, I couldn’t make a single clear sound. The bonds cut into my flesh, the hood was stuffy and I noticed that I was only breathing through my nose. From the feel of it, there were tubes or something in each nostril and the air whistled in and out of the tubes. I couldn’t believe what had happened to me. I can’t stand this shit; I’m going to die in here. Even though I knew it was a waste of time, I began to thrash around, looking for some form of escape, some sliver of hope – there was none.

I only succeeded in exhausting myself and I could hear my breath whistling harder in and out of those devilish tubes. I panted with the effort and the saliva continued to leak from my mouth, pooling around my face and mixing with the sweat. I felt terrified and wanted them to get on with it, to do whatever it is they are going to do. Why don’t they come? Have they forgotten about me? Have they been caught and no one knows I’m here… like this? All these thoughts flashed through my head, will I see my friends again? I began to cry; to plead; to demand my release; to escape; to survive; to live. Nothing.. Nothing but the void, no response from the outside world, no one came to laugh at me – the big dumb cop blubbering like a baby – nothing!

I felt a tingling at the soles of my feet; it was like ants marching over my skin and irritated the hell out of me. I flexed my toes and feet, feeling the rubber slide over my skin a little with each flex. The sensation grew stronger and rather than irritate, it became quite pleasant. The sensation grew a little stronger still and I jerked as my feet were tickled. I pulled my feet to avoid the sensation and only managed to jerk on my tightly bounds wrists. I wriggled and squirmed in a vain attempt to avoid the tickling, but it followed me and I could not avoid it. I needed to laugh, but I couldn’t laugh, not here, not now, not like this. But the sensation grew worse and as each wave washed over my feet I jerked and began to giggle into the gag. I could barely breath, I can’t giggle at this sensation, but I had no control and I had no choice and the waves broke down my resistance until I was thrashing helplessly around as best the bonds would allow in a state of uncontrolled laughter.

Then it stopped…. I was panting through the nose tubes and screaming for release as the same sensation began just behind my balls. First the marching ants, then the tingle, then the incessant tickling which seemed to travel through my balls and up the shaft of my cock. I couldn’t believe it, I can’t stand this. Suddenly, the connection between my ankles and my wrists loosened and I had a little more movement. The tickling grew and I was screaming again into the gag, howling and cursing, fighting for release from the bonds and the sensations. I had a little more movement, but it got me nowhere, I couldn’t put an end to the sensations coursing through my cock and balls. Then it began again under my feet and I jerk hard enough to throw my restrained body through the air and I couldn’t stand it.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. I lay in a heap, panting and wheezing through the tubes and around the gag. Sweat made the rubber slide across my body and no matter how hard I tried, I could still find no release from the bonds that held me. I screamed through the gag for the ordeal to end and sank down sobbing and cursing myself. I lay there and shamefully realized that my cock was rock hard and that I had cum during the ordeal.

“Did you enjoy that”? A voice said in my ear. I jerked my head up but could see nothing of course. The darkness in which I was trapped remained constant and I could only gurgle and grunt through the gag. “What the fuck do you want, you perverted bastard” is what I wanted to say and what came out was unintelligible.

“So, my friend. You thought that you could outsmart me”, the voice continued. It was a deep masculine voice and not one I recognized at all. Under the circumstances, I don’t think I would recognize my own father’s voice. “We needed information… The best way to get it was to set you up and have you pay us a visit”, the voice broke into laughter at it’s own joke. I was in no position to appreciate the humor and I simply growled through the gag and hung my head as I realized that I had been set up and that the sting, so carefully planned, had failed before it had begun and there was an informer in our midst and I had walked into a trap.

As the head of the drug operations, it would take special circumstances to put me out in the field and into a situation where I would be vulnerable. This took special knowledge of the operations within my division. There were only a few men who might have set this up. It was clear now what my captive wanted and information; information only I could give him.

“Ah, your silence may mean you begin to comprehend my friend”; the mocking voice interrupted my thoughts and brought me back to my predicament. The rubber surrounding me suddenly felt very heavy; the heat that permeated my body was suddenly overpowering and debilitating. The tubes up my nose suddenly seemed very small and I held back my panic as I realized the seriousness of my situation. “You have information which I want and you will help me by providing it”. I shook my head in the negative. I couldn’t give information to this freak.

“I want the names of all your operatives. The undercover operatives who have infiltrated my organization and who undermine my productivity”, again the sick humor touching the edges of his voice. My worst fears were realized, I couldn’t give this bastard the names of the undercover operatives; it would mean certain death for them all.

My body already felt tortured, I was painfully restrained; I was enclosed in thick rubber; I was breathing through two small tubes; some fiendish device over which I had absolutely no control had tickled me beyond my ability to cope. I was in some unknown location, held by some unknown lunatic and I could see no means of escape and there seemed to be no opening in this prison, no ray of hope. I didn’t think I could cope with any more, yet I felt that they had not even begun their interrogation of me. I was afraid; afraid I couldn’t hold out; afraid I wouldn’t survive.

As if on cue, I suddenly felt my legs being drawn back up towards my wrists. There was some mechanism at work, pulling my bound ankles closer and closer to my wrists. It hurt badly and I struggled to make it stop. I screamed though the gag as the pain increased; my muscles were strained and as my ankles drew closer to my wrists, the bonds around my knees and thighs and around my body grew tighter. I could barely breath and the pain was unbearable. I pulled as hard as I could to stop the torture, but I could make no impact. For the first time in my life, my 6’4″ muscular frame was working against me and the pain was unbearable and my strength was as nothing.

Suddenly a strange smell hit me and my head began to reel and the pain receded a little. I moaned in pain and rolled on my stomach a little trying to find relief. As I rolled, I suddenly became aware of my cock trapped under me and it was rock hard and I was shocked to find that I was turned on and horny. I was aware of my situation; I couldn’t believe what I was feeling. What was that smell? They were using something on me and some drug. Oh shit, what’s going on. I continued to roll slightly, trapping my cock and almost humping the surface against which I lay. I couldn’t stop myself, yet I knew that I shouldn’t be feeling this way and not like this. Suddenly the marching ants started again on the soles of my feet and I knew what was coming.

I screamed through the gag as the tingle turned to the tickling sensation again. I couldn’t stand it all, the feelings, the bondage, the pain, and the smell of the drug being fed through the nose tubes. I was helplessly bound but I was turned-on. The sweat within the rubber suit acted like lubrication making my body slide against the rubber material; my cock was sliding, caught between my sweating body and the rubber covering. The tickling sensations became worse and I began to laugh around the gag; the laughter mixed with the screams; the pain mixed with the pleasure; I was helpless, I was gagged, I was in darkness and I thrashed as best my bondage would allow and only made the pain greater. I slumped in total exhaustion as the tickling stopped and the pressure on my legs and arms was released and I was able to actually straighten my legs for the first time since waking. I stretched my legs in relief, still laying on my stomach and conscious of my cock still throbbing beneath me. I rolled onto my side, my breath whistling through the nose tubes and the gag still filling my mouth. I was bathed in sweat and my entire body ached and was wracked with pain. Suddenly that smell again; the light-headed feeling which blurred the barriers between pain and pleasure.

My cock sprang to attention again and I automatically drew in great breaths through the nose tubes. I began to float in another world, the drug causing my unwilling self to enjoy the pain I was in. I drew the next breath and there was nothing… I could not breath, the air was gone and I sucked on the rubber gag filling my mouth and pulled with all my strength at the nose tubes trying to get air into my bursting lungs. I screamed silently as a greater darkness began to descent upon me. I writhed and thrashed, my hands locked behind my back and my fingers grasping within their rubber prison for something to grab onto. I heaved my body, the bindings cutting deeper into my rubber-covered flesh. I could find no escape; I was going to die yet the drug that still gripped my mind kept pushing me to focus on the throbbing between my tied and useless legs. As darkness finally descended my cock exploded in an orgasmic frenzy and as I slipped into darkness, the final thing I heard was my own silent scream within my head and the final feeling I had was as if my prostrate was being ripped from my body by the orgasm which assailed it; then…. There was nothing.

I awoke. It was light. There was no pain. It was a dream; but what a dream. I had never experienced anything like it. I tried to sit up but couldn’t. My arms were at my side and I could not raise them. I looked for the first time and found an odd quality to the light I was seeing, my sight was veiled in some way, I could see, but the images were foggy. I tried to focus and saw that there was a transparent film in front of my eyes, surrounded by blackness. I tried to swallow and found that there was something in my mouth and realization; it wasn’t a dream but a nightmare and it was real. I was still gagged, my body lay flat and as I flexed, I could feel that there were straps holding me down. I could see through the transparent material covering my eyes. I could not move my head, straps across my forehead and neck made sure of that.

In despair, I looked towards the ceiling and was shocked to see an image of what must have been me, reflected in a mirror. Though fuzzy, I was able to make out the details of the image above me although it was difficult to realize that a man was under the black rubber coverings and it was only the definite head shape, which made it clear. Black rubber covered every part of my body; only the clear plastic eye ports gave evidence to the man inside the rubber cocoon. Straps were wrapped along each limb and around the torso. Each wrist, above and below the elbow and around each bicep. Each ankle, above and below each knee and around each thigh. Across my hips, my waist, below and above my pecs and straps held me completely helpless. I flexed at each point as if to punctuate what I saw above me.

As I looked closer, I grew concerned at the tubes that seemed to bristle from my body. In particular, there was the narrow tube coming from my nose. I knew that those bastard tubes were still in place, I could feel them but only a single tube came from the hood, the two tubes joined in a “Y” configuration. A wider corrugated tube came from my face and it followed a parallel path to my left ending at an ominous looking machine standing next to me. Another tube was attached at my groin and as if by noticing these things, I became aware that my cock must have been inside that tube. A black bag beneath the tube must have contained my balls and I felt vulnerable at the thought of my jewels exposed to the demented shit that had captured me.

Tubes went to my chest and must have been lined up with my nipples. Suddenly I noticed another wide tube that came over the end of the table like a black snake. It disappeared in the region of my arse and I could only guess that it gave some form of access to my arse. My feelings sank as my imagination gave rise to wide and perverse possibilities. I was totally cut off from the outside world, each tube ended at a machine or disappeared out of site. I could only guess at the purpose of other tubes, which seemed oddly placed. I didn’t guess that some of those tubes hid wires attached to pads placed against my skin. I couldn’t feel these pads within the sweaty environment of my rubber prison.

“We meet again” said a voice in my ears. That same sarcastic humor still touched the edges of the voice. “I think that your first experience will convince you that you are completely within my control and that it’s a waste of time and effort to resist”. “You know what I want, and I always get what I want… in the end”. The man seemed so sure of himself and I felt so unsure of myself after my first experience at his hands and when was that, today, yesterday, last week and I didn’t know how long I had been here, time has stood still for me and I might already have been given up for dead by my superiors.

Depression set over me and I felt that I couldn’t resist any more of the treatment I had received. I wanted to go home, to escape, and to end this nightmare. No avenues were left open for me and the bondage was as secure as before, and being inside that rubber cocoon seemed to sap my ability to think. This was not normal, I’d never seen or heard of this type of interrogation technique before. I had to confess to being concerned and anxious and I didn’t see any way to escape from this; I could only try and hold out against what was to come.

The gag filling my mouth suddenly began to deflate with a hiss of air. The rubber bulb deflated and retracted automatically. It was disconcerting that this happened without anyone having come near me;

I flexed my jaw thankful that I was free of that vicious gag at last. “Now, my friend. I have some questions for you”. “Who the fuck are you”, I shouted. My anger suddenly surfaced and I strained against the bonds. I couldn’t move, but it felt good to finally hit back at my unknown kidnapper.

Laughter filled my ears. I opened my mouth to shout again and the gag dropped back into place and quickly inflated to fill my mouth once again. “You bastard”, I shouted through the wet rubber balloon, only unintelligible noise escaped past the rubber. It continued to inflate and I struggled against the invader in vain. My head was held firmly in place as the rubber bulb filled my mouth completely. I began to choke and I couldn’t breath and I struggled against the straps and panic filled me and overflowed wrapping itself around my mind. I screamed, but couldn’t scream, I fought for air that wasn’t there. When I thought that I would lose my mind, the rubber inside my mouth shrank to its former size. I gulped air through the nose tubes as best I could and fought to steady my heart and my breathing.

The panic slowly receded and I sank back against the table sucking air deep within me. “You will learn that I control every aspect of your life now, my friend”, the voice vibrated in my ears. “Learn this lesson and you might yet live through this”, he continued. “You will speak only to answer my questions and do you understand?”. I thought about the situation and I made a noise that I hoped sounded like “yes”. The bulb inside my mouth deflated and retracted once again. I made little difference to the amount of air available, but it still felt good to have nothing filling my mouth.

“Let’s start again”, the voice said. “I want information pertaining to your undercover operatives, names, addresses and their identities within my organization”, the man continued. “I don’t know anything about undercover operatives”, I said. “I’ll let you off that one but don’t insult my intelligence, my friend. I know more about you than you think. You are Head of Operations and responsible for placing undercover operatives”. The man knew more than he should. It was obvious that the informant had passed on a great deal of information.

“I want the username and password of the file where the information is kept at Headquarters”, the voice went on. “Wha… how do you know ab…”, I bit my tongue realizing that I had given something away. That fucking all knowing laughter again and how I hated that laugh and the unknown man who owned it.

It was useless trying to fool this man, he knew too much. Maybe there was a chance but I had to play along else he’d think I was giving up too easily. I didn’t relish being subject to his interrogation, but he’d smell a rat if I didn’t put up some resistance. “I can’t tell you”, I said. “Oh come now, you can tell me” again that hateful tinge of humor in his voice. “No, I mean that I don’t have the information on me”, I continued. “Look, Mr. Hightower, if you continue to piss me off with these attempts at deception, I will have no choice but to do…”.

As his words swept over me, the gag had dropped back into place and forced itself home by inflating quickly to fill my mouth once again. “… THIS!”, the voice finished. I felt something deep inside me begin to stir. There was something inside me and it was growing. My arse had been invaded and whatever was inside me grew bigger. Motors began to hum, and I felt a tingling at the base of my cock, which grew at the stimulation that assailed it. My 9″ cock had rapidly risen to its full height and side easily within the tube that held it. A rhythmic pulsing began to ripple along the length of my cock and I gasped around the gag as waves of pleasure rushed through me. Suddenly, that smell again, the bastard was using that drug and the pleasure continued to build. It didn’t make sense, interrogation usually meant pain, not pleasure and who was this demented fucker anyway? These thoughts flashed through my mind as the pleasure continued to build. I tried to shake off the feelings, I knew it was not right, but I could do nothing to stop it and I shouldn’t be feeling this way in these circumstances, there was something perverse about it.

I shouldn’t be enjoying these feelings. It must be the drugs…. Aaahhh, I was getting close to cumming and I strained with all my strength as the pressure built up. Suddenly it stopped, the smell was gone, the rhythmic dance along my cock ceased and the pressure in my arse dropped away. I lay there gasping for air and sucking on the rubber filling my mouth. I was bathed in sweat and I screamed as the waves of pleasure ceased completely. I was so near to a wild orgasm and it was snatched from me at the last moment. I then realized that pain was not the only type of torture and I was trained to deal with pain, I was totally unprepared for this type of situation.

“Did you enjoy that Dan? You don’t mind me calling you Dan do you?”, more of that mocking tone that I had grown to loath. “Perhaps you now realize what will be in store for you if you refuse to co-operate”. I was sobbing silently around the gag. My heart rate returned to normal and I did my best to compose myself. I looked up and saw the same image as before and nothing I saw reflected the torment within the rubber cocoon. I felt nothing but despair as I stared into the reflection of my own eyes. Two orbs of intelligence within a shiny black rubber prison. There were no bars on this prison, but it was the most effective confinement I could ever imagine.

The gag deflated and retracted once more and I flexed my mouth and jaw trying to get rid of the ache that now seemed a permanent fixture. “Dan, I will ask once more. Give me the details I need”, now a more serious tone had taken over the voice and I shuddered at the icy edge. “Okay, okay. I’ll co-operate, I can’t stand any more of this”. I almost shouted the words and even though the hood and its attachments muffled them, they reached my tormentor. They obviously had me wired for sound, as the voice was always clear in my ears. He was right; they had control of every aspect of my body and the realization made me even more depressed than before.

I couldn’t afford to give in to despair. “Well, Dan?”, the voice broke through my self-pity. “All right, the information you need is in the top draw of my desk at headquarters. Release me and I’ll take you there and hand it over”. “Very clever, Dan. Your help won’t be required, we have our own resources”.

“Fuck”, I thought. “Okay, the username is ZEBEDEE and the password is FLORENCE. You can access the files you want from that account and it’s all laid out for you. I don’t understand how the information will help you, no one can get to my computer without me”, I flung at him. “Don’t worry Dan, it’s all in hand and you’ll have to remain our guest while we check your information”.

The gag dropped into place and inflated as I opened my mouth to respond. “MMMMmmmmmhhh”, I shouted. “No, you bastard let me go”. I struggled to get free as I realized that my bluff had been called. Once they found out the information was false. More importantly, the information would lead who ever tried to get to it to be arrested. It was a set-up and the trap would catch whoever sprung it. What would happen when they realized it was a trap.

The lights in the chamber went out and I was plunged into darkness. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk and I couldn’t see. I suddenly felt something against my skin. Something like liquid was flowing next to my skin, or creeping against my skin to be more accurate.. It was a terrible sensation, lying alone in the dark unable to move or cry out. What ever it was touched me at the points of those other tubes I had been unable to identify. I didn’t know that a thick green liquid was being pumped into the rubber suit that encased me. It filled every available space around my body and covered my skin in its viscous touch. As the liquid completed its task I suddenly felt a rippling wave rush along my body. I jumped in anxiety.

“Dan, you wanted to say thank you for being co-operative today. As you may have realized, you are completely enclosed in a rubber suit of my own design. It is completely watertight and the only opening is the single tube that connects the nose tubes together. Within that suit, I can control every feeling of touch you receive. The liquid which has just been pumped into the suit will conduct small bursts of electricity from one point to the other, touching every part of the skin in which it is in contact.”. The man is sicker than I thought. “By the way, Dan. You may not get much sleep but you will certainly enjoy yourself”, the humor had returned to the voice but it didn’t make me feel any better.

Another wave ran along my body. From the tips of each toe to the tips of each finger. It was like a feather being drawn across my entire body, missing no part of my and top and bottom were equally affected. I tensed as the feeling shot across my body. Again and again the feeling ran the entire length of me increasing each time in intensity. I tried to tense as the waves passed along but I could do nothing to stop the sensations. I began to giggle as the feather-like touch continued to increase in intensity. I writhed and tried to thrash against the bonds but I could do nothing. I was completely helpless in the grip of this unlikely torture. It continued and I couldn’t help but laugh around the gag.

Then the sensations returned to my cock, the stimulation it had received earlier returned. My arse was again invaded and I could feel these points punctuated as the wave ran its course along me. As the wave crossed my cock and balls, additional sensations assailed them that left me gasping. It passed my cock and it felt as if it was being sucked; it passed my balls and it was like having a feather brushed across them; it passed my arse and it was like being fucked; it passed long my body and it was as if fingers were racing down my sides and under my arms; it passed my nipples and there were explosions of sensation which made me strain against the bonds holding me firmly.

It was relentless, it never tired, it never stopped for breath and never allowed me to fully catch my breath. I had never experienced such pleasure before and I found it soon became unbearable. I screamed as the tickling continued; I thrashed to stop those unseen fingers from ever touching my skin again but it kept on.. and on.. and on. I soon became exhausted and still it continued. As each wave passed along my body, I involuntarily tensed my aching muscles. My muscles burned more than if I had over done it at the gym, yet all the while I was held helpless in the grip of the rubber and bondage; gagged so that my screams and agonized laughter were stifled and subdued. I suffered unbearably in that dark cocoon; that rubber prison.

My screams went unheard and my halting laughter turned to agonized tears. It went on and on and I felt that I was losing my mind when suddenly the lights came on and the tickling stopped. “Well Dan, I hope you enjoyed the last four hours. It gave us time to check your information and I don’t suppose you will be at all surprised to know what happened”. The voice had returned and there was no hint of amusement in it even though the words were delivered in level tones. “You’ve spent the last four hours being rather pleasantly amused, my friend. Now its time for me to be amused because I don’t find your deception at all amusing and I lost one of my own operatives in the process”.

“One operative”, I thought, then there was more than one informer in the section and I couldn’t believe it, we were so careful to screen everyone. I tried to talk through the gag that still filled my mouth. “I don’t understand”. I couldn’t make myself understood. The gag deflated and retracted. “What is it you wish to say, my friend”, said my captor. “I was going to say that I didn’t understand, but I have the feeling that you wouldn’t believe me” I said. “You are, of course, correct Dan. You knew that the information you gave us would lead to the capture of my man. You must then, understand that I am not best pleased with you”, he said. “Don’t get me wrong, Dan. It’s not as if I don’t understand, you are protecting your own operatives and I can empathize with that. Don’t run away with the idea that I will let you get away with it though, because like you, I have to protect my men. You do understand, don’t you?”.

I opened my mouth to ask what he was going to do and the gag dropped back into place and inflated quickly to shut me up. I groan and tried to make myself understood. “Save your breath, my friend, you’re going to need it”. The cold humor had returned to his voice and I shivered in fear. I didn’t know what to expect and his last comment gave me the creeps. I wriggled and strained against all the bonds but nothing had changed and there was no escape and I could do nothing to stop what was about to happen. I screamed for mercy through the gag but only the usual unintelligible gurgling came through.

The lights went out and I heard the slight hum of machinery. It felt as though more of the liquid was being pumped into the suit although there didn’t seem to be anywhere for it to go. Suddenly the lights were on again and I blinked at the change. Something was different but I couldn’t immediately tell what it was. I looked above me and the mirror was gone. In its place I saw a man shaped object descending from the ceiling. My first impression was of those domes, which cover food trays at posh parties, but it was black on the inside and a dull grey metal around the rim. I saw tubes and wires looping into it. As it descended slowly towards me, I suddenly realized that it was going to cover me completely. There seemed to be latches around the rim that were obviously meant to lock this thing against the table upon which I was strapped. This was going to seal me in, like some metallic coffin. “Fuck” I thought, the bastard is going to bury me alive. Is that what he meant by that reference to breathing. I was scared, really scared and I shook and fought against the bonds which refused to give in the slightest.

I screamed in fear as the now black shape descended to enclose me. There was a dull thud followed by several metallic clicks as the locking mechanisms found their places and closed. My scream rang in my own ears and all other sounds were suddenly gone. There was no background noise… nothing. This was a soundproof coffin and I would die here, suffocated to death by the sadistic bastard who had kidnapped me. I shouted as best I could but I knew that nothing was going to save me. There was a slight vibration and the now familiar smell of the drug being fed through the nose tubes. I tried to hold my breath but it was only a minute or so before I had to inhale a deep breath and take that gas into my system.

Immediately, my head began to swim and the feeling of euphoria swept over me. As if on cue, the tube up my arse came to life and was joined a second later by the action of the tube which still clung to my cock. The familiar cycle of pleasure began to increase and I was gasping for air as my prostrate was ravaged by the mechanism embedded inside me. My cock had quickly swollen to its full size and the tube began to suck the head while stroking the shaft. The vacuum surrounding my cock increased and I felt my cock swell up even further. I struggled in vain as the drugged pleasure began to draw me into its depths. I tried to bite down on the gag but could only suck on its wet bulbous mass as it impassively filled my mouth.

The pleasure was building and I knew that I would soon cum in yet another explosive orgasm. Suddenly the air ceased, I couldn’t breath. The manipulations of my body increased and I sucked greedily at the gag in a vain attempt to get some air. I knew there was no air from that source and tried to inhale through my nose and still nothing. I tried to scream but there was no sound. The rhythmic manipulations of my cock continued as I struggled to live. The climax continued to build and seemed to intensify as I pulled and struggled for breath. I was flexing within the bonds but was still secured down. Even as I thought that I would pass out, my tortured cock exploded and shot its load of white sticky cum into the waiting tube. I was suddenly able to breath again and I pulled mightily at the air that came through the small tube and it wasn’t enough, but it was all I had.

As I inhaled the air into me, the drug hit me once again. The sensations around my body had not ceased or faltered but I had been too distracted to notice, but I began to notice as I felt my cock surge and my prostrate vibrate. I was so sexually stimulated; it was impossible to feel anything else. I felt another orgasm rising within me and as it got closer the air was shut off again. I was in a panic, pulling against the straps, which held me, unable, to scream and fighting for my life and the drug already in me continued to force my attention to the building climax. I fought for air once again as the climax hit and I once again shot my cum into the tube which still sucked greedily on my shaft. The air returned once more and I pulled it into me with as much force as I could muster.

My body was wracked with spasms and my muscles twitched and jerked with the effort they had been put through. I couldn’t stand this torment. I felt that I would die at the hands of that perverse and sick bastard who controlled all this. Again, I noticed that the stimulation of my body had not ceased but continued uninterrupted by the fact that I had cum again. Suddenly, his purpose was clear. The term “milking” came to mind and I knew that he meant to force me to cum over and over again. With the help of that drug of his, I couldn’t prevent myself from being aroused. With the incessant stimulation, my cock continued to respond.

That bastard was a devil. There were no whips or implements of pain at his side. His tools were he sick mind and his devices that brought pleasure and over stimulation. This was worse than any flogging or beating that I might have received and those I could cope with, but not this unending stimulation. My cock remained hard and continued to slide up and down with the pumping of the tube attached to it. The vibrating within me also continued unabated. Suddenly the sucking of my cock stopped although I felt a sharp pain as something metallic gripped it about midway. I jumped so hard that the leather straps creaked and the rubber within my mouth went further down my throat for an instant.

Something was circling the sensitive part of my cock head. It felt like a brush tracing circles around the exposed crown and round and round it went forcing a shudder from me at each revolution. This was agony and I strained mightily for release to put an end to this. I jerked as the rotating device continued its work. I had no control but was forced to jump each time the device hit its mark. I screamed and cried through the gag but could do nothing to prevent the torture from continuing. I wept and moaned and cursed through the rubber in my mouth. I pleaded and begged for mercy but still it continued. I felt myself nearing another orgasm, but this would take much longer than the others. The drug kicked in and I felt myself flying. I knew what was coming and I dreaded it. “No more”, I cried but the words were already lost by the absence of air. As the circles continued around my cock head, I sucked by reflex to get air that wasn’t there.

The sensations grew and the drugs emphasized them while I lay like a third party unable to control events and seeking only to draw air into my bursting lungs. My cock jerked and for the third time I shot cum into the impassive throat of the rubber tube. As I shot, air was pumped back to me and I drew great rasping breaths though that one tiny tube. The orgasm was almost dry and I felt as though my prostrate was trying to crawl up my shaft and down the tube. Still the stimulation continued and I could do nothing but weep, the tears going nowhere because of the rubber surrounding my head and face and rubber already soaked with my sweat, my tears and my saliva. I cried as I tried to move my head; I cried as I tried to move my hands to wipe the tears. I cried as the stimulation continued and I cried when the next hit of the drug suddenly surged into me and I knew what was going to happen next. I couldn’t stand it any more. I tumbled blissfully into unconsciousness.

End of Part 1

They came for him at 3 o’clock Friday morning. He awoke instantly, eyes wide and staring, to the sound of the front door being broken down. Within a couple of seconds he realised what was happening, and leapt out of bed. By the time he was halfway to the door they were coming up the stairs. He cursed and spun round, looking for a way out, but there was nowhere to run. All he could think of was to hide behind the door. He didn’t even make it that far. Four policemen burst into the room, grabbed him and pinned him down onto his bed, their black, shiny uniforms cold against his bare skin.

One of the policeman sounded as if he was running the show. “Anthony James Beresford, you are charged with theft under section two of the Electronic Data Act 2002. You do not need to say anything, but anything you do say will be entered into your record and reproduced in any trial or inquiry bearing on this charge. Bag him up.”

Within seconds Tony’s wrists were handcuffed behind his back, the regulation hood dropped over his head and the drawstring pulled tight. Thus completely helpless, and naked, he was marched down the stairs, out of the flat and into the waiting police car.

* * *

The trial was straightforward and unremarkable – in fact the Judge only took thirty seconds to reach his decision. Although, given that Tony was so transparently guilty there could only have been one outcome, the sentence – when he actually spoke it – sliced into him like a knife.

“Anthony James Beresford, this court finds you guilty of one count of data theft, contrary to section two of the Electronic Data Act 2002, and one count of attempted currency theft by electronic means contrary to section three of the said Act. You will undergo NCS Program 17. Take him away.” The Judge was already reading up about the next case and had forgotten him as Tony was led down to the holding cells.

He had lots of time to think while he sat there on the hard cot waiting to be moved to the NCS Centre for ‘processing’. The first thing he thought about was the bank job. How the hell had it gone wrong? He’d honestly believed he’d got away with it. Granted it was becoming increasingly difficult to hack into bank computers and divert funds, but his plan had been foolproof. Or at least he’d thought it had been. Tony still didn’t know how he’d been rumbled. They never told you how, these days, so that you wouldn’t be able to avoid the same mistake if you tried it again. Lots of things had changed in the last two years – since the great Law Reform of 2002. From little things like those hoods the police carried, for instance (some bright spark had finally realised that if a man can’t see anything it’s so much more difficult for him to fight or to escape, and now they were standard issue – every policeman carried one along with his handcuffs) – right up to the way the courts and the punishment system worked.

By the end of the 1990s the jails were so overcrowded – and it was costing the taxpayer so much money – that something radical had to be done. It arrived in the shape of the NCS – the National Correction Schedule – in September 2002. The NCS reintroduced the ‘short sharp shock’ principle which had been tried in the 1980s for young offenders but which had never really got off the ground, the idea being that the offender was dealt with quickly and intensely, and released afterwards having paid his debt to society without having incurred the long-term costs associated with custodial sentences. The taxpayers were happy, and it worked very well – in fact it had cut the occurrence of re-offending by more than half. And so it ought – because the National Correction Schedule was, not to put too fine a point on it, legalised torture.

The way it worked was straightforward, but cunning: the basic idea was similar to ‘Room 101’ in Orwell’s novel ‘1984’ – the offender was subjected to a punishment tailor-made for that individual, to be as intense and unbearable as possible. In order to determine what that might be, the offender was first subjected to ‘psychometric analysis’ (a euphemism for being connected up to a computer and having one’s mind probed) to find out which ‘procedure’ would be most (cost-) effective in his particular case – i.e. which torture would he be most susceptible to. Although almost anything could be arranged, physical pain (usually in the form of electric shocks), isolation in a sensory deprivation tank, and distress-inducing drugs were the most commonly used techniques.

Tony’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of several policemen who restrained him and led him out to the van waiting to take him to an NCS centre. The ride lasted about an hour, and by the time it was over the van’s faulty rear suspension had given him a numb bum.

He was led down corridors and down stairs, and into a warm room where his hood was pulled off and he was unceremoniously stripped, then weighed and carefully measured all over his body before being strapped into a chair. Tony found himself facing a white-coated technician standing in front of an impressive panel of blinking lights. Without speaking, the man squeezed gel onto various places at the sides of Tony’s head, on his arms, and – worryingly – at the back of his scrotum, and attached small electrodes. Next he spent a few minutes adjusting knobs and dials on the machine, while humming tunelessly, and then he turned to Tony and smiled.

“This isn’t going to hurt, although you may occasionally feel a slight sensation. The machine is ready now – please sit still and breathe easily. It’ll take about ten minutes.” He pressed a button, watched a screen carefully for a few moments, and then left the room.

Tony sat nervously while the machine did its thing – occasionally he would jump as one or other of the electrodes tingled momentarily – and he was very surprised when at one point he began to get an erection. Sadly that didn’t last, and before long the lights stopped blinking and the machine became inert. A couple of minutes later the technician reappeared and printed out the computer’s report. His eyebrows went up as he read it, and he glanced at Tony speculatively before leaving the room again with the printout.

A little later two wardens reappeared, and led Tony away.

Depending on what an offender’s treatment was determined to be, it took varying amounts of time to get things ready. In his case it was 24 hours – time Tony spent in a cell which was the identical twin of the one in which he’d been held, back at the police station. It was routine not to inform the offender what his punishment was going to be, presumably to make him worry as much as possible (although Tony would probably have worried a lot more if they had told him). He read the magazine they let him have (“Skating News” – riveting stuff) and counted the bricks in the walls (947 if you counted the broken one by the ventilation duct), and tried to sleep. But he was a very worried boy indeed.

* * *

Tony stood, held between two burly wardens, facing a thin, hawk-nosed man dressed in the ubiquitous black uniform. There was silence for a few moments while the man consulted a file on the desk before him, holding one corner of the pages in a well-manicured hand and then, without looking up, he spoke. “Anthony James Beresford, age 28, prisoner number 163544/229, you have been sentenced to National Correction Schedule Program 17. Allow me to acquaint you with your punishment.” He let the papers fall onto the desk and looked at Tony with narrow grey eyes in which there was an unmistakable glint of pleasure. He continued in a voice which oozed cruelty: “As you may know, offenders are psychometrically analyzed to determine the most effective punishment. Your PA report and recommendation are here.” He tapped the document on the desk with a long fingernail. “It would seem that you are ticklish, yes?”

Tony’s heart actually missed a couple of beats. What? Had he heard right? Ticklish? No, that couldn’t be – they wouldn’t – no – not that – nooooooo….. He realised his mouth was hanging open and that he’d stopped breathing.

“Ah. I see the thought of being … tickled,” he savoured the word lovingly, “causes you some distress, yes?”

Tony didn’t trust himself to speak.

The man got up from behind the desk, walked slowly round it, and perched on one corner facing the prisoner.

Now Tony was a self-confessed fetishist – black and shiny gear had always turned him on – and he usually found the police’s black leather uniforms: the biker-type jackets, the high boots and the tight pants with the studded belt – which held the gun, handcuffs, radio and the hood – very sexy. However, on this man it looked dreadful – and somehow extremely sinister. The jacket didn’t fit him, the boots looked pretentious, and the pants were loose. But much, much more disturbing than all that was the fact that as he watched Tony’s obvious terror at learning that he was going to suffer the one thing in all the world he couldn’t stand – being tickled – the man was getting a hard-on in his pants. This continued to grow as he described in graphic detail what was shortly going to happen to the boy.

“Your treatment will take place in three rooms. In the third of these rooms, you are eventually going to be tickled – but it is the purpose of this punishment system to ensure that the treatment is as intense and as effective on an individual as possible. Now our research indicates that a human male’s level of ticklishness – “again he enunciated the word very slowly, “is at its highest immediately after orgasm.” He leaned forward towards Tony so that their faces were only a couple of feet apart. “So, you will be forced to ejaculate first. That will happen in the second room. This will make you infinitely more … ticklish…” He paused, then frowned slightly as he continued in a concerned voice, “But there is a possibility that you may be able to resist, hold out and not let yourself cum.” The expression on his face now became pure sadism. “That is the function of the first room – to make very, very sure you can’t hold out.” He got up off the desk and sat back down behind it. “It’s quite elegant really – ” He counted off on his fingers: “Room One will make sure you can’t resist Room Two, and Room Two will make you unbearably sensitive to the torture in Room Three. He tapped the report lying on the desk. “Wonderful machine this – we know things about you that you don’t even know about yourself. Weaknesses, turn-ons, fears.. You’re in for a memorable time, Beresford. Very memorable indeed.”

Tony’s first reaction was to smirk – he was a tough jock. He’d been a star footballer and athlete at school; he had a very high tolerance for pain; he was intelligent, and generally well sorted. He was confident he could resist anything they could do to him. His only real weakness was that he was horrendously, incapacitatingly ticklish……

Then every bit of his self-assurance deserted him. It began with a slow shaking of his head, accompanied by a quiet chanting of “No, no, no, no…”, and suddenly blossomed into absolute terror as the full implication of what they were going to do to him, hit him between the eyes. Shit – they were going to strap him down and tickle torture him! He made a bolt for the door. The wardens had been expecting this, of course, and he managed to move all of two feet before they got him restrained again. They had to carry him, kicking and screaming, from the room.

As the guards dragged him out, Tony saw the hawk-nosed man watching him, and masturbating behind the desk.

* * *
Room One

The centre of the room was dominated by a large and sinister-looking device. Standing vertically, it was a rectangular table eight feet high by four feet wide and covered completely in black leather. The shape of a spread-eagled body was outlined by small hooks set into the padded surface, and there was a seven-inch diameter hole in the table where the outlined legs joined the outlined body. It was pretty clear to Tony how this table was going to be used, although he had no idea what was going to happen to him on it.

The two wardens allowed him to stand between them for a few moments looking at the device before they forced him spread-eagled against the table, and fastened him down to it with long, elastic bungee cords which they ran from one hook to the next over his limbs, pulling the cord tight between each. The hooks were numerous and closely-spaced, and when the wardens had finished he was held totally helpless, pushed tight into the leather-covered foam. His cock and balls felt exposed and vulnerable hanging through the centre hole, and the bungees over his hips, buttocks and the tops of his thighs immobilised his pelvis to such a degree that he couldn’t move it a single millimetre in any direction.

Then the wardens took a rubber mask which had been hanging from a top corner of the table and pulled it over Tony’s head. It was a full hood, with a moulded rubber face and a long apron of thinner rubber which hung down the neck to his shoulders. From the mouth area there ran a thick corrugated rubber tube which disappeared around the side of the table.

Tony couldn’t breathe! His lungs desperately tried to get air, but the only thing that happened was that the rubber mask sucked inwards and clung to his face when he tried. He began to panic – something was wrong! He was going to suffocate!

Then he heard one of the wardens laugh, and someone must have opened a valve, because cool fresh air rushed into his starved lungs through the rubber tube. One of them slapped him on his bare arse and Tony heard them leave the room. He was alone, and he had never felt so helpless in his life.

Two things happened then that scared the wits out of him: the first was that he felt something touch his cock. A light brush along the entire length of it from base to tip – something soft, like a feather. His whole body went rigid for a moment and he let out a sharp shout of surprise. The brush caused a quick, involuntary jerk of his cock in response. The second thing was that suddenly Tony could see! It took a moment for him to understand that he was looking at the other side of the table – at his own cock and balls poking through the large hole. After he calmed down, he realised that there were two small screens built into the rubber mask over his eyes. He’d been too scared and preoccupied to notice them when the mask had been put in place. They were obviously connected to a TV camera on the other side of the table. There, in detailed close-up, were his cock, balls, and an area of the insides of his thighs. A part of his brain even noticed that the image was in 3-D – the camera must have double lenses. The experience was very unnerving. Tony made his cock jerk once, just to be sure it was, in fact, his own body he was looking at. It was.

Abruptly, the scene changed. Now, instead of the hole, he was looking at a boy. He was extremely cute: in his early twenties, with black, spiky hair, startlingly blue eyes, the body of an angel, and wearing the tightest white satin shorts imaginable. But it wasn’t all that which got to him – it was the fact that he was slowly twirling a long, pointed feather in his hands – and the gorgeous but frighteningly evil smile on his face as he did it.

“Hello,” he said brightly, “I’m Martin.”

At the sight of the feather Tony immediately felt another panic attack threatening.

“Oh don’t worry – you ‘re not gonna get tickle tortured until room 3. I’m just gonna use this to make you want to cum. By the time I’ve finished with you, Anthony, you’re going to want to cum more than anything else in the world. More than you’ve ever wanted to cum before in your life. More than you ever thought possible. You will beg, Anthony – you will plead. You will promise me anything if only I will let you cum. It’s my job to make you so desperate for orgasm that you think you’re gonna go insane. it is also my job to make very sure you can’t cum.” He smiled that sexy smile again. “And I am very good at my job.”

The scene changed to a wider-angle view of the other side of the table. There was a comfortable recliner positioned beyond it, beside which was a control console and a tray of what looked like instruments of some kind. Tony watched as Martin climbed onto the recliner and got himself comfortable – but it seemed to be in the wrong position for him to reach Tony easily. Then the boy pressed a button on the console and, with a whirring of motors, the table began to lift from the floor, and to rotate slowly towards the horizontal. When it stopped, Tony was at an angle of about 45 degrees – and his genitals were some eighteen inches or so from Martin’s face.

“God I am going to love doing this,” he said with feeling. “It’s not often I get called out to do this kinda thing, and it makes me soooooo horny.”

In the view screens Tony could see him squeezing the bulge in his white shorts with one hand while running the other over the firm muscles of his stomach. As he played with himself, he stared at Tony’s fear-limp cock, and whispered, turning himself on: “You’re gonna be one horny boy in a few hours, Anthony. I’m gonna play with your cock – suck it, tickle it, tease it, jack you off very slowly so you can’t cum. Remember, boy, what’s gonna happen to you in the next room – and remember that if you cum in there, the torture in the third room is gonna be a thousand – a million – times worse for you. Your only hope is not to cum. If you can do that you’ll be able to stand the torture and beat the system. But I’m gonna make sure you can’t hold out against them in Room 2. It’s my job to make it impossible for you to resist them. I’m gonna get you so horny that when they take you to the next room, if somebody was to fucking blow on your cock you’d shoot your load. Yeah….” The bulge in his shorts was now so big it lay like a German sausage along the top of his leg, pulling the leg of his shorts away from his muscular thigh.

“Okay, you ready for this, Anthony? You ready for this, boy?”

Tony saw him select the same feather he’d put back into the tray a few minutes ago, and the view returned to the close-up of his cock and balls through the hole. His cock was still limp, and in spite of the sight of that cute boy in those sexy fucking shorts, Tony didn’t feel in the least bit horny.

But that all changed suddenly, as Martin brought the tip of the feather into contact with the bottom of Tony’s balls. An electric shock of lust ran through him as he ran the feather along his scrotum and up the sides. Tony’s cock jerked in response, and Martin chuckled quietly, “oh yeah, you and me’re gonna have some fun, boy…”

After a few more strokes of the feather Tony felt his cock begin to get firmer. ‘No!’, he warned himself, ‘I must not get horny. The only way I’m going to get through this with my sanity is by not getting horny and by not cumming. I can beat these bastards. I CAN’. He knew this was his only chance, but that boy was an expert. In his hands, that feather became a lethal weapon. It bypassed his voluntary system completely and spoke directly to that part of his brain that dealt with sexual excitement. As the feather teased around his balls and the insides of his thighs, his cock took on a life of its own and, in direct contravention of his conscious orders, began to rise. Very soon it was standing to attention – as solid and as hard as steel – and the boy hadn’t even touched it yet!

The view changed again, now showing Martin lying back on the recliner. With his free hand he slowly unzipped his shorts and freed his cock – which sprang out like a flagpole. He squeezed it a couple of times. Then he took an ice cube from the tray and popped it into his mouth. The scene returned to the close-up of the hole, and after a few moments Tony heard the sound of the ice cube hitting the floor as Martin spat it out. Immediately he leant forward and took the entire length of Tony’s cock into his mouth. Now Tony was by no means under-endowed, but every one of his seven inches disappeared down the boy’s ice-cold throat. Tony squeezed his eyes shut and silently screamed in ecstasy. The feeling was unbe-fucking-lievable. He thought he was going to shoot his load there and then. But Martin knew exactly what he was doing. Remaining perfectly motionless so there was no friction against Tony’s cock, he began to hum. A low bass note, deep in his throat, that sent wave after wave of vibrations up the length of the helpless boy’s dick. It was incredible. Then, with a final strong suck, he pulled himself off the rigid pole – the slurping noise loud in the otherwise silent room.

Tony’s cock jerked and waved in the air, hungry for more attention. The scene in his view screens cut to Martin’s shorts, with the boy’s cock thrusting out of the open fly, a pearly drop of precum clearly visible on the very tip. The bastard was enjoying this.

Abruptly Tony was looking at the hole in the table again. Martin’s shoulder momentarily obscured the view as he leaned forward and reached for something, then his hands were back, holding a long strip of wet leather. He found the centre of the strip, and placed it behind the base of Tony’s erect cock, then he formed it into a cockstrap, crossing the two ends underneath and behind his balls, back up to where he had started, and around again a few times. Finally he pulled it tight – Tony’s freshly-shaved genitals making it easy for him to position comfortably – and tied it off behind his balls.

It made Tony’s cock feel huge to him – big, sensitive, horny and exquisitely vulnerable. Again Martin reached for something, and wetted it in his mouth. When it came into view, Tony saw that it was a rubber cup about the size of an egg cup, with a small weight attached to the base of it. He placed it carefully over the end of the helpless boy’s uncut cock and squeezed the air out. When he released it, the cup grabbed Tony’s cockhead and drew it into the cup, sucking firmly. He gave it a swing, and took his hands away. Tony groaned in pleasure: the feeling was wonderful – like a mouth sucking and swinging on the end of his knob. The weight turned the slightest movement into a shuddering tingle of pleasure. This device on its own would have been enough to keep him hard and horny indefinitely – but Martin now had two hands free to work on him in other ways.

He began by stroking Tony’s thighs very lightly. He sought out every nook and cranny – gently pulling the boy’s balls away from his thigh and running the pointed end of a strip of stiff leather up and deep into the usually-hidden crevices at the sides of his scrotum, then around behind his balls, along his perineum and up the crack of his arse, teasing the rim of his arsehole by pulling the cheeks apart with the first and third finger of his hand, so exposing the pink hole, and using his second finger – the one between the other two – to tickle round the rim. This made Tony’s cock jerk so much that the rubber cup fell off, and he had to re-apply it after wetting it again. Martin’s touch was silkily teasing – light, slow, and infinitely frustrating.

He sat back, and Tony watched as Martin slowly jerked his own cock. There was now so much precum that it had run down the shaft and was lying in a pool and slowly soaking into his shorts. “OK boy,’ he drawled, “gonna have to blindfold you for this…”

Tony wondered what he meant until his view screens went off. His universe suddenly closed in as he was plunged into inky rubber blackness. If he’d felt helpless before, now it was much, much worse. He didn’t know what was coming – couldn’t see to prepare himself – and he panicked again. He struggled with all of his strength, pulling against the restraints, and trying to withdraw his cock from that damned hole – but the cords holding his body tight to the table were far stronger than he was, and they kept him immovably pressed into position. An evil laugh from the boy told him that he was getting off on his prisoner’s helplessness and panic. With an effort of will Tony got himself under control again and managed to relax, listening to his breath whistling in and out of the rubber tube.

And then Tony couldn’t breathe. The bastard had closed the air valve again. He fought for breath, but got nothing at all – then, when he was sure he was going to pass out, Martin opened the valve just a bit, and Tony drew air – screamingly slowly – into his lungs. If anything, this was even worse than not being able to breathe at all. Tony yelled “You bastard!” into the mask, not knowing or caring if the boy could hear him or not. Then he could breathe again.

Suddenly he felt his cock and balls enclosed in something cold and slippery. He knew it was Martin’s hands, but they must be in something – rubber gloves! Lubricated rubber gloves. The boy’s fingers slid smoothly and lightly over his straining cock (Tony would have thought that his panic at the lack of air would have got rid of his erection, but it was even harder now than it had been before). They glided over his balls and between his legs, and then Tony felt a cool, smooth, slippery fist enclose the whole shaft of his cock. It remained motionless for a few seconds, and then began stroking firmly – but so, so slowly – up and down the length of it. Every bit of Tony’s concentration was centred on the feeling of that lubricated, rubber-gloved hand sliding up and down over the steel-hard solidity of his shaft. He willed Martin to speed up – just a little – just enough to let him cum. He was so near. If he really tried, he reckoned he could cum before the boy realised what was happening. Yes! He could feel it beginning – yes! – yes!! YE…….

Martin let go and chuckled quietly. “As I said, I’m good at my job.”

Tony felt like kicking the boy in the balls. Shit shit shit shit SHIT!

Martin removed the suction cup, and began to play with Tony’s freshly-exposed foreskin.

Tony’s foreskin was, without doubt, the single most erogenous spot on his entire body – one of his favourite ways to make himself cum was by squeezing, stretching and pulling it. It’s difficult to describe – especially to someone who hasn’t got one – just how intensely pleasurable it could be. Now Martin started to work on it: he squeezed it over the tip of his cock, rubbed it round and round over the sensitive glans, licked the edge of it with his tongue, stretched it out and stroked it slowly – until again Tony was on the very edge of orgasm. This time he KNEW he was going to cum. There was absolutely no question. Tony opened his mouth and began to scream, “YEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!!”

But Tony didn’t cum. Yet again his cock was waving in the air, untouched. He tried to thrust his hips, to make his cock-end touch something – anything. A single touch would unquestionably have made him shoot his load – but there was nothing. Tony was hyperventilating, his breath whistling madly in and out of the rubber tube. He couldn’t stand this – he was going to go mad. At least it couldn’t get any worse.

Then the screens lit up again and Tony saw Martin lying back, jacking himself off. He picked up the feather with his free hand and ran it lazily over the tip of Tony’s straining cock as he brought himself close to orgasm.

“You a horny boy yet, Anthony?” He asked, more to himself than to Tony. “You wanna cum? You want me to suck you off, boy?” He leant forward again and took Tony’s cock gently into his hot mouth, playing with the end of it with his tongue.

This instantly brought Tony to the edge of cumming again, and the helpless boy squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. “STOP IT!!” He yelled. He mustn’t get this close! He tried to picture unsexy things – his landlady in the bath, Margaret Thatcher, anything – but it was no good. An increasingly urgent rhythmic motion made him open his eyes to look again – it was Martin jacking himself off. He let Tony’s cock fall from his mouth nanoseconds before his prisoner would have shot his load, and he smiled – his eyes almost closed.

“You wanna cum, Anthony? But you can’t, can you? You’re helpless, strapped down, controlled. I can cut off your air, I can blindfold you, I can make you cum – so easily. So fucking easily. Imagine your cock deep in my throat. Sucking. Sucking. Or my fingers playing with your foreskin, and tickling your balls. You’d cum, boy. Oh, you’d fucking cum all right – you’d shoot your spunk into my hand or my hot mouth, you’d be fucking helpless to stop yourself. You’re so close… so close…. but you can’t, can you? You can’t make yourself cum – and anyway you know that you mustn’t. You don’t know whether you want me to make you cum or not, do you? But the next room’s gonna make you cum. You can struggle all you want, fight against it till you’re blue in the face but you’re gonna cum, Anthony – you’re gonna cum. You think I’m hot? You think I’m a sexy boy? Would you like to kiss me? Fuck my face? Feel my hot lips around your cock again, milking you? While you suck my beautiful hard cock…? Would you like to see me cum? See me cuuuuummmm…..!!!”

As Tony watched, Martin arched his back and his cock jerked and throbbed as it squirted thick hot gobs of spunk into the air. Seeing that cute boy cum nearly made Tony shoot – so nearly. But not quite. He closed his eyes in desperation. He wanted to cum so badly, and seeing Martin shoot his load – seeing him get the relief Tony so urgently needed – made his torture exquisite.

Tony struggled in frustration, cursing the bonds that were holding him down, cursing the rubber mask, and the table with the hole in it that made him feel so vulnerable – so fucking horny! – but most of all Tony cursed that cute, sexy boy who knew so exactly how to push his buttons.

At least, he thought to himself, now the bastard had cum he’d have lost some of the sadistic motivation that had been driving him to make Tony suffer so much.

Martin pulled the recliner closer, and adjusted it until, when he was lying back, the end of Tony’s cock was touching his face. Then, relaxing, he lazily took the head of the boy’s dick between his lips and caressed it softly. He slid his hot, wet lips over it, hardly touching, while his tongue teased the tip slowly – so very slowly – gently parting the foreskin and stroking the naked, sensitive glans beneath. In this comfortable position, Martin could continue to do that to the boy all day if necessary.

After a few seconds of this Tony was gnashing his teeth in frustration. It was the most wonderful, horny experience he’d ever had – but he couldn’t stand it. He needed to cum more than he needed anything else in the world.

After a quarter of an hour he started to drool inside the rubber mask.

He held onto what little control he had left for as long as he could – but after twenty minutes, he broke completely. “PLEASE! Please make me cum. I’ll do anything you want. PLEEEASE – MAKE ME CUM!”

When this elicited no reaction from Martin, Tony tried threats, and then began to promise the boy more and more. “You can have my car if you let me cum. Martin? Please? You can have my house. I’ll GIVE you my house. Just let me cum. PLEASE? You can have everything I’ve got. EVERYTHING I’VE FUCKING GOT! JUST MAKE ME FUCKING CUM YOU BASTARD CUNT!!!!!!”

Finally, Martin did respond – he started to tease and tickle Tony’s balls at the same time, with a very soft feather. Tony screamed then – he reverted to some baser animal state. He struggled against the restraints, tried desperately to thrust his immovable hips, and made unintelligible noises for a long time. His entire body was one enormous cock, and there was one, and only one, reason for him to continue living: to achieve orgasm.

How long that continued Tony had no recollection. At some point Martin had removed the leather thong from around Tony’s balls, and he vaguely remembered Martin’s cumming again – Tony thought it was twice more – before he’d finished with the delirious boy. Then the wardens were unfastening his restraints.

As they took him off the table they tied his wrists together behind his back with a plastic tie. They were careful to keep his legs apart – to stop him from making himself cum on the spot. Tony heard Martin shout after him as they half-dragged, half carried him out, “Remember, Anthony, whatever you do, don’t let yourself cum….”

As he left the room, the sound of the boy’s laughter rang humiliatingly in his ears.

* * *
Room Two

The wardens took him into the middle of the second room, and held him there for a few moments so that he would go ‘off the boil’ slightly, and then they left. Even after they had released him, Tony still remained motionless, not trusting himself to move a muscle, for fear of cumming. He stood with his eyes closed in concentration, willing himself further and further back from the unthinkable precipice of ejaculation to which he was so dangerously close. After maybe half a minute, he let out a deep sigh of relief – he thought he was safer now. He opened his eyes and tried to focus, his mind still not functioning properly after the treatment he’d just received. He appeared to be in some kind of exercise room – all the walls and the floor were padded with rubber. Suddenly a voice behind him startled him so much he literally jumped.

“Hello Anthony.”

Tony spun round. ‘Oh no,’ he groaned. He was looking at a total and absolute wet dream. Physically, the boy fitted Tony’s deepest sex fantasy so perfectly that he felt himself getting close to orgasm again just looking at him. The lad was eighteen or nineteen, big and muscular; his head was shaved, except for a two-inch-wide strip of blond hair down the centre, and there was a ring though his nose. He was stripped to the waist, wearing chunky bike boots into the tops of which were tucked skin-tight leather jeans which clung to his long legs – apart from behind the knees and at the sides of the smooth, round bulge of his cock there wasn’t a single crease or fold in the shiny black leather. A coiled snake was tattooed on his right bicep, and he had the best-developed pecs Tony had ever set eyes on.

He lowered his head, fixed Tony with an unblinking gaze from his deep blue eyes, and smiled sexily, showing a perfect set of white teeth. Then, very slowly, he said: “I’m gonna make you cum, Anthony.” The way he said that sent a shiver of lust through Tony’s body. The punk’s voice bypassed his brain entirely and spoke directly to Tony’s balls.

As he looked at the punk he felt his resolve weakening again. He wanted – longed for – that beautiful, sexy boy so much that he was on the verge of screaming “oh fuck it” and flinging himself at the punk. But then the door to the third room caught his eye, and the knowledge of what unbearable horrors lay beyond it – horrors which would be unthinkably worse if he allowed this boy to make him cum – pulled him up short. He stood there shaking his head pitifully, caught in what was, for him, the ultimate dilemma. He was like a computer that had locked up – frozen – torn between two absolutes: the driving, urgent, compelling NEED to give himself to this unbelievably hot punk, and the realisation that that was the one thing he must not, under any circumstances, do.

The blond punk smiled again and slowly walked towards Tony. Tony couldn’t move – confronted with this vision straight out of his deepest fantasies, his legs had turned to jelly. The punk stopped a couple of feet away and hooked his thumbs in his belt. He nonchalantly stroked one finger along the top of his cock bulge as he watched Tony devour him with his eyes.

The boy’s motorcycle boots fastened up at the sides with thick leather straps and steel buckles. His leather jeans were skin-tight – the thongs laced through the eyelets running down the outsides of his legs had been pulled as tight as they would go, and the leather clung to his legs like a second skin – as if it had been sprayed on from an aerosol. The jeans sat low on his hips, and the heavy studded leather belt contrasted with the bronze skin of his firm, slim waist. Tony noticed that he had one of the regulation hoods attached to the side of his belt. The bulge between his legs, rather than displaying the usual sausage-shape of a cock under the leather, was round – as if a grapefruit had been pushed down the front.

He reached into his back pocket and took out a large sachet of lube. Tearing the corner off with his teeth, he poured the thick liquid onto his cupped hand, then, bending his knees outwards, smeared it thickly on the insides of his thighs and under the bulge of his cock. His eyes never left Tony’s face while he was doing this.

Tony’s mouth was dry. These people had certainly done their homework. Apart from the fact that this boy was physically as near to Tony’s idea of sexual perfection as made no difference, they were also using what was probably his single most intense fetish – skintight, bulging black leather jeans – against him. He knew beyond any shadow of doubt that there was nothing between that covering of thin, tight black leather, and the punk’s delicious, hot cock. He watched the boy’s hand spreading the slippery lubricant over the inside of his thighs – just at the top, right under the bulge of his cock and balls – making the smooth, polished black leather even shinier. Tony stared, hypnotized, and totally unable to look anywhere other than at that slippery, inviting, lube-slick leather.

Smiling teasingly, the punk stepped closer – he was now almost touching Tony. He reached with one arm around Tony’s back and pulled the boy towards him. Slowly, his strong arms forced Tony down onto the floor. He laid Tony out flat, the boy’s tied wrists sinking into the thick padded rubber, and knelt astride his waist. Then he lowered his head and stroked his mohawk lightly across Tony’s face. Tony closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh, clean smell of the boy’s hair. Raising his head again, he looked directly into Tony’s eyes. “I’m gonna make you cum, boy,” he repeated. ‘These leather jeans’re gonna milk you dry,’ he whispered.

He lay on top of Tony, guided the boy’s cock between the tops of his thighs and closed his legs tightly, enclosing the throbbing organ in boy-warmed leather. He smiled again, and then, wrapping both arms around him in a tight embrace, he kissed Tony deeply.

If Tony had been asked to choose from a hundred of the sexiest boys in the world, he would probably have chosen this one; he had never felt so overwhelmingly physically attracted to anyone before. The feel of the punk’s strong arms around him; his mouth against Tony’s, kissing deeply; and the feel of those lubricated, slippery, tight leather jeans enclosing his cock – all these things were just too much for him. Involuntarily, he began to thrust his hips, fucking the boy’s jeans.

The punk pulled his head back just far enough to see Tony’s face. “Yeah, that’s it, fuck me, boy,” he whispered. “Feel those tight leather jeans sliding over your cock, milking you. You can’t stop yourself. You’re gonna cum…”

Tony screamed to himself silently – NO! I MUST NOT CUM!!! – and made one last superhuman effort to control himself, and to stop himself cumming. He squeezed his eyes shut, stopped thrusting his pelvis, and struggled in the punk’s muscular grip, trying to hold on to the tiny bit of control he had left.

The punk felt Tony’s last, desperate effort to resist, and grinned down at him. ‘Oh no you don’t.’ He tightened the grip of his thighs, then crossed his booted feet and forced them between Tony’s so that the boy could feel his leather jeans all the way down the insides of his legs. At the same time he pistoned his hips, sliding his lubricated thighs up and down the full length of Tony’s desperate cock, jacking him off with the boy’s most intense fetish object – his leather jeans – even though Tony wasn’t moving a muscle. The blond punk crushed the boy’s mouth with his and raped it with his tongue.

That was too much. Tony instantly began to cum. His body exploded with the most shatteringly intense orgasm he had ever experienced in his life. He stared unseeingly into the punk’s blue eyes as volts of ecstasy stabbed into his brain in a torrent of pure pleasure. Tony came and came and came – he thought it was never ever going to stop. His hot spunk, bottled up and sadistically denied release for so long fountained up between the punk’s thighs and fell back in heavy, thick puddles on the shiny black leather. He shuddered and jerked like a puppet on a string as the boy’s tight jeaned thighs milked him dry.

Eventually his convulsions finally slowed, and then stopped. The punk released the hood from the side of his jeans, smiled at Tony, and kissed him gently once. “You lose,” he said. Then he slipped the hood over the boy’s head and picked him up in a fireman’s lift. “It’s torture time,” he whispered, and carried the boy over his shoulder into the third room.

* * *
Room Three

Struggling and screaming into the leather hood – knowing what was about to happen to him, but helpless to do anything about it – Tony was carried into the third room like a condemned man going to the gallows. This was it – the room in which Tony was going to be tortured – and Tony could see nothing of it at all.

Unseen hands took him from the punk’s shoulder and lowered him face up onto a surface. His legs were held straight out in front of him, and he heard motors whirring nearby. A few seconds later he felt something hard but padded grip his ankles. Then what felt like small straps were put across the joint of each big toe and tightened. At the same time someone removed the plastic tie binding his wrists. As he rubbed his wrists he heard a door close. When nothing further happened for a few moments, he tentatively raised his hands and pulled off the leather hood.

He found himself in a very strange situation: he was alone, in a wide, but very short room. It was just as long as the table he was lying on – and his feet disappeared through two holes in the wall at the end of the table. He tried to move, but the holes clamped his ankles comfortably but immovably. Tony could hear movement on the far side of the wall, and realised that the bit he was lying in was a sectioned-off part of a larger room. Apart from the wall holding his feet, he was otherwise unrestrained.

The efficiency with which they’d moved him was such that it had been less than a minute since Tony had had that incredible orgasm with the punk. His balls ached and he felt totally drained – as if not only every last drop of spunk had been milked out of him by that gorgeous punk boy, but as though somehow even more than that had been sucked from him. He felt as if he’d been connected to a vacuum cleaner.

Tony lay there for a few moments, waiting, dreading the door opening again and his torturers arriving – and so when the first touch came, it was totally unexpected.

And Tony screamed.

The bastards had gone for his most incapacitatingly ticklish spots first of all: on the other side of the wall, his torturers were working on his feet. As well as their talented fingers, they had an array of instruments at their disposal: brushes; q-tips; dry ball-point pens; feathers; pointed strips of stiff leather – plus lots more – and they used them in a non-stop assault on his size 12 feet.

Tony was beside himself with ticklishness. He writhed on the table, sat up, beat his fists on the metal surface – but nothing he did made the slightest difference. The straps across his big toes, securing them to the other side of the wall effectively immobilised them completely – he couldn’t move them an inch in any direction. The most he could do was to curl the rest of his toes slightly, and that did him no good at all. What made it worse was that apart from his feet, he was unrestrained. He could move his body wherever he wanted – but he couldn’t get away from the horrendous tickling of his feet.

He thought he was going to go insane. This was a thousand times worse even that he’d imagined it would be. Something stiff and pointed slipped between the tops of two toes and, with a sawing motion, slowly worked its way downwards. At the same time something was tickling his heels unbearably, while someone else worked on his arches, and yet another drew designs on his soles. He screamed, shrieked, laughed, cried, gasped for breath, beat his fists impotently on the table, yelled through the wall, begged and pleaded. They took not the slightest notice.

The boys in the first two rooms had done their work well. Martin, the dark-haired one had got him hornier than he’d ever been in his life – so horny, in fact, that when they’d taken him off that table a single brush against the end of his cock would have made him shoot his load. The blond wet-dream punk could have made him cum with a single finger – but holding him, kissing him, using his tight leather-jeaned thighs to milk him – that had been like using a steam roller to kill a fly. The earth-shattering orgasm that all this treatment had produced had so sensitized his nervous system that, had he been connected up to some kind of ticklishness meter, he’d have fused the thing.

He writhed in ticklish agony as they continued to find new ways of torturing his helpless feet. At one point he vaguely registered the fact that he was lying in wetness, and that he’d pissed himself.

It went on and on.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, they stopped. Tony lay back on the table, his body covered with sweat and jerking uncontrollably, expecting them to start again at any second.

But then Tony felt the small straps across his big toes being removed. Moments later the door opened and the two wardens reappeared. The wall separated and the two halves retracted into the ceiling and the floor, and through dazed eyes Tony saw for the first time the larger part of the room. It looked like a padded cell – all the surfaces were covered with very thick, soft, slightly ridged padding. As the wardens moved Tony into the centre of the room, the wall closed up again behind them and, with a final chuckle, the wardens left, closing the door behind them.

Almost immediately it opened again, and four figures entered. The first was black-haired Martin, and he was followed by the blond punk from Room 2. Two more boys Tony hadn’t seen before came in next – one was very cute, the other was more hunky – all of them were dressed identically – bike boots, leather jeans and jackets, and protective helmets – but in addition, they also wore mirror-black carbon-fibre body armour over their jackets. They formed a circle around Tony, who turned slowly like a cornered animal, not knowing what was going to happen.

Then a fifth figure entered the room. Tony gasped in terror – it was the hawk-nosed man. Unlike the others, he wore no armour or helmet. He took up position apart from the others where he could watch, and issued a terse command. Instantly the four boys closed in on Tony. Their actions had clearly been pre-arranged, as the two new boys grabbed Tony, forced him to the floor and held him down while Martin and the punk began to tickle him. Tony screamed in hysterics immediately – this was far worse than being strapped down. He fought, struggled, and tried desperately to defend himself, but he was a naked boy against four in leather, boots, helmets and armour, and he stood no chance. One would go for his sides or ribs while another squeezed his thighs just above the knees – or two would hold his arms high over his head so a third could tickle his armpits. Wherever he could put himself, hands could still reach his most ticklish spots.

They would allow him to curl up into a ball, and then one of the boys would force his hand between Tony’s thighs or tickle his feet, or dig stiff fingers into his sides, or force a hand between his upper arm and the side of his chest and work it slowly upward towards his armpit again – tickling, tickling, tickling. It was pure, unadulterated torture.

At one point they stood in a circle and passed him around from one to the other, each one tickling him in a different spot. At other times all four of them would work on him simultaneously.

Every forty-five minutes or so, the hawk-nosed man would bark a command, and the boys would stop. They would lie Tony on his back, the punk kneeling astride his head, gripping it with his knees and grinning down at the boy while he forced Tony’s face into his leather-clad crotch, and the others holding him immobile, ready for the hawk-nosed man to kneel between Tony’s legs, insert a rubber-gloved finger up the boy’s arse hole and masturbate him to orgasm quickly and efficiently. Each time this happened, Tony did everything he could to stop himself from cumming, but each time the man’s finger unerringly found his prostate and – together with his expert jacking of the boy’s cock – made the exercise academic.

And each orgasm made the torture ten times more unbearable.

Tony lost count of the number of times he passed out – but each time he came round, the torture would begin again. He pissed himself several times and his throat was hoarse with screaming.

Tony had thought that this was as bad as it could get – but after his second orgasm, the boys held him while the hawk-nosed man, grinning sadistically, slowly lowered one of the regulation hoods over his head and pulled the drawstring tight. Now, blindfolded by the thin leather, Tony couldn’t even begin to defend himself. If he’d thought it was bad before, the torture was now unimaginably worse.

The boys changed their technique, to take advantage of the fact that he couldn’t see anything. They worked on him unpredictably, from unexpected angles and directions, sometimes not touching him for many seconds, to allow his own brain to torture him by not knowing where the next unbearable tickling was going to come from. Of course, when it did come, they always made sure it was devastating.

Tony was beyond laughing, screaming, begging. The noises he was making into the leather hood were no longer human. He knew he was going to be a gibbering wreck for the rest of his life.

There was a pause, and his hood was removed. Martin lay down, and then pulled Tony on top of him so they were both lying face-up. The punk pulled Tony’s arms high over his head, cuffing them together so he could hold them there with just one hand, and a third boy clamped Tony’s ankles between his leather-jeaned legs. Martin placed his hands carefully on Tony’s sides, and then, suddenly, they all went to work on him.

Tony screamed as Martin’s stiff fingers jabbed and probed into the muscle just above his hip bones, and as the blond punk tickled Tony’s armpits – one with his free hand and the other with his mohawk hair. At the same time the cute one of the new boys went to work on Tony’s ribs and abs while the hunky one, whose legs Tony’s were tightly held between, kneaded the muscles above Tony’s knees and scraped sharp fingernails over the boy’s bare soles.

This was the worst it had ever been. Tony prayed he would pass out – but he didn’t. Covered in sweat, he screamed and struggled, but to no effect. The boys were tickling him everywhere. In the midst of this, Tony became dimly aware that the hawk-nosed man was standing over them, masturbating – and a few seconds later splashes of hot spunk landed on his chest, thighs, and genitals as the man came. His face was a mask of sadistic pleasure as he watched Tony being tortured on the floor at his feet, and his moans of ecstasy were drowned out by the boy’s screams of hysteria. With shuddering groans, the man’s contractions slowed, and he quickly zipped himself up and left the room.

Moments later the boys released Tony and, with sighs of exhaustion and chuckled comments from one to another, left as well. The blond punk turned, and winked at Tony before he left.

Tony lay there alone, quivering, on the padded floor, covered with sweat and spunk. He was physically and mentally exhausted. He jumped when the door opened a little later, but the wardens who entered assured him it was all over. They took him away for a cup of tea and a lie down.

* * *

A shaft of late afternoon sunlight shone through the window, fought its way between the almost-closed curtains, and cut the study into two like the blade of a golden knife. On one side of it stood a desk cluttered with books, discs, notepads, dirty coffee-cups, a pair of unwashed underpants, and a PC. On the other side, sitting in the murky darkness, a boy doodled on piece of paper that was already filled with drawings. Similar pages littered the floor around the chair. The ball-point pen was putting the finishing touches to a head – it was that of a youth, with a ring through his nose and a blond mohican haircut.

The boy threw down the paper, sucked the end of the biro for a few moments, and sighed deeply. For the last few days he’d been listless, unable to concentrate, and had hardly eaten anything. He could only think of one thing.

For the thousandth time, he looked across at the computer screen. On it was the logo of the First Bank of America, and below that the heading “Accounts”. One account was highlighted. At the bottom of the screen was a box containing the words “Anthony James Beresford. New balance = $100,000.00 Please press RETURN to confirm”.

Slowly, the boy got up and walked over to the machine. He extended his index finger, looked at it for a moment, and then placed it gently – almost lovingly – on the beige ‘return’ key. One single push on that key, and he would have committed a major crime – and, as he had not even tried to cover his tracks when hacking into the bank’s mainframe, the police would be here within the hour. However, if he were to push the ‘escape’ key next to it, the change of balance would not be entered, and he could continue his life without fear of punishment.

He stroked the surface of the key lightly, hardly touching the plastic. His finger moved gently from the one key to the other – back and forth – ‘escape’, ‘return’.

After a while his finger stopped above one of the keys and, with quiet determination, he pushed it all the way down.

On the computer screen, the message “Change aborted. Balance = [sterling]997.00” With a sigh, the boy switched off the computer and began to tidy the room.

* * *

On a different computer screen a similar message was being displayed. This time, however, the amount was not the same. It read “Anthony James Beresford. New balance = $500,000.00 Please press RETURN to confirm”. A finger hovered for a moment over the ‘return’ key, and then firmly pushed it. A new message came up: “Change confirmed. Balance = $500,000,00.”

A hand reached across the desk and switched off the Line Tag Generator – a piece of electronic gear that would convince any tracing equipment that the call had originated at Tony’s computer. The owner of the hand withdrew it and massaged his erect cock through his leather trousers.

He looked up at the punk and smiled thinly. “You owe me one,” said the hawk-nosed man.

The End

This rugby player should have been at training but instead he was abducted, chained, rubber hooded and ballgagged wearing only his padded under armour gear.

Click HERE to visit xtube and view the full 27 minute video!

Click HERE to visit xtube and view the full 27 minute video!

My last tumblr was deleted but my new one is up and running at http://heavy-bondage.tumblr.com/

Please follow! I’ll be re-adding all my photos regularly!!

Here’s the video…

http://www.xtube.com/watch.php?v=xUfZm-G797-#.VMN4Ii7-uT0

A shiny sports kit and skintight white lycra short clad prisoner had his wrists, upper body, knees and ankles trussed up and was then tied hand and foot to a chair. A large ballgag was forced into his mouth and a tight black rubber hood with blacked out eye holes was placed over his head.

This story was originally publish on the old Ropejock website…

i vividly remember the first time i ever made a tickling wager…

mike and i were in high school at the time and had both played hooky on a tuesday. we were at my house alone, since both my parents were at work. we started playing basketball early in the day. 20 point games. we became more and more competitive each game we played. we would rub it in and tease the other each time we won. i’d won the first game, lost the two next games, and then won the next two, and then mike won again. after he got through taunting me and we were about to start a new game, he suddenly turned to me “hey, you wanna’ play for something this time?”. i asked him what he meant. “you know”, he answered, “make a wager on this game, you scared?”. i told him that no, i wasn’t scared, i just didn’t have any money to put up. that’s when his eyes took on a wicked cast, “well… we could play for something else…?”

i asked what he meant and he said that we could play that the winner could make the loser do whatever he wanted for an hour. “like what?”, i warily asked. “that’s the fun part, the winner gets to devise any penalty he wants, the anxiety of not knowing exactly what’ll happen to you if you lose will be half the fun!!” i agreed, but was a little nervous about the whole thing, but kinda’ excited about the thought of winning and thinking up something really hellish for him to do. the game began. the wager hanging over our heads made us even more determined to win. we played with an energy and aggression that far surpassed the previous games. by the time it was over we were both soaked with sweat, but i was a happy boy. i won!!! after the relief of not being subject to mike’s whims i began to think of what i might like to do to him. i thought about making him do pushups, or jog for an hour beside my car while i set his pace, i thought about making him kiss my sweaty feet…then it occurred to me!! there had been many occasions in the past when mike’s bare feet had been in reach and i’d stroked em a couple times just to make him jump, so i knew he was ticklish! i wondered what it’d be like to tickle him for an hour while he was helpless. a perfectly evil plan!!! at first mike tried acting as if he’d forgotten all about the bet, but i reminded him and he couldn’t deny it. it had only been half an hour since we’d made the deal. “all right, what do i have to do? wash your car? do your homework? clean your room?” he was obviously thinking along different lines than i was! i looked around. there was a long metal-framed lounger in our backyard. i guided him reluctantly over to it and pulled off all the cushions to reveal it’s metal frame. ” lie down on this.” i instructed. ”’why?”, he wanted to know. ” remember”, i reminded him, “half the fun is not knowing what’s going to happen to you…”. he groaned at me throwing his own words back in his face and plopped himself down onto the patio recliner. i got some pieces of nylon rope from the shed and had him raise his arms above his head so i could tie his wrists securely to the top of the frame. “what? you’re just gonna tie me up in the backyard and leave me like this for an ho ur…ooooh, big deal…” i ignored him and moved down to his legs. i grabbed his ankles and pulled him down the chair till his body was stretched tight, anchored at the wrists. then, with his feet hanging just over the edge of the chair, i tied his ankles down, separately to each corner. i made sure that all his bindings were secure, then i went back to the foot of the chair and sat down in the grass. i remember, looking up into the sky and thinking what a beautiful day this was, and how this was going to be a much better way to enjoy the early afternoon than math class would have been. i pulled on his shoelaces, untying each one, and then slipped his sneakers off to reveal the sweat-drenched white cotton socks plastered to the form of his wide, athletic feet. “hey!!! what the heck are you doing? gonna give me a foot massage?”, he asked, still not getting a clue as to what my plans were. i grabbed the tops of his sweatsocks and slowly peeled the filthy material away from his bound feet. i sat back and gazed at his helpless feet for a minute… “well”, he said ” what now?”. without a word i picked up his smelly sneakers and took out the shoelaces. i used the laces to tie around his big toes, then pulled them tightly back and tied them off around his ankles so that his feet were held in a hyper-flexed position, the skin of the soles stretched tight with no way to budge his feet at all (he could barely even wiggle his toes). “you’re ticklish aren’t you mike?” i asked innocently, even though i already knew the answer. his eyes widened in sudden fear as the realization of what i had in store dawned on him all at once. he panicked and gave himself away “NO. not that!!! that’s the one thing that’s not allowed! NO WAY!!! NO TICKLING!!!” i shook my head slowly, smiling, and told him that i didn’t remember that distinction being mentioned. all i remembered was “anything the winner wants”. well, this was what i wanted. he looked so scared, ‘peeeeease…don’t do this! anything, i’ll do ANYTHING else!!” i cut short his begging when i made contact with all fingertips at once scrambling erratically around the surface of both his soles at once. his begging suddenly caught in his throat and the sounds he was making ceased to be words and became loud, frantic, laughter. his whole body tensed. i could see every muscle of his body (he wasn’t wearing a shirt, just little cotton running shorts) flexed in his agony, but i didn’t let up. i tickled him with my fingers for about ten minutes, enjoying every twitch, every agonized laugh, every fruitless attempt to appeal to my mercy and then began to wonder what reaction other devices might illicit. i excused myself for a couple minutes and went inside. when i returned i had in my possession a stainless steel fork, ice cubes, a feather, a hairbrush, toothpicks, a battery powered toothbrush, and a couple ball-point pens…i showed him the toys i’d collected inside and felt my cock get a little harder as i watched his reaction. he looked as if he were about to cry as his gaze darted, in horror, from one hous ehold-item-turned-instrument-of-torture to another! “no…please…no…”. i made myself comfortable and sat down again in front of his immobile and incredibly sensitive feet and reached into my box to choose a toy…still 45 minutes left to go…

…so there i sat in the grass on that beautiful tuesday afternoon, close enough to those smooth, bound soles of mike’s to smell the sweat produced during our basketball tournament. i was giving him a minute to catch his breath after only ten minutes of tickling. he was wrecked, and his torture had only begun!!! he hadn’t said a word since i showed him my box of goodies. i just sat and watched his chest rise and fall as he tried to catch his breath. he was breathing loudly, gulping in air. man, this guy was ticklish!! i think being tied up and completely helpless had made him even more susceptible to this form of punishment.

suddenly i heard him ask “so’s that it? am i done?”.

that tinge of desperate hope in his voice made my cock a little harder still, and i couldn’t help dashing his hopes against the rocks! ,”oh no, mike…i’m not even close to being done with you yet! it’s only been ten minutes so far (the little break i just gave you doesn’t count). you’ve still got fifty minutes left, tuff-guy!”, and with that i pulled 6 toothpicks from the box…

first i took a single toothpick and began to jab the soft flesh of his immovable soles with it’s sharp wooden point. i watched his face while i continued to poke him with it. he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes tight. i could tell he was trying not to react, but the sight of him struggling to maintain his composure was just as erotic to me as his outright tortured laughter had been earlier. if his plan was to make me bored with the session, it was failing miserably. i noticed that when i jabbed the point on the apparently VERY sensitive spot between his big and first toes, that his lips trembled slightly and he’d bite down harder on his lip, scrunching his handsome face even tighter! ah ha, a secret spot! i, of course, immediately began to concentrate on this area of both feet. i even picked up a second toothpick so that i could stimulate both hot spots at the same time. as soon as i had doubled my efforts i saw every muscle in his body become even more rigid, his arms and legs trying in vain to pull themselves free of their inescapable bondage. his breathing got harder and came faster! i could tell he was about to lose it, so i began poking even harder and more rapidly!

his face contorted in agony, sweat pouring down his forehead, he opened his mouth wide:

“OHHHHHHHHhhhhGOD….aaaaaaaaHAHAHAAArrrgh…JEEEeeezusgaaaaaahdaaaahaaa argrrrga,,,HEEEEEEeeeheeeeeehahaarg…pleeeeeze sthaaaaaaaaap…!!!”

i stopped.

“oh god, man”, he managed to say between big gulps of air, “that was fuckin’ horrible! thanx for stopping man, i was about to lose my mind. now please, hurry up and untie me, my toes are really starting to hurt!!”

i shook my head slowly, with what must have been an evil grin spreading across my face, “good try mike, but you know the wager was for an hour.”

“but surely it must be close to an hour, couldn’t you be a sport and knock the last few minutes off. seriously, i think i’ll lose my mind if you do this anymore.”

wow! this REALLY must be hell for him, i’d only been poking his feet with the toothpicks for 5 minutes. apparently the intense torment had distorted his since of time. i let him in on the facts with relish, and told him he still had 45 minutes to go. i also made it clear that i was going for the entire hour no matter what. it looked again like he was about to cry. “NOOOOOOOOOOO, PLEEEEEZE… that can’t be true! i KNOW it’s been longer than that! it HAS to have been!!…”

i showed him the stop watch i’d been keeping time with and i swear i think his eyes watered up a little. i sat back down on the grass in front of those tender, trapped soles. this time i pulled out the battery-powered toothbrush and switched it on. he lifted his exhausted head from the chair to look down and see what the noise was. when he saw me with the toothbrush on, only inches away from his helpless feet he lost it! he jerked and bucked against his restraints which refused give at all. “nonononononooooooo…”

and i hadn’t even made contact with the toothbrush yet!! i had an idea. “i’ll make a deal with ya, though…if you can keep from laughing for another five minutes, i’ll let you have another break”……

the battery-powered toothbrush hummed in the hot summer air and mike stared at me wild-eyed, shaking his head slowly back and forth, trying desperately to get me to change my mind. yeah, right!! there was NO WAY i’d pass on even a second of such a great opportunity! this was the first time i’d actually tickle TORTURED another guy and i was having a blast!!! i lowered the toothbrush to the trapped and stretched flesh on the instep of his left foot…

“NOOOOOO, n-n-n-ooooh, ho, ho, haaarghahahaaaaa, heee, h-h-heeshit! shit! god! pleeeze-hee hee hee, no more hahaaargh!!!…”

the sounds were like music to my ears! without letting up for a second i reminded him, “mike, remember, you don’t get your break till you can keep it in for a solid 5 minutes…heh, heh, heh!”

“no please..b-b-break n-n-n-owww! now please. b-b-break?”

“no way, mike!!! you’ve got to earn it!”

“o-o-oKAY ahhh! i w-w-won’t. la-la-laugh!!!”, he bit his lip again and i heard no sounds except the creaking of the metal chair as he pulled on his restraints, and the sound of air being sucked through his sexy, trembling lips…and, of course, the lovely hum of the toothbrush as i slowly let it travel up from his arch to that valley where his toes met the ball of his foot. the closer i got the louder his breathing got. his big toes were held splayed apart from his other toes due to their individual bondage, so once the toothbrush made it into that valley, i let it travel into that hellishly sensitive spot between his big and first toe. his chest began rising and falling more violently and i didn’t hear any laughing but i did hear something that sounded like wh impering…

i fixed the toothbrush so that it wouldn’t fall from between his toes while it vibrated. wedged it in good. then i moved to the other end of the chair to get a good look at his face while i left the toothbrush humming away…

i sat down beside him in the grass and looked at his handsome face trapped there between his stretched and bound arms. his face was red, sweat was running in rivulets down his cheeks, and tears of frustration and effort had actually welled up in his eyes, mixing with the sweat streaming from his pores. he looked at me intensely and i could see he wanted to say something, but was afraid to open his mouth for laughing. i guessed what it was, looked at my watch and said, “just 2 minutes to your break mike, you can make it.” i brushed some strands of sweaty, matted hair away from his drenched forehead and smiled, “well, i better get back to work”. mike whined loudly in protest as i got up and returned to the toothbrush still buzzing away between his poor toes. i left the toothbrush where it was and picked up one of the melting ice cubes instead. i began to tickle the sole of his right foot with the ice, and he must not have been expecting that extra sensation because he immediately lost what control he’d managed to maintain and busted out laughing: “NOOOHOOOHOHOHEEEEE, oh-oh-oh-GAAAAAHD noooohohohahahaaaarggh, aaaahahahaaaargh…”

“awwwww, mike”, i said in mock-sympathy, without stopping, ” you lost your break. now you’ll have to start all over…”

the ice had gotten such a great reaction that i decided to abandon the toothbrush for now and pick up a second ice cube. while continuing to swirl the first cube around the sole of his helpless foot i added his other foot into the mix as well. two ice cubes now, sliding sadistically up and down those taut arches, eliciting shrieks and unceasing laughter from my handsome victim. his whole body had tensed even more at this new phase of the torture, he bucked as much as he could (almost not at all) in his bondage: “oh god, oh god, ohgodohgodohgod….mmmmrgh, mmmmrgh, ah ah ah ahahahaaaaaa, ha ha haaaarrgh…!” “now, now, mike you want that break, don’t you, tuff-guy?”, i taunted my tortured friend. he shook his head earnestly up and down. “yes, y-y-yessss!!! b-b-b rea-aye-aye-ayeyahahahaaaa…”, he could barely form intelligible words now. “well then i suggest you get hold of yourself, bud, and STOP LAUGHING or you’ll never earn that break. five minutes, remember? no laughing!” “i c-c-can’t. i can’t s-s-s-top!! ah ah ahahaaa aaaaaaah ha ha haaraghaa…” “i suggest you try”, i answered putting all my concentration back to those sexy, vulnerable feet. i gave him just a second to catch his breath and bite down on his bottom lip again before placing each cube against a heel and slowly dragged them up the length of his soles… once again, i heard no laughing, only moaning sounds as his struggled to keep the agonized laughter from escaping his trembling lips and the sound of the iron chair groaning under the stress of a bound and struggling boy! his bound soles were wet now, from the melting ice. the tightly stretched skin gleamed in the sunlight, drops of cold water running in trails down his instep (hopefully adding to the ticklish sensations). they looked gorgeous! i changed positions so that i was lying on my stomach in the grass with my face so close to his trapped soles that i could smell them. this way i could press my hard cock against the ground through my shorts, while i continued to torture mike. it felt so good!! the pressure on my cock, the closeness of his bare, twitching feet! i could have cum in a second, but i held off. i still had a little more than a half hour of this torture left to inflict. i decided that if i was going to cum i’d do it in the last few seconds of his torture (okay, so i’m a little bit of a masochist, as well). since mike was way too preoccupied with desperately trying not to laugh to notice anything but the tormenting sensations of the ice, i took this opportunity to gingerly extend my tongue and move my head in close enough to push it in between the big and first toe of his right foot. this close i could really smell the hot sweat from the basketball game and i tasted the salty flesh of his taut, trembling flesh. i drew back. i had to! i was about to cum but wanted to wait and there was no way i’d have been able to hold back if i’d kept my tongue between those delicious toes. i sat back upright and abandoned his arches for his toes and the hyper-sensitive valley just below them. as soon as i’d guided the slippery ice cubes up to those toes, mike groaned loudly:

“MMMMMRGRRRRRGHHH AAAAAAAAH GOD GOD GOD THAT’S C-C-C-COLD!!! H-H-HOW L-L-L-ONG BEFORE THE BRE-BREAK?” i looked at my watch. ooops! i’d been so entranced with the close-up tickling and stolen licks at his toes that i’d lost track of time. it’d been almost ten minutes since he’d allowed himself to laugh. “sorry, mike, you earned your break a few minutes ago”, i stopped the tickling. “you mean it’s been longer than five minutes!?!” “sorry.” “YOU JACK-ASS!!” he yelled at me. i decided he’d pay for that after his break….

since i’d gone against my word and let mike continue his struggle not to laugh past the stated 5 minutes i decided to give him a 2 minute break instead of only 60 seconds. as i sat in the warm grass, listening to mike trying to catch his ragged breath, and staring at the soles of his feet so helplessly bound my hand trailed across the ground and came across the socks i’d pulled from his feet about a half hour ago. they’d gotten so soaked with sweat during the basketball game that they’d become stiff as they dried in the afternoon air. since mike had his eyes shut, trying to regain his composure and milk every bit of relaxation he could out of his 2 minutes, i took the opportunity to pick up one of his sweatsocks and smell it, breathing deeply the heavy scent of old rubber and leather from his sneaker, and the pungent sweat from his foot. it reeked! much worse than the scent i’d picked up from the surface of his barefoot when i leaned in close. i had an idea. looking at my watch, i piped up “Break’s over, dude!…” i heard mike groan softly in dread. i snatched up both socks and got up to move to the top of the chair where i found mike’s face, still sweating, between his arms. “we’re gonna change the way we’re doing things here, okay?”, i asked my victim/friend. he nodded eagerly “no more tickling?”, he asked hopefully. “actually…”, i responded with my slyest of smiles, “i was thinking ‘no more breaks’ ” his smile immediately dropped off his face to be replaced by a priceless look of sheer horror. i explained that it was just that he was my best friend and i couldn’t stand to prolong his agony any longer. it’d be over much quicker if i just went for the solid last 30 minutes all at once instead of stretching it out with all these interrupting breaks… “NO!!!…PLEASE, NO!!…NONONONO…” i easily shut him up by pulling out a roll of electrical tape and securely taped his mouth shut. then i pulled up his dirty socks so that he could see them. he looked confused. i tied the toes of the long sweatsocks together. he still looked at me in confusion and enforced silence. i then began to bring the now linked dirty socks closer to his face. he suddenly understood and began shaking his head violently from side to side as much as he could, sandwiched between his tied arms. alas, to no avail, i eventually got the socks over his face and tied them in a knot behind his head. i made sure to position the filthy knot made at the toes so that it directly covered his nostrils. to test my plan, i now used both hands to grab into his ribs! since he couldn’t laugh through his taped lips, he was forced to take deep breaths through his nose and smiled when i saw his eyes squeeze tight at being forced to smell the odor of his own pungent feet! my fingertips glided up to his pits, making unendurable ticklish spirals there while i watched him forced to smell his socks…he begged me with his eyes. poor boy…. ;) pulling out two hairbrushes i went back down to his trapped feet, “ready for your last half hour, tuff-guy?” the only answer i got was a panicked sounding muffled protest, but i couldn’t make it out…best just to ignore it, i decided, and went to work.

the brushes i’d selected had very stiff bristles. hundreds of them!! i placed a brush at each heel and s-l-o-o-o-w-l-y dragged them both up the surfaces of each hopelessly stretched and bound sole. the stiff bristles against the soft, tender flesh of his arches got the reaction i’d been hoping for. every muscle of the poor boy’s body looked like corded rope flexing uselessly beneath his sweating flesh. his body was involuntarily exerting all of it’s might against the bonds and yet did absolutely nothing as far as helping him out of his hellish predicament!! when the brushes had made it to the center of both soles, i began to spiral the cruel bristles in torturous circles over and over. he couldn’t handle it. for the first few seconds, he’d managed to take only very shallow breaths through his nose (since his lips were still taped) in order, i assumed, to keep fromgetting too big a whiff of his own filthy socks still tied tightly over his nose. but when i started in circling his insteps with the fiendish hairbrushes he let out a load moan and i heard him suck air ferociously and involuntarily through the sock-filter. i saw his face scrunch up in disgust as the odor hit him full-force again! he immediately tried taking shallow breaths again, but i was having way too much fun with this and decided to pick up the speed and pressure of the brushes. in a matter of seconds i had him groaning hysterically under his gag and taking in one stinking lung-full of air after another! i was having the time of my life!! i kept that up for about fifteen minutes, listening to the frantic sounds mike made. sounds that would have been nothing but pitiful begging if i had taken off the gag and let him form actual words. then i had yet another sadistic idea and reached into the toys i’d brought from the house and pulled out a pair of long, sharp-tipped scissors. i opened them a little, giving me two tips to work with. i chose his right foot and placed each of the two points in contact with either side of the ball of his foot, just under the toes. i used just enough pressure to cause a thin white line to appear behind each of the scissors’ tips as i slowly dragged them down the surface of his soles. i could tell mike found the sensation unbearable because, even though he couldn’t move his feet at all i could see the muscles in the sole of his right foot twitching and spasming under the tautly stretched flesh. after a few minutes i switched to the other foot and inflicted the same torture there.

looking at my watch, i realized i only had 15 minutes left. i suddenly stopped torturing mike with the scissors and used them to cut the laces binding his toes back to his ankles. i heard a sigh of relief come from under the tape as he immediately began flexing his stiff toes. then i moved up to his head and pulled off the socks and slowly peeled the tape from his sexy lips.

“THANK GOD THAT’S OVER!!!”, he mistakenly assumed, his face stained with tears of agony and pouring sweat, “i don’t think i could’ve taken one more second!!!”

i let a smile slowly creep over my face and shook my head as i looked down at his pitiful sweat-drenched form stretched so tight and vulnerably across the iron chair, ” it’s STILL not quite over mike”, i showed him the watch, “i’ve got ten minutes left. it’s just that i’ve decided to concentrate on our armpits and ribs for the last part and i wanted to be able to hear you laugh and watch your toes flexing while you suffered!” without giving him a chance to respond, i immediately placed myself behind the chair where i had a perfect view of his feet still bound at the ankles to the bottom of the chair and dove into his sweaty pits with all ten fingers at once!!

“Aaaaaarrrgh oh God, oh God, oh oh oh shit!!! ah-ah-ah-ahahahaaaa!!heeeeeeeeehahahaaaargh…! no please, no pluh-pluh-please,ple-hee-hee-hee-eeze!! i c-c-can’t t-t-take anymore ha hahaaaaaargh…PLEASE STAAAAAHP…!”

his reaction was wonderful! that deep, helpless laughter and screaming bubbling from his sexy lips involuntarily. he knew it was what i wanted to hear and yet he still couldn’t keep himself from begging and laughing. my cock had become absolutely rigid and i pressed it against the iron bar at the top of the chair where mike’s wrists were so soundly lashed. i pressed against the bar (where mike couldn’t see me) even harder and continued tickling his pits and ribs with my fingers while focusing my eyes on his toes wiggling in ticklish agony at the other end. in the midst of another gale of mike’s helpless laughter i came hard against the chair, his hysterical laughter blocking out the long moan of sheer pleasure that i couldn’t help producing as i finally brought myself off.

after i’d got my composure back, i let mike know it was over and untied him. he immediately jumped up off the chair and stretched his aching limbs, sweat beading down his almost naked body, and promised that he would get his revenge one day…one day soon!

my blood ran cold at the thought! i was so into torturing him that it never occurred to me that he might eventually have me at his mercy!! oh jeeeeze…

THE END

well that’s it for mike’s ordeal and the consequences of our first tickling-wager.

D

Tom Daley had been kidnapped from his training pool and taken deep into the ruins of an old factory where he had been chained hand and foot, gagged and then strung up from the ceiling support beams.

An old clock had been placed on the wall in front of Tom. It had now been over 24 hours since his captors had left him chained high and dry…

PART I
As consciousness returned, I remembered what had happened and tried to sit up – I couldn’t. I found I could barely move a muscle. My arms were tied tightly behind me; I felt something tied tight around my ankles, my knees and even my thighs. My wrists were secured and my elbows were pulled painfully tight together in the small of my back. My head was enclosed in something, the smell was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My mouth felt stuffed full of something soft, springy but tough and I could barely swallow. The contraption blindfolded me – it must have been a hood of some sort over my head.

As I grew more aware, I felt the strain of the bonds around my body, everything was painfully tight and my muscles ached from the strain of the unusual position my limbs were forced to adopt. I was lying on my side and couldn’t straighten my legs without pulling on my arms. I was hog-tied, I’d seen it before but I’d never thought that it could be this painful. My skin felt strange, I couldn’t work it out but I knew that every part of me was covered in some way. I must have the uniform on, but I knew how that felt and this didn’t feel the same, besides, I knew that the motorcycle boots were not on my feet – that much was clear.

I couldn’t help but try to relieve the strain on my limbs, I moved as best I could but could do nothing to relieve the pain. I realized that my arms were secured to my body and that bonds were secured around my chest and torso in some criss-cross fashion. I could feel them biting into my flesh and restricting all movement. I tried in vain to speak but couldn’t make myself understood, I heard gurgling and rasping and realized that it was me. Saliva was running from the side of my mouth and pooling at the side of my face and chin, held in place by the hood that was so tightly wrapped around my head. There was no light to relieve the darkness in which I was held. I didn’t know if it was day or night.

My body cried in pain. My 6’4″, muscular frame was not built for this type of punishment, and I could do nothing but try to move a little. My efforts paid off and I suddenly rolled onto my chest, pulling my legs up behind me still attached to my wrists as they were. As I settled into this new position, the pain eased slightly and I felt my cock and balls crushed under me, pinned between my body and the surface on which I lay. I sucked on the gag in my mouth as a sharp pain crashed through my body. I’d never been so aware of my equipment in this way, I wondered what those bastards had done to me.

I knew that the drug dealers had captured me, the sting had gone drastically wrong and I had no way of knowing where I was or who was holding me. As the head of the division, I was supposed to have been anonymous in the motorcycle copes uniform and just one of the guys, as it were. I was in serious trouble – that much was sure. I thought that I was finished when they shot me, but I didn’t expect to be drugged and captured. They must be after something and I was in no position to put up much resistance. The pressure was already too much to bare, I don’t know if I can put up with this much longer, but I can’t even talk to them. What the hell do they want? Why hasn’t someone realized that I was conscious; what’s going to happen next?

I tried to flex my fingers and found that my hands were enclosed in something like a mitten, they kept my hands tightly trapped and useless, I couldn’t feel anything through the material, it seemed so thick. Over all of this, I felt hot, my body was sweating and the perspiration wasn’t going anywhere, it seemed to make my body wet, the heat was at every part of my body, from my fingers to my toes and even my head. I couldn’t make it out, what the hell had they done to me? As I tried to clasp the material surrounding my mittened hands I suddenly realized what the smell was and suddenly knew the texture of the material that covered my entire body – it was rubber.

With this realization came another thought. What type of villain kidnaps a cop and then dresses him in rubber and keeps him tied up like this? Some perverted and demented bastard. I couldn’t believe it. I knew that some people found rubber a turn-on and I’d seen films where they used this type of situation for brainwashing and sensory depravation. Oh Jesus, what’s going to happen to me? Where are they, why haven’t they come for me? I can’t stay like this… “Come on you bastards, get started”, were the words I shouted, but they were not the sounds I heard, I couldn’t make a single clear sound. The bonds cut into my flesh, the hood was stuffy and I noticed that I was only breathing through my nose. From the feel of it, there were tubes or something in each nostril and the air whistled in and out of the tubes. I couldn’t believe what had happened to me. I can’t stand this shit; I’m going to die in here. Even though I knew it was a waste of time, I began to thrash around, looking for some form of escape, some sliver of hope – there was none.

I only succeeded in exhausting myself and I could hear my breath whistling harder in and out of those devilish tubes. I panted with the effort and the saliva continued to leak from my mouth, pooling around my face and mixing with the sweat. I felt terrified and wanted them to get on with it, to do whatever it is they are going to do. Why don’t they come? Have they forgotten about me? Have they been caught and no one knows I’m here… like this? All these thoughts flashed through my head, will I see my friends again? I began to cry; to plead; to demand my release; to escape; to survive; to live. Nothing.. Nothing but the void, no response from the outside world, no one came to laugh at me – the big dumb cop blubbering like a baby – nothing!

I felt a tingling at the soles of my feet; it was like ants marching over my skin and irritated the hell out of me. I flexed my toes and feet, feeling the rubber slide over my skin a little with each flex. The sensation grew stronger and rather than irritate, it became quite pleasant. The sensation grew a little stronger still and I jerked as my feet were tickled. I pulled my feet to avoid the sensation and only managed to jerk on my tightly bounds wrists. I wriggled and squirmed in a vain attempt to avoid the tickling, but it followed me and I could not avoid it. I needed to laugh, but I couldn’t laugh, not here, not now, not like this. But the sensation grew worse and as each wave washed over my feet I jerked and began to giggle into the gag. I could barely breath, I can’t giggle at this sensation, but I had no control and I had no choice and the waves broke down my resistance until I was thrashing helplessly around as best the bonds would allow in a state of uncontrolled laughter.

Then it stopped…. I was panting through the nose tubes and screaming for release as the same sensation began just behind my balls. First the marching ants, then the tingle, then the incessant tickling which seemed to travel through my balls and up the shaft of my cock. I couldn’t believe it, I can’t stand this. Suddenly, the connection between my ankles and my wrists loosened and I had a little more movement. The tickling grew and I was screaming again into the gag, howling and cursing, fighting for release from the bonds and the sensations. I had a little more movement, but it got me nowhere, I couldn’t put an end to the sensations coursing through my cock and balls. Then it began again under my feet and I jerk hard enough to throw my restrained body through the air and I couldn’t stand it.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. I lay in a heap, panting and wheezing through the tubes and around the gag. Sweat made the rubber slide across my body and no matter how hard I tried, I could still find no release from the bonds that held me. I screamed through the gag for the ordeal to end and sank down sobbing and cursing myself. I lay there and shamefully realized that my cock was rock hard and that I had cum during the ordeal.

“Did you enjoy that”? A voice said in my ear. I jerked my head up but could see nothing of course. The darkness in which I was trapped remained constant and I could only gurgle and grunt through the gag. “What the fuck do you want, you perverted bastard” is what I wanted to say and what came out was unintelligible.

“So, my friend. You thought that you could outsmart me”, the voice continued. It was a deep masculine voice and not one I recognized at all. Under the circumstances, I don’t think I would recognize my own father’s voice. “We needed information… The best way to get it was to set you up and have you pay us a visit”, the voice broke into laughter at it’s own joke. I was in no position to appreciate the humor and I simply growled through the gag and hung my head as I realized that I had been set up and that the sting, so carefully planned, had failed before it had begun and there was an informer in our midst and I had walked into a trap.

As the head of the drug operations, it would take special circumstances to put me out in the field and into a situation where I would be vulnerable. This took special knowledge of the operations within my division. There were only a few men who might have set this up. It was clear now what my captive wanted and information; information only I could give him.

“Ah, your silence may mean you begin to comprehend my friend”; the mocking voice interrupted my thoughts and brought me back to my predicament. The rubber surrounding me suddenly felt very heavy; the heat that permeated my body was suddenly overpowering and debilitating. The tubes up my nose suddenly seemed very small and I held back my panic as I realized the seriousness of my situation. “You have information which I want and you will help me by providing it”. I shook my head in the negative. I couldn’t give information to this freak.

“I want the names of all your operatives. The undercover operatives who have infiltrated my organization and who undermine my productivity”, again the sick humor touching the edges of his voice. My worst fears were realized, I couldn’t give this bastard the names of the undercover operatives; it would mean certain death for them all.

My body already felt tortured, I was painfully restrained; I was enclosed in thick rubber; I was breathing through two small tubes; some fiendish device over which I had absolutely no control had tickled me beyond my ability to cope. I was in some unknown location, held by some unknown lunatic and I could see no means of escape and there seemed to be no opening in this prison, no ray of hope. I didn’t think I could cope with any more, yet I felt that they had not even begun their interrogation of me. I was afraid; afraid I couldn’t hold out; afraid I wouldn’t survive.

As if on cue, I suddenly felt my legs being drawn back up towards my wrists. There was some mechanism at work, pulling my bound ankles closer and closer to my wrists. It hurt badly and I struggled to make it stop. I screamed though the gag as the pain increased; my muscles were strained and as my ankles drew closer to my wrists, the bonds around my knees and thighs and around my body grew tighter. I could barely breath and the pain was unbearable. I pulled as hard as I could to stop the torture, but I could make no impact. For the first time in my life, my 6’4″ muscular frame was working against me and the pain was unbearable and my strength was as nothing.

Suddenly a strange smell hit me and my head began to reel and the pain receded a little. I moaned in pain and rolled on my stomach a little trying to find relief. As I rolled, I suddenly became aware of my cock trapped under me and it was rock hard and I was shocked to find that I was turned on and horny. I was aware of my situation; I couldn’t believe what I was feeling. What was that smell? They were using something on me and some drug. Oh shit, what’s going on. I continued to roll slightly, trapping my cock and almost humping the surface against which I lay. I couldn’t stop myself, yet I knew that I shouldn’t be feeling this way and not like this. Suddenly the marching ants started again on the soles of my feet and I knew what was coming.

I screamed through the gag as the tingle turned to the tickling sensation again. I couldn’t stand it all, the feelings, the bondage, the pain, and the smell of the drug being fed through the nose tubes. I was helplessly bound but I was turned-on. The sweat within the rubber suit acted like lubrication making my body slide against the rubber material; my cock was sliding, caught between my sweating body and the rubber covering. The tickling sensations became worse and I began to laugh around the gag; the laughter mixed with the screams; the pain mixed with the pleasure; I was helpless, I was gagged, I was in darkness and I thrashed as best my bondage would allow and only made the pain greater. I slumped in total exhaustion as the tickling stopped and the pressure on my legs and arms was released and I was able to actually straighten my legs for the first time since waking. I stretched my legs in relief, still laying on my stomach and conscious of my cock still throbbing beneath me. I rolled onto my side, my breath whistling through the nose tubes and the gag still filling my mouth. I was bathed in sweat and my entire body ached and was wracked with pain. Suddenly that smell again; the light-headed feeling which blurred the barriers between pain and pleasure.

My cock sprang to attention again and I automatically drew in great breaths through the nose tubes. I began to float in another world, the drug causing my unwilling self to enjoy the pain I was in. I drew the next breath and there was nothing… I could not breath, the air was gone and I sucked on the rubber gag filling my mouth and pulled with all my strength at the nose tubes trying to get air into my bursting lungs. I screamed silently as a greater darkness began to descent upon me. I writhed and thrashed, my hands locked behind my back and my fingers grasping within their rubber prison for something to grab onto. I heaved my body, the bindings cutting deeper into my rubber-covered flesh. I could find no escape; I was going to die yet the drug that still gripped my mind kept pushing me to focus on the throbbing between my tied and useless legs. As darkness finally descended my cock exploded in an orgasmic frenzy and as I slipped into darkness, the final thing I heard was my own silent scream within my head and the final feeling I had was as if my prostrate was being ripped from my body by the orgasm which assailed it; then…. There was nothing.

I awoke. It was light. There was no pain. It was a dream; but what a dream. I had never experienced anything like it. I tried to sit up but couldn’t. My arms were at my side and I could not raise them. I looked for the first time and found an odd quality to the light I was seeing, my sight was veiled in some way, I could see, but the images were foggy. I tried to focus and saw that there was a transparent film in front of my eyes, surrounded by blackness. I tried to swallow and found that there was something in my mouth and realization; it wasn’t a dream but a nightmare and it was real. I was still gagged, my body lay flat and as I flexed, I could feel that there were straps holding me down. I could see through the transparent material covering my eyes. I could not move my head, straps across my forehead and neck made sure of that.

In despair, I looked towards the ceiling and was shocked to see an image of what must have been me, reflected in a mirror. Though fuzzy, I was able to make out the details of the image above me although it was difficult to realize that a man was under the black rubber coverings and it was only the definite head shape, which made it clear. Black rubber covered every part of my body; only the clear plastic eye ports gave evidence to the man inside the rubber cocoon. Straps were wrapped along each limb and around the torso. Each wrist, above and below the elbow and around each bicep. Each ankle, above and below each knee and around each thigh. Across my hips, my waist, below and above my pecs and straps held me completely helpless. I flexed at each point as if to punctuate what I saw above me.

As I looked closer, I grew concerned at the tubes that seemed to bristle from my body. In particular, there was the narrow tube coming from my nose. I knew that those bastard tubes were still in place, I could feel them but only a single tube came from the hood, the two tubes joined in a “Y” configuration. A wider corrugated tube came from my face and it followed a parallel path to my left ending at an ominous looking machine standing next to me. Another tube was attached at my groin and as if by noticing these things, I became aware that my cock must have been inside that tube. A black bag beneath the tube must have contained my balls and I felt vulnerable at the thought of my jewels exposed to the demented shit that had captured me.

Tubes went to my chest and must have been lined up with my nipples. Suddenly I noticed another wide tube that came over the end of the table like a black snake. It disappeared in the region of my arse and I could only guess that it gave some form of access to my arse. My feelings sank as my imagination gave rise to wide and perverse possibilities. I was totally cut off from the outside world, each tube ended at a machine or disappeared out of site. I could only guess at the purpose of other tubes, which seemed oddly placed. I didn’t guess that some of those tubes hid wires attached to pads placed against my skin. I couldn’t feel these pads within the sweaty environment of my rubber prison.

“We meet again” said a voice in my ears. That same sarcastic humor still touched the edges of the voice. “I think that your first experience will convince you that you are completely within my control and that it’s a waste of time and effort to resist”. “You know what I want, and I always get what I want… in the end”. The man seemed so sure of himself and I felt so unsure of myself after my first experience at his hands and when was that, today, yesterday, last week and I didn’t know how long I had been here, time has stood still for me and I might already have been given up for dead by my superiors.

Depression set over me and I felt that I couldn’t resist any more of the treatment I had received. I wanted to go home, to escape, and to end this nightmare. No avenues were left open for me and the bondage was as secure as before, and being inside that rubber cocoon seemed to sap my ability to think. This was not normal, I’d never seen or heard of this type of interrogation technique before. I had to confess to being concerned and anxious and I didn’t see any way to escape from this; I could only try and hold out against what was to come.

The gag filling my mouth suddenly began to deflate with a hiss of air. The rubber bulb deflated and retracted automatically. It was disconcerting that this happened without anyone having come near me;

I flexed my jaw thankful that I was free of that vicious gag at last. “Now, my friend. I have some questions for you”. “Who the fuck are you”, I shouted. My anger suddenly surfaced and I strained against the bonds. I couldn’t move, but it felt good to finally hit back at my unknown kidnapper.

Laughter filled my ears. I opened my mouth to shout again and the gag dropped back into place and quickly inflated to fill my mouth once again. “You bastard”, I shouted through the wet rubber balloon, only unintelligible noise escaped past the rubber. It continued to inflate and I struggled against the invader in vain. My head was held firmly in place as the rubber bulb filled my mouth completely. I began to choke and I couldn’t breath and I struggled against the straps and panic filled me and overflowed wrapping itself around my mind. I screamed, but couldn’t scream, I fought for air that wasn’t there. When I thought that I would lose my mind, the rubber inside my mouth shrank to its former size. I gulped air through the nose tubes as best I could and fought to steady my heart and my breathing.

The panic slowly receded and I sank back against the table sucking air deep within me. “You will learn that I control every aspect of your life now, my friend”, the voice vibrated in my ears. “Learn this lesson and you might yet live through this”, he continued. “You will speak only to answer my questions and do you understand?”. I thought about the situation and I made a noise that I hoped sounded like “yes”. The bulb inside my mouth deflated and retracted once again. I made little difference to the amount of air available, but it still felt good to have nothing filling my mouth.

“Let’s start again”, the voice said. “I want information pertaining to your undercover operatives, names, addresses and their identities within my organization”, the man continued. “I don’t know anything about undercover operatives”, I said. “I’ll let you off that one but don’t insult my intelligence, my friend. I know more about you than you think. You are Head of Operations and responsible for placing undercover operatives”. The man knew more than he should. It was obvious that the informant had passed on a great deal of information.

“I want the username and password of the file where the information is kept at Headquarters”, the voice went on. “Wha… how do you know ab…”, I bit my tongue realizing that I had given something away. That fucking all knowing laughter again and how I hated that laugh and the unknown man who owned it.

It was useless trying to fool this man, he knew too much. Maybe there was a chance but I had to play along else he’d think I was giving up too easily. I didn’t relish being subject to his interrogation, but he’d smell a rat if I didn’t put up some resistance. “I can’t tell you”, I said. “Oh come now, you can tell me” again that hateful tinge of humor in his voice. “No, I mean that I don’t have the information on me”, I continued. “Look, Mr. Hightower, if you continue to piss me off with these attempts at deception, I will have no choice but to do…”.

As his words swept over me, the gag had dropped back into place and forced itself home by inflating quickly to fill my mouth once again. “… THIS!”, the voice finished. I felt something deep inside me begin to stir. There was something inside me and it was growing. My arse had been invaded and whatever was inside me grew bigger. Motors began to hum, and I felt a tingling at the base of my cock, which grew at the stimulation that assailed it. My 9″ cock had rapidly risen to its full height and side easily within the tube that held it. A rhythmic pulsing began to ripple along the length of my cock and I gasped around the gag as waves of pleasure rushed through me. Suddenly, that smell again, the bastard was using that drug and the pleasure continued to build. It didn’t make sense, interrogation usually meant pain, not pleasure and who was this demented fucker anyway? These thoughts flashed through my mind as the pleasure continued to build. I tried to shake off the feelings, I knew it was not right, but I could do nothing to stop it and I shouldn’t be feeling this way in these circumstances, there was something perverse about it.

I shouldn’t be enjoying these feelings. It must be the drugs…. Aaahhh, I was getting close to cumming and I strained with all my strength as the pressure built up. Suddenly it stopped, the smell was gone, the rhythmic dance along my cock ceased and the pressure in my arse dropped away. I lay there gasping for air and sucking on the rubber filling my mouth. I was bathed in sweat and I screamed as the waves of pleasure ceased completely. I was so near to a wild orgasm and it was snatched from me at the last moment. I then realized that pain was not the only type of torture and I was trained to deal with pain, I was totally unprepared for this type of situation.

“Did you enjoy that Dan? You don’t mind me calling you Dan do you?”, more of that mocking tone that I had grown to loath. “Perhaps you now realize what will be in store for you if you refuse to co-operate”. I was sobbing silently around the gag. My heart rate returned to normal and I did my best to compose myself. I looked up and saw the same image as before and nothing I saw reflected the torment within the rubber cocoon. I felt nothing but despair as I stared into the reflection of my own eyes. Two orbs of intelligence within a shiny black rubber prison. There were no bars on this prison, but it was the most effective confinement I could ever imagine.

The gag deflated and retracted once more and I flexed my mouth and jaw trying to get rid of the ache that now seemed a permanent fixture. “Dan, I will ask once more. Give me the details I need”, now a more serious tone had taken over the voice and I shuddered at the icy edge. “Okay, okay. I’ll co-operate, I can’t stand any more of this”. I almost shouted the words and even though the hood and its attachments muffled them, they reached my tormentor. They obviously had me wired for sound, as the voice was always clear in my ears. He was right; they had control of every aspect of my body and the realization made me even more depressed than before.

I couldn’t afford to give in to despair. “Well, Dan?”, the voice broke through my self-pity. “All right, the information you need is in the top draw of my desk at headquarters. Release me and I’ll take you there and hand it over”. “Very clever, Dan. Your help won’t be required, we have our own resources”.

“Fuck”, I thought. “Okay, the username is ZEBEDEE and the password is FLORENCE. You can access the files you want from that account and it’s all laid out for you. I don’t understand how the information will help you, no one can get to my computer without me”, I flung at him. “Don’t worry Dan, it’s all in hand and you’ll have to remain our guest while we check your information”.

The gag dropped into place and inflated as I opened my mouth to respond. “MMMMmmmmmhhh”, I shouted. “No, you bastard let me go”. I struggled to get free as I realized that my bluff had been called. Once they found out the information was false. More importantly, the information would lead who ever tried to get to it to be arrested. It was a set-up and the trap would catch whoever sprung it. What would happen when they realized it was a trap.

The lights in the chamber went out and I was plunged into darkness. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk and I couldn’t see. I suddenly felt something against my skin. Something like liquid was flowing next to my skin, or creeping against my skin to be more accurate.. It was a terrible sensation, lying alone in the dark unable to move or cry out. What ever it was touched me at the points of those other tubes I had been unable to identify. I didn’t know that a thick green liquid was being pumped into the rubber suit that encased me. It filled every available space around my body and covered my skin in its viscous touch. As the liquid completed its task I suddenly felt a rippling wave rush along my body. I jumped in anxiety.

“Dan, you wanted to say thank you for being co-operative today. As you may have realized, you are completely enclosed in a rubber suit of my own design. It is completely watertight and the only opening is the single tube that connects the nose tubes together. Within that suit, I can control every feeling of touch you receive. The liquid which has just been pumped into the suit will conduct small bursts of electricity from one point to the other, touching every part of the skin in which it is in contact.”. The man is sicker than I thought. “By the way, Dan. You may not get much sleep but you will certainly enjoy yourself”, the humor had returned to the voice but it didn’t make me feel any better.

Another wave ran along my body. From the tips of each toe to the tips of each finger. It was like a feather being drawn across my entire body, missing no part of my and top and bottom were equally affected. I tensed as the feeling shot across my body. Again and again the feeling ran the entire length of me increasing each time in intensity. I tried to tense as the waves passed along but I could do nothing to stop the sensations. I began to giggle as the feather-like touch continued to increase in intensity. I writhed and tried to thrash against the bonds but I could do nothing. I was completely helpless in the grip of this unlikely torture. It continued and I couldn’t help but laugh around the gag.

Then the sensations returned to my cock, the stimulation it had received earlier returned. My arse was again invaded and I could feel these points punctuated as the wave ran its course along me. As the wave crossed my cock and balls, additional sensations assailed them that left me gasping. It passed my cock and it felt as if it was being sucked; it passed my balls and it was like having a feather brushed across them; it passed my arse and it was like being fucked; it passed long my body and it was as if fingers were racing down my sides and under my arms; it passed my nipples and there were explosions of sensation which made me strain against the bonds holding me firmly.

It was relentless, it never tired, it never stopped for breath and never allowed me to fully catch my breath. I had never experienced such pleasure before and I found it soon became unbearable. I screamed as the tickling continued; I thrashed to stop those unseen fingers from ever touching my skin again but it kept on.. and on.. and on. I soon became exhausted and still it continued. As each wave passed along my body, I involuntarily tensed my aching muscles. My muscles burned more than if I had over done it at the gym, yet all the while I was held helpless in the grip of the rubber and bondage; gagged so that my screams and agonized laughter were stifled and subdued. I suffered unbearably in that dark cocoon; that rubber prison.

My screams went unheard and my halting laughter turned to agonized tears. It went on and on and I felt that I was losing my mind when suddenly the lights came on and the tickling stopped. “Well Dan, I hope you enjoyed the last four hours. It gave us time to check your information and I don’t suppose you will be at all surprised to know what happened”. The voice had returned and there was no hint of amusement in it even though the words were delivered in level tones. “You’ve spent the last four hours being rather pleasantly amused, my friend. Now its time for me to be amused because I don’t find your deception at all amusing and I lost one of my own operatives in the process”.

“One operative”, I thought, then there was more than one informer in the section and I couldn’t believe it, we were so careful to screen everyone. I tried to talk through the gag that still filled my mouth. “I don’t understand”. I couldn’t make myself understood. The gag deflated and retracted. “What is it you wish to say, my friend”, said my captor. “I was going to say that I didn’t understand, but I have the feeling that you wouldn’t believe me” I said. “You are, of course, correct Dan. You knew that the information you gave us would lead to the capture of my man. You must then, understand that I am not best pleased with you”, he said. “Don’t get me wrong, Dan. It’s not as if I don’t understand, you are protecting your own operatives and I can empathize with that. Don’t run away with the idea that I will let you get away with it though, because like you, I have to protect my men. You do understand, don’t you?”.

I opened my mouth to ask what he was going to do and the gag dropped back into place and inflated quickly to shut me up. I groan and tried to make myself understood. “Save your breath, my friend, you’re going to need it”. The cold humor had returned to his voice and I shivered in fear. I didn’t know what to expect and his last comment gave me the creeps. I wriggled and strained against all the bonds but nothing had changed and there was no escape and I could do nothing to stop what was about to happen. I screamed for mercy through the gag but only the usual unintelligible gurgling came through.

The lights went out and I heard the slight hum of machinery. It felt as though more of the liquid was being pumped into the suit although there didn’t seem to be anywhere for it to go. Suddenly the lights were on again and I blinked at the change. Something was different but I couldn’t immediately tell what it was. I looked above me and the mirror was gone. In its place I saw a man shaped object descending from the ceiling. My first impression was of those domes, which cover food trays at posh parties, but it was black on the inside and a dull grey metal around the rim. I saw tubes and wires looping into it. As it descended slowly towards me, I suddenly realized that it was going to cover me completely. There seemed to be latches around the rim that were obviously meant to lock this thing against the table upon which I was strapped. This was going to seal me in, like some metallic coffin. “Fuck” I thought, the bastard is going to bury me alive. Is that what he meant by that reference to breathing. I was scared, really scared and I shook and fought against the bonds which refused to give in the slightest.

I screamed in fear as the now black shape descended to enclose me. There was a dull thud followed by several metallic clicks as the locking mechanisms found their places and closed. My scream rang in my own ears and all other sounds were suddenly gone. There was no background noise… nothing. This was a soundproof coffin and I would die here, suffocated to death by the sadistic bastard who had kidnapped me. I shouted as best I could but I knew that nothing was going to save me. There was a slight vibration and the now familiar smell of the drug being fed through the nose tubes. I tried to hold my breath but it was only a minute or so before I had to inhale a deep breath and take that gas into my system.

Immediately, my head began to swim and the feeling of euphoria swept over me. As if on cue, the tube up my arse came to life and was joined a second later by the action of the tube which still clung to my cock. The familiar cycle of pleasure began to increase and I was gasping for air as my prostrate was ravaged by the mechanism embedded inside me. My cock had quickly swollen to its full size and the tube began to suck the head while stroking the shaft. The vacuum surrounding my cock increased and I felt my cock swell up even further. I struggled in vain as the drugged pleasure began to draw me into its depths. I tried to bite down on the gag but could only suck on its wet bulbous mass as it impassively filled my mouth.

The pleasure was building and I knew that I would soon cum in yet another explosive orgasm. Suddenly the air ceased, I couldn’t breath. The manipulations of my body increased and I sucked greedily at the gag in a vain attempt to get some air. I knew there was no air from that source and tried to inhale through my nose and still nothing. I tried to scream but there was no sound. The rhythmic manipulations of my cock continued as I struggled to live. The climax continued to build and seemed to intensify as I pulled and struggled for breath. I was flexing within the bonds but was still secured down. Even as I thought that I would pass out, my tortured cock exploded and shot its load of white sticky cum into the waiting tube. I was suddenly able to breath again and I pulled mightily at the air that came through the small tube and it wasn’t enough, but it was all I had.

As I inhaled the air into me, the drug hit me once again. The sensations around my body had not ceased or faltered but I had been too distracted to notice, but I began to notice as I felt my cock surge and my prostrate vibrate. I was so sexually stimulated; it was impossible to feel anything else. I felt another orgasm rising within me and as it got closer the air was shut off again. I was in a panic, pulling against the straps, which held me, unable, to scream and fighting for my life and the drug already in me continued to force my attention to the building climax. I fought for air once again as the climax hit and I once again shot my cum into the tube which still sucked greedily on my shaft. The air returned once more and I pulled it into me with as much force as I could muster.

My body was wracked with spasms and my muscles twitched and jerked with the effort they had been put through. I couldn’t stand this torment. I felt that I would die at the hands of that perverse and sick bastard who controlled all this. Again, I noticed that the stimulation of my body had not ceased but continued uninterrupted by the fact that I had cum again. Suddenly, his purpose was clear. The term “milking” came to mind and I knew that he meant to force me to cum over and over again. With the help of that drug of his, I couldn’t prevent myself from being aroused. With the incessant stimulation, my cock continued to respond.

That bastard was a devil. There were no whips or implements of pain at his side. His tools were he sick mind and his devices that brought pleasure and over stimulation. This was worse than any flogging or beating that I might have received and those I could cope with, but not this unending stimulation. My cock remained hard and continued to slide up and down with the pumping of the tube attached to it. The vibrating within me also continued unabated. Suddenly the sucking of my cock stopped although I felt a sharp pain as something metallic gripped it about midway. I jumped so hard that the leather straps creaked and the rubber within my mouth went further down my throat for an instant.

Something was circling the sensitive part of my cock head. It felt like a brush tracing circles around the exposed crown and round and round it went forcing a shudder from me at each revolution. This was agony and I strained mightily for release to put an end to this. I jerked as the rotating device continued its work. I had no control but was forced to jump each time the device hit its mark. I screamed and cried through the gag but could do nothing to prevent the torture from continuing. I wept and moaned and cursed through the rubber in my mouth. I pleaded and begged for mercy but still it continued. I felt myself nearing another orgasm, but this would take much longer than the others. The drug kicked in and I felt myself flying. I knew what was coming and I dreaded it. “No more”, I cried but the words were already lost by the absence of air. As the circles continued around my cock head, I sucked by reflex to get air that wasn’t there.

The sensations grew and the drugs emphasized them while I lay like a third party unable to control events and seeking only to draw air into my bursting lungs. My cock jerked and for the third time I shot cum into the impassive throat of the rubber tube. As I shot, air was pumped back to me and I drew great rasping breaths though that one tiny tube. The orgasm was almost dry and I felt as though my prostrate was trying to crawl up my shaft and down the tube. Still the stimulation continued and I could do nothing but weep, the tears going nowhere because of the rubber surrounding my head and face and rubber already soaked with my sweat, my tears and my saliva. I cried as I tried to move my head; I cried as I tried to move my hands to wipe the tears. I cried as the stimulation continued and I cried when the next hit of the drug suddenly surged into me and I knew what was going to happen next. I couldn’t stand it any more. I tumbled blissfully into unconsciousness.

End of Part 1

They came for him at 3 o’clock Friday morning. He awoke instantly, eyes wide and staring, to the sound of the front door being broken down. Within a couple of seconds he realised what was happening, and leapt out of bed. By the time he was halfway to the door they were coming up the stairs. He cursed and spun round, looking for a way out, but there was nowhere to run. All he could think of was to hide behind the door. He didn’t even make it that far. Four policemen burst into the room, grabbed him and pinned him down onto his bed, their black, shiny uniforms cold against his bare skin.

One of the policeman sounded as if he was running the show. “Anthony James Beresford, you are charged with theft under section two of the Electronic Data Act 2002. You do not need to say anything, but anything you do say will be entered into your record and reproduced in any trial or inquiry bearing on this charge. Bag him up.”

Within seconds Tony’s wrists were handcuffed behind his back, the regulation hood dropped over his head and the drawstring pulled tight. Thus completely helpless, and naked, he was marched down the stairs, out of the flat and into the waiting police car.

* * *

The trial was straightforward and unremarkable – in fact the Judge only took thirty seconds to reach his decision. Although, given that Tony was so transparently guilty there could only have been one outcome, the sentence – when he actually spoke it – sliced into him like a knife.

“Anthony James Beresford, this court finds you guilty of one count of data theft, contrary to section two of the Electronic Data Act 2002, and one count of attempted currency theft by electronic means contrary to section three of the said Act. You will undergo NCS Program 17. Take him away.” The Judge was already reading up about the next case and had forgotten him as Tony was led down to the holding cells.

He had lots of time to think while he sat there on the hard cot waiting to be moved to the NCS Centre for ‘processing’. The first thing he thought about was the bank job. How the hell had it gone wrong? He’d honestly believed he’d got away with it. Granted it was becoming increasingly difficult to hack into bank computers and divert funds, but his plan had been foolproof. Or at least he’d thought it had been. Tony still didn’t know how he’d been rumbled. They never told you how, these days, so that you wouldn’t be able to avoid the same mistake if you tried it again. Lots of things had changed in the last two years – since the great Law Reform of 2002. From little things like those hoods the police carried, for instance (some bright spark had finally realised that if a man can’t see anything it’s so much more difficult for him to fight or to escape, and now they were standard issue – every policeman carried one along with his handcuffs) – right up to the way the courts and the punishment system worked.

By the end of the 1990s the jails were so overcrowded – and it was costing the taxpayer so much money – that something radical had to be done. It arrived in the shape of the NCS – the National Correction Schedule – in September 2002. The NCS reintroduced the ‘short sharp shock’ principle which had been tried in the 1980s for young offenders but which had never really got off the ground, the idea being that the offender was dealt with quickly and intensely, and released afterwards having paid his debt to society without having incurred the long-term costs associated with custodial sentences. The taxpayers were happy, and it worked very well – in fact it had cut the occurrence of re-offending by more than half. And so it ought – because the National Correction Schedule was, not to put too fine a point on it, legalised torture.

The way it worked was straightforward, but cunning: the basic idea was similar to ‘Room 101’ in Orwell’s novel ‘1984’ – the offender was subjected to a punishment tailor-made for that individual, to be as intense and unbearable as possible. In order to determine what that might be, the offender was first subjected to ‘psychometric analysis’ (a euphemism for being connected up to a computer and having one’s mind probed) to find out which ‘procedure’ would be most (cost-) effective in his particular case – i.e. which torture would he be most susceptible to. Although almost anything could be arranged, physical pain (usually in the form of electric shocks), isolation in a sensory deprivation tank, and distress-inducing drugs were the most commonly used techniques.

Tony’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of several policemen who restrained him and led him out to the van waiting to take him to an NCS centre. The ride lasted about an hour, and by the time it was over the van’s faulty rear suspension had given him a numb bum.

He was led down corridors and down stairs, and into a warm room where his hood was pulled off and he was unceremoniously stripped, then weighed and carefully measured all over his body before being strapped into a chair. Tony found himself facing a white-coated technician standing in front of an impressive panel of blinking lights. Without speaking, the man squeezed gel onto various places at the sides of Tony’s head, on his arms, and – worryingly – at the back of his scrotum, and attached small electrodes. Next he spent a few minutes adjusting knobs and dials on the machine, while humming tunelessly, and then he turned to Tony and smiled.

“This isn’t going to hurt, although you may occasionally feel a slight sensation. The machine is ready now – please sit still and breathe easily. It’ll take about ten minutes.” He pressed a button, watched a screen carefully for a few moments, and then left the room.

Tony sat nervously while the machine did its thing – occasionally he would jump as one or other of the electrodes tingled momentarily – and he was very surprised when at one point he began to get an erection. Sadly that didn’t last, and before long the lights stopped blinking and the machine became inert. A couple of minutes later the technician reappeared and printed out the computer’s report. His eyebrows went up as he read it, and he glanced at Tony speculatively before leaving the room again with the printout.

A little later two wardens reappeared, and led Tony away.

Depending on what an offender’s treatment was determined to be, it took varying amounts of time to get things ready. In his case it was 24 hours – time Tony spent in a cell which was the identical twin of the one in which he’d been held, back at the police station. It was routine not to inform the offender what his punishment was going to be, presumably to make him worry as much as possible (although Tony would probably have worried a lot more if they had told him). He read the magazine they let him have (“Skating News” – riveting stuff) and counted the bricks in the walls (947 if you counted the broken one by the ventilation duct), and tried to sleep. But he was a very worried boy indeed.

* * *

Tony stood, held between two burly wardens, facing a thin, hawk-nosed man dressed in the ubiquitous black uniform. There was silence for a few moments while the man consulted a file on the desk before him, holding one corner of the pages in a well-manicured hand and then, without looking up, he spoke. “Anthony James Beresford, age 28, prisoner number 163544/229, you have been sentenced to National Correction Schedule Program 17. Allow me to acquaint you with your punishment.” He let the papers fall onto the desk and looked at Tony with narrow grey eyes in which there was an unmistakable glint of pleasure. He continued in a voice which oozed cruelty: “As you may know, offenders are psychometrically analyzed to determine the most effective punishment. Your PA report and recommendation are here.” He tapped the document on the desk with a long fingernail. “It would seem that you are ticklish, yes?”

Tony’s heart actually missed a couple of beats. What? Had he heard right? Ticklish? No, that couldn’t be – they wouldn’t – no – not that – nooooooo….. He realised his mouth was hanging open and that he’d stopped breathing.

“Ah. I see the thought of being … tickled,” he savoured the word lovingly, “causes you some distress, yes?”

Tony didn’t trust himself to speak.

The man got up from behind the desk, walked slowly round it, and perched on one corner facing the prisoner.

Now Tony was a self-confessed fetishist – black and shiny gear had always turned him on – and he usually found the police’s black leather uniforms: the biker-type jackets, the high boots and the tight pants with the studded belt – which held the gun, handcuffs, radio and the hood – very sexy. However, on this man it looked dreadful – and somehow extremely sinister. The jacket didn’t fit him, the boots looked pretentious, and the pants were loose. But much, much more disturbing than all that was the fact that as he watched Tony’s obvious terror at learning that he was going to suffer the one thing in all the world he couldn’t stand – being tickled – the man was getting a hard-on in his pants. This continued to grow as he described in graphic detail what was shortly going to happen to the boy.

“Your treatment will take place in three rooms. In the third of these rooms, you are eventually going to be tickled – but it is the purpose of this punishment system to ensure that the treatment is as intense and as effective on an individual as possible. Now our research indicates that a human male’s level of ticklishness – “again he enunciated the word very slowly, “is at its highest immediately after orgasm.” He leaned forward towards Tony so that their faces were only a couple of feet apart. “So, you will be forced to ejaculate first. That will happen in the second room. This will make you infinitely more … ticklish…” He paused, then frowned slightly as he continued in a concerned voice, “But there is a possibility that you may be able to resist, hold out and not let yourself cum.” The expression on his face now became pure sadism. “That is the function of the first room – to make very, very sure you can’t hold out.” He got up off the desk and sat back down behind it. “It’s quite elegant really – ” He counted off on his fingers: “Room One will make sure you can’t resist Room Two, and Room Two will make you unbearably sensitive to the torture in Room Three. He tapped the report lying on the desk. “Wonderful machine this – we know things about you that you don’t even know about yourself. Weaknesses, turn-ons, fears.. You’re in for a memorable time, Beresford. Very memorable indeed.”

Tony’s first reaction was to smirk – he was a tough jock. He’d been a star footballer and athlete at school; he had a very high tolerance for pain; he was intelligent, and generally well sorted. He was confident he could resist anything they could do to him. His only real weakness was that he was horrendously, incapacitatingly ticklish……

Then every bit of his self-assurance deserted him. It began with a slow shaking of his head, accompanied by a quiet chanting of “No, no, no, no…”, and suddenly blossomed into absolute terror as the full implication of what they were going to do to him, hit him between the eyes. Shit – they were going to strap him down and tickle torture him! He made a bolt for the door. The wardens had been expecting this, of course, and he managed to move all of two feet before they got him restrained again. They had to carry him, kicking and screaming, from the room.

As the guards dragged him out, Tony saw the hawk-nosed man watching him, and masturbating behind the desk.

* * *
Room One

The centre of the room was dominated by a large and sinister-looking device. Standing vertically, it was a rectangular table eight feet high by four feet wide and covered completely in black leather. The shape of a spread-eagled body was outlined by small hooks set into the padded surface, and there was a seven-inch diameter hole in the table where the outlined legs joined the outlined body. It was pretty clear to Tony how this table was going to be used, although he had no idea what was going to happen to him on it.

The two wardens allowed him to stand between them for a few moments looking at the device before they forced him spread-eagled against the table, and fastened him down to it with long, elastic bungee cords which they ran from one hook to the next over his limbs, pulling the cord tight between each. The hooks were numerous and closely-spaced, and when the wardens had finished he was held totally helpless, pushed tight into the leather-covered foam. His cock and balls felt exposed and vulnerable hanging through the centre hole, and the bungees over his hips, buttocks and the tops of his thighs immobilised his pelvis to such a degree that he couldn’t move it a single millimetre in any direction.

Then the wardens took a rubber mask which had been hanging from a top corner of the table and pulled it over Tony’s head. It was a full hood, with a moulded rubber face and a long apron of thinner rubber which hung down the neck to his shoulders. From the mouth area there ran a thick corrugated rubber tube which disappeared around the side of the table.

Tony couldn’t breathe! His lungs desperately tried to get air, but the only thing that happened was that the rubber mask sucked inwards and clung to his face when he tried. He began to panic – something was wrong! He was going to suffocate!

Then he heard one of the wardens laugh, and someone must have opened a valve, because cool fresh air rushed into his starved lungs through the rubber tube. One of them slapped him on his bare arse and Tony heard them leave the room. He was alone, and he had never felt so helpless in his life.

Two things happened then that scared the wits out of him: the first was that he felt something touch his cock. A light brush along the entire length of it from base to tip – something soft, like a feather. His whole body went rigid for a moment and he let out a sharp shout of surprise. The brush caused a quick, involuntary jerk of his cock in response. The second thing was that suddenly Tony could see! It took a moment for him to understand that he was looking at the other side of the table – at his own cock and balls poking through the large hole. After he calmed down, he realised that there were two small screens built into the rubber mask over his eyes. He’d been too scared and preoccupied to notice them when the mask had been put in place. They were obviously connected to a TV camera on the other side of the table. There, in detailed close-up, were his cock, balls, and an area of the insides of his thighs. A part of his brain even noticed that the image was in 3-D – the camera must have double lenses. The experience was very unnerving. Tony made his cock jerk once, just to be sure it was, in fact, his own body he was looking at. It was.

Abruptly, the scene changed. Now, instead of the hole, he was looking at a boy. He was extremely cute: in his early twenties, with black, spiky hair, startlingly blue eyes, the body of an angel, and wearing the tightest white satin shorts imaginable. But it wasn’t all that which got to him – it was the fact that he was slowly twirling a long, pointed feather in his hands – and the gorgeous but frighteningly evil smile on his face as he did it.

“Hello,” he said brightly, “I’m Martin.”

At the sight of the feather Tony immediately felt another panic attack threatening.

“Oh don’t worry – you ‘re not gonna get tickle tortured until room 3. I’m just gonna use this to make you want to cum. By the time I’ve finished with you, Anthony, you’re going to want to cum more than anything else in the world. More than you’ve ever wanted to cum before in your life. More than you ever thought possible. You will beg, Anthony – you will plead. You will promise me anything if only I will let you cum. It’s my job to make you so desperate for orgasm that you think you’re gonna go insane. it is also my job to make very sure you can’t cum.” He smiled that sexy smile again. “And I am very good at my job.”

The scene changed to a wider-angle view of the other side of the table. There was a comfortable recliner positioned beyond it, beside which was a control console and a tray of what looked like instruments of some kind. Tony watched as Martin climbed onto the recliner and got himself comfortable – but it seemed to be in the wrong position for him to reach Tony easily. Then the boy pressed a button on the console and, with a whirring of motors, the table began to lift from the floor, and to rotate slowly towards the horizontal. When it stopped, Tony was at an angle of about 45 degrees – and his genitals were some eighteen inches or so from Martin’s face.

“God I am going to love doing this,” he said with feeling. “It’s not often I get called out to do this kinda thing, and it makes me soooooo horny.”

In the view screens Tony could see him squeezing the bulge in his white shorts with one hand while running the other over the firm muscles of his stomach. As he played with himself, he stared at Tony’s fear-limp cock, and whispered, turning himself on: “You’re gonna be one horny boy in a few hours, Anthony. I’m gonna play with your cock – suck it, tickle it, tease it, jack you off very slowly so you can’t cum. Remember, boy, what’s gonna happen to you in the next room – and remember that if you cum in there, the torture in the third room is gonna be a thousand – a million – times worse for you. Your only hope is not to cum. If you can do that you’ll be able to stand the torture and beat the system. But I’m gonna make sure you can’t hold out against them in Room 2. It’s my job to make it impossible for you to resist them. I’m gonna get you so horny that when they take you to the next room, if somebody was to fucking blow on your cock you’d shoot your load. Yeah….” The bulge in his shorts was now so big it lay like a German sausage along the top of his leg, pulling the leg of his shorts away from his muscular thigh.

“Okay, you ready for this, Anthony? You ready for this, boy?”

Tony saw him select the same feather he’d put back into the tray a few minutes ago, and the view returned to the close-up of his cock and balls through the hole. His cock was still limp, and in spite of the sight of that cute boy in those sexy fucking shorts, Tony didn’t feel in the least bit horny.

But that all changed suddenly, as Martin brought the tip of the feather into contact with the bottom of Tony’s balls. An electric shock of lust ran through him as he ran the feather along his scrotum and up the sides. Tony’s cock jerked in response, and Martin chuckled quietly, “oh yeah, you and me’re gonna have some fun, boy…”

After a few more strokes of the feather Tony felt his cock begin to get firmer. ‘No!’, he warned himself, ‘I must not get horny. The only way I’m going to get through this with my sanity is by not getting horny and by not cumming. I can beat these bastards. I CAN’. He knew this was his only chance, but that boy was an expert. In his hands, that feather became a lethal weapon. It bypassed his voluntary system completely and spoke directly to that part of his brain that dealt with sexual excitement. As the feather teased around his balls and the insides of his thighs, his cock took on a life of its own and, in direct contravention of his conscious orders, began to rise. Very soon it was standing to attention – as solid and as hard as steel – and the boy hadn’t even touched it yet!

The view changed again, now showing Martin lying back on the recliner. With his free hand he slowly unzipped his shorts and freed his cock – which sprang out like a flagpole. He squeezed it a couple of times. Then he took an ice cube from the tray and popped it into his mouth. The scene returned to the close-up of the hole, and after a few moments Tony heard the sound of the ice cube hitting the floor as Martin spat it out. Immediately he leant forward and took the entire length of Tony’s cock into his mouth. Now Tony was by no means under-endowed, but every one of his seven inches disappeared down the boy’s ice-cold throat. Tony squeezed his eyes shut and silently screamed in ecstasy. The feeling was unbe-fucking-lievable. He thought he was going to shoot his load there and then. But Martin knew exactly what he was doing. Remaining perfectly motionless so there was no friction against Tony’s cock, he began to hum. A low bass note, deep in his throat, that sent wave after wave of vibrations up the length of the helpless boy’s dick. It was incredible. Then, with a final strong suck, he pulled himself off the rigid pole – the slurping noise loud in the otherwise silent room.

Tony’s cock jerked and waved in the air, hungry for more attention. The scene in his view screens cut to Martin’s shorts, with the boy’s cock thrusting out of the open fly, a pearly drop of precum clearly visible on the very tip. The bastard was enjoying this.

Abruptly Tony was looking at the hole in the table again. Martin’s shoulder momentarily obscured the view as he leaned forward and reached for something, then his hands were back, holding a long strip of wet leather. He found the centre of the strip, and placed it behind the base of Tony’s erect cock, then he formed it into a cockstrap, crossing the two ends underneath and behind his balls, back up to where he had started, and around again a few times. Finally he pulled it tight – Tony’s freshly-shaved genitals making it easy for him to position comfortably – and tied it off behind his balls.

It made Tony’s cock feel huge to him – big, sensitive, horny and exquisitely vulnerable. Again Martin reached for something, and wetted it in his mouth. When it came into view, Tony saw that it was a rubber cup about the size of an egg cup, with a small weight attached to the base of it. He placed it carefully over the end of the helpless boy’s uncut cock and squeezed the air out. When he released it, the cup grabbed Tony’s cockhead and drew it into the cup, sucking firmly. He gave it a swing, and took his hands away. Tony groaned in pleasure: the feeling was wonderful – like a mouth sucking and swinging on the end of his knob. The weight turned the slightest movement into a shuddering tingle of pleasure. This device on its own would have been enough to keep him hard and horny indefinitely – but Martin now had two hands free to work on him in other ways.

He began by stroking Tony’s thighs very lightly. He sought out every nook and cranny – gently pulling the boy’s balls away from his thigh and running the pointed end of a strip of stiff leather up and deep into the usually-hidden crevices at the sides of his scrotum, then around behind his balls, along his perineum and up the crack of his arse, teasing the rim of his arsehole by pulling the cheeks apart with the first and third finger of his hand, so exposing the pink hole, and using his second finger – the one between the other two – to tickle round the rim. This made Tony’s cock jerk so much that the rubber cup fell off, and he had to re-apply it after wetting it again. Martin’s touch was silkily teasing – light, slow, and infinitely frustrating.

He sat back, and Tony watched as Martin slowly jerked his own cock. There was now so much precum that it had run down the shaft and was lying in a pool and slowly soaking into his shorts. “OK boy,’ he drawled, “gonna have to blindfold you for this…”

Tony wondered what he meant until his view screens went off. His universe suddenly closed in as he was plunged into inky rubber blackness. If he’d felt helpless before, now it was much, much worse. He didn’t know what was coming – couldn’t see to prepare himself – and he panicked again. He struggled with all of his strength, pulling against the restraints, and trying to withdraw his cock from that damned hole – but the cords holding his body tight to the table were far stronger than he was, and they kept him immovably pressed into position. An evil laugh from the boy told him that he was getting off on his prisoner’s helplessness and panic. With an effort of will Tony got himself under control again and managed to relax, listening to his breath whistling in and out of the rubber tube.

And then Tony couldn’t breathe. The bastard had closed the air valve again. He fought for breath, but got nothing at all – then, when he was sure he was going to pass out, Martin opened the valve just a bit, and Tony drew air – screamingly slowly – into his lungs. If anything, this was even worse than not being able to breathe at all. Tony yelled “You bastard!” into the mask, not knowing or caring if the boy could hear him or not. Then he could breathe again.

Suddenly he felt his cock and balls enclosed in something cold and slippery. He knew it was Martin’s hands, but they must be in something – rubber gloves! Lubricated rubber gloves. The boy’s fingers slid smoothly and lightly over his straining cock (Tony would have thought that his panic at the lack of air would have got rid of his erection, but it was even harder now than it had been before). They glided over his balls and between his legs, and then Tony felt a cool, smooth, slippery fist enclose the whole shaft of his cock. It remained motionless for a few seconds, and then began stroking firmly – but so, so slowly – up and down the length of it. Every bit of Tony’s concentration was centred on the feeling of that lubricated, rubber-gloved hand sliding up and down over the steel-hard solidity of his shaft. He willed Martin to speed up – just a little – just enough to let him cum. He was so near. If he really tried, he reckoned he could cum before the boy realised what was happening. Yes! He could feel it beginning – yes! – yes!! YE…….

Martin let go and chuckled quietly. “As I said, I’m good at my job.”

Tony felt like kicking the boy in the balls. Shit shit shit shit SHIT!

Martin removed the suction cup, and began to play with Tony’s freshly-exposed foreskin.

Tony’s foreskin was, without doubt, the single most erogenous spot on his entire body – one of his favourite ways to make himself cum was by squeezing, stretching and pulling it. It’s difficult to describe – especially to someone who hasn’t got one – just how intensely pleasurable it could be. Now Martin started to work on it: he squeezed it over the tip of his cock, rubbed it round and round over the sensitive glans, licked the edge of it with his tongue, stretched it out and stroked it slowly – until again Tony was on the very edge of orgasm. This time he KNEW he was going to cum. There was absolutely no question. Tony opened his mouth and began to scream, “YEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!!”

But Tony didn’t cum. Yet again his cock was waving in the air, untouched. He tried to thrust his hips, to make his cock-end touch something – anything. A single touch would unquestionably have made him shoot his load – but there was nothing. Tony was hyperventilating, his breath whistling madly in and out of the rubber tube. He couldn’t stand this – he was going to go mad. At least it couldn’t get any worse.

Then the screens lit up again and Tony saw Martin lying back, jacking himself off. He picked up the feather with his free hand and ran it lazily over the tip of Tony’s straining cock as he brought himself close to orgasm.

“You a horny boy yet, Anthony?” He asked, more to himself than to Tony. “You wanna cum? You want me to suck you off, boy?” He leant forward again and took Tony’s cock gently into his hot mouth, playing with the end of it with his tongue.

This instantly brought Tony to the edge of cumming again, and the helpless boy squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. “STOP IT!!” He yelled. He mustn’t get this close! He tried to picture unsexy things – his landlady in the bath, Margaret Thatcher, anything – but it was no good. An increasingly urgent rhythmic motion made him open his eyes to look again – it was Martin jacking himself off. He let Tony’s cock fall from his mouth nanoseconds before his prisoner would have shot his load, and he smiled – his eyes almost closed.

“You wanna cum, Anthony? But you can’t, can you? You’re helpless, strapped down, controlled. I can cut off your air, I can blindfold you, I can make you cum – so easily. So fucking easily. Imagine your cock deep in my throat. Sucking. Sucking. Or my fingers playing with your foreskin, and tickling your balls. You’d cum, boy. Oh, you’d fucking cum all right – you’d shoot your spunk into my hand or my hot mouth, you’d be fucking helpless to stop yourself. You’re so close… so close…. but you can’t, can you? You can’t make yourself cum – and anyway you know that you mustn’t. You don’t know whether you want me to make you cum or not, do you? But the next room’s gonna make you cum. You can struggle all you want, fight against it till you’re blue in the face but you’re gonna cum, Anthony – you’re gonna cum. You think I’m hot? You think I’m a sexy boy? Would you like to kiss me? Fuck my face? Feel my hot lips around your cock again, milking you? While you suck my beautiful hard cock…? Would you like to see me cum? See me cuuuuummmm…..!!!”

As Tony watched, Martin arched his back and his cock jerked and throbbed as it squirted thick hot gobs of spunk into the air. Seeing that cute boy cum nearly made Tony shoot – so nearly. But not quite. He closed his eyes in desperation. He wanted to cum so badly, and seeing Martin shoot his load – seeing him get the relief Tony so urgently needed – made his torture exquisite.

Tony struggled in frustration, cursing the bonds that were holding him down, cursing the rubber mask, and the table with the hole in it that made him feel so vulnerable – so fucking horny! – but most of all Tony cursed that cute, sexy boy who knew so exactly how to push his buttons.

At least, he thought to himself, now the bastard had cum he’d have lost some of the sadistic motivation that had been driving him to make Tony suffer so much.

Martin pulled the recliner closer, and adjusted it until, when he was lying back, the end of Tony’s cock was touching his face. Then, relaxing, he lazily took the head of the boy’s dick between his lips and caressed it softly. He slid his hot, wet lips over it, hardly touching, while his tongue teased the tip slowly – so very slowly – gently parting the foreskin and stroking the naked, sensitive glans beneath. In this comfortable position, Martin could continue to do that to the boy all day if necessary.

After a few seconds of this Tony was gnashing his teeth in frustration. It was the most wonderful, horny experience he’d ever had – but he couldn’t stand it. He needed to cum more than he needed anything else in the world.

After a quarter of an hour he started to drool inside the rubber mask.

He held onto what little control he had left for as long as he could – but after twenty minutes, he broke completely. “PLEASE! Please make me cum. I’ll do anything you want. PLEEEASE – MAKE ME CUM!”

When this elicited no reaction from Martin, Tony tried threats, and then began to promise the boy more and more. “You can have my car if you let me cum. Martin? Please? You can have my house. I’ll GIVE you my house. Just let me cum. PLEASE? You can have everything I’ve got. EVERYTHING I’VE FUCKING GOT! JUST MAKE ME FUCKING CUM YOU BASTARD CUNT!!!!!!”

Finally, Martin did respond – he started to tease and tickle Tony’s balls at the same time, with a very soft feather. Tony screamed then – he reverted to some baser animal state. He struggled against the restraints, tried desperately to thrust his immovable hips, and made unintelligible noises for a long time. His entire body was one enormous cock, and there was one, and only one, reason for him to continue living: to achieve orgasm.

How long that continued Tony had no recollection. At some point Martin had removed the leather thong from around Tony’s balls, and he vaguely remembered Martin’s cumming again – Tony thought it was twice more – before he’d finished with the delirious boy. Then the wardens were unfastening his restraints.

As they took him off the table they tied his wrists together behind his back with a plastic tie. They were careful to keep his legs apart – to stop him from making himself cum on the spot. Tony heard Martin shout after him as they half-dragged, half carried him out, “Remember, Anthony, whatever you do, don’t let yourself cum….”

As he left the room, the sound of the boy’s laughter rang humiliatingly in his ears.

* * *
Room Two

The wardens took him into the middle of the second room, and held him there for a few moments so that he would go ‘off the boil’ slightly, and then they left. Even after they had released him, Tony still remained motionless, not trusting himself to move a muscle, for fear of cumming. He stood with his eyes closed in concentration, willing himself further and further back from the unthinkable precipice of ejaculation to which he was so dangerously close. After maybe half a minute, he let out a deep sigh of relief – he thought he was safer now. He opened his eyes and tried to focus, his mind still not functioning properly after the treatment he’d just received. He appeared to be in some kind of exercise room – all the walls and the floor were padded with rubber. Suddenly a voice behind him startled him so much he literally jumped.

“Hello Anthony.”

Tony spun round. ‘Oh no,’ he groaned. He was looking at a total and absolute wet dream. Physically, the boy fitted Tony’s deepest sex fantasy so perfectly that he felt himself getting close to orgasm again just looking at him. The lad was eighteen or nineteen, big and muscular; his head was shaved, except for a two-inch-wide strip of blond hair down the centre, and there was a ring though his nose. He was stripped to the waist, wearing chunky bike boots into the tops of which were tucked skin-tight leather jeans which clung to his long legs – apart from behind the knees and at the sides of the smooth, round bulge of his cock there wasn’t a single crease or fold in the shiny black leather. A coiled snake was tattooed on his right bicep, and he had the best-developed pecs Tony had ever set eyes on.

He lowered his head, fixed Tony with an unblinking gaze from his deep blue eyes, and smiled sexily, showing a perfect set of white teeth. Then, very slowly, he said: “I’m gonna make you cum, Anthony.” The way he said that sent a shiver of lust through Tony’s body. The punk’s voice bypassed his brain entirely and spoke directly to Tony’s balls.

As he looked at the punk he felt his resolve weakening again. He wanted – longed for – that beautiful, sexy boy so much that he was on the verge of screaming “oh fuck it” and flinging himself at the punk. But then the door to the third room caught his eye, and the knowledge of what unbearable horrors lay beyond it – horrors which would be unthinkably worse if he allowed this boy to make him cum – pulled him up short. He stood there shaking his head pitifully, caught in what was, for him, the ultimate dilemma. He was like a computer that had locked up – frozen – torn between two absolutes: the driving, urgent, compelling NEED to give himself to this unbelievably hot punk, and the realisation that that was the one thing he must not, under any circumstances, do.

The blond punk smiled again and slowly walked towards Tony. Tony couldn’t move – confronted with this vision straight out of his deepest fantasies, his legs had turned to jelly. The punk stopped a couple of feet away and hooked his thumbs in his belt. He nonchalantly stroked one finger along the top of his cock bulge as he watched Tony devour him with his eyes.

The boy’s motorcycle boots fastened up at the sides with thick leather straps and steel buckles. His leather jeans were skin-tight – the thongs laced through the eyelets running down the outsides of his legs had been pulled as tight as they would go, and the leather clung to his legs like a second skin – as if it had been sprayed on from an aerosol. The jeans sat low on his hips, and the heavy studded leather belt contrasted with the bronze skin of his firm, slim waist. Tony noticed that he had one of the regulation hoods attached to the side of his belt. The bulge between his legs, rather than displaying the usual sausage-shape of a cock under the leather, was round – as if a grapefruit had been pushed down the front.

He reached into his back pocket and took out a large sachet of lube. Tearing the corner off with his teeth, he poured the thick liquid onto his cupped hand, then, bending his knees outwards, smeared it thickly on the insides of his thighs and under the bulge of his cock. His eyes never left Tony’s face while he was doing this.

Tony’s mouth was dry. These people had certainly done their homework. Apart from the fact that this boy was physically as near to Tony’s idea of sexual perfection as made no difference, they were also using what was probably his single most intense fetish – skintight, bulging black leather jeans – against him. He knew beyond any shadow of doubt that there was nothing between that covering of thin, tight black leather, and the punk’s delicious, hot cock. He watched the boy’s hand spreading the slippery lubricant over the inside of his thighs – just at the top, right under the bulge of his cock and balls – making the smooth, polished black leather even shinier. Tony stared, hypnotized, and totally unable to look anywhere other than at that slippery, inviting, lube-slick leather.

Smiling teasingly, the punk stepped closer – he was now almost touching Tony. He reached with one arm around Tony’s back and pulled the boy towards him. Slowly, his strong arms forced Tony down onto the floor. He laid Tony out flat, the boy’s tied wrists sinking into the thick padded rubber, and knelt astride his waist. Then he lowered his head and stroked his mohawk lightly across Tony’s face. Tony closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh, clean smell of the boy’s hair. Raising his head again, he looked directly into Tony’s eyes. “I’m gonna make you cum, boy,” he repeated. ‘These leather jeans’re gonna milk you dry,’ he whispered.

He lay on top of Tony, guided the boy’s cock between the tops of his thighs and closed his legs tightly, enclosing the throbbing organ in boy-warmed leather. He smiled again, and then, wrapping both arms around him in a tight embrace, he kissed Tony deeply.

If Tony had been asked to choose from a hundred of the sexiest boys in the world, he would probably have chosen this one; he had never felt so overwhelmingly physically attracted to anyone before. The feel of the punk’s strong arms around him; his mouth against Tony’s, kissing deeply; and the feel of those lubricated, slippery, tight leather jeans enclosing his cock – all these things were just too much for him. Involuntarily, he began to thrust his hips, fucking the boy’s jeans.

The punk pulled his head back just far enough to see Tony’s face. “Yeah, that’s it, fuck me, boy,” he whispered. “Feel those tight leather jeans sliding over your cock, milking you. You can’t stop yourself. You’re gonna cum…”

Tony screamed to himself silently – NO! I MUST NOT CUM!!! – and made one last superhuman effort to control himself, and to stop himself cumming. He squeezed his eyes shut, stopped thrusting his pelvis, and struggled in the punk’s muscular grip, trying to hold on to the tiny bit of control he had left.

The punk felt Tony’s last, desperate effort to resist, and grinned down at him. ‘Oh no you don’t.’ He tightened the grip of his thighs, then crossed his booted feet and forced them between Tony’s so that the boy could feel his leather jeans all the way down the insides of his legs. At the same time he pistoned his hips, sliding his lubricated thighs up and down the full length of Tony’s desperate cock, jacking him off with the boy’s most intense fetish object – his leather jeans – even though Tony wasn’t moving a muscle. The blond punk crushed the boy’s mouth with his and raped it with his tongue.

That was too much. Tony instantly began to cum. His body exploded with the most shatteringly intense orgasm he had ever experienced in his life. He stared unseeingly into the punk’s blue eyes as volts of ecstasy stabbed into his brain in a torrent of pure pleasure. Tony came and came and came – he thought it was never ever going to stop. His hot spunk, bottled up and sadistically denied release for so long fountained up between the punk’s thighs and fell back in heavy, thick puddles on the shiny black leather. He shuddered and jerked like a puppet on a string as the boy’s tight jeaned thighs milked him dry.

Eventually his convulsions finally slowed, and then stopped. The punk released the hood from the side of his jeans, smiled at Tony, and kissed him gently once. “You lose,” he said. Then he slipped the hood over the boy’s head and picked him up in a fireman’s lift. “It’s torture time,” he whispered, and carried the boy over his shoulder into the third room.

* * *
Room Three

Struggling and screaming into the leather hood – knowing what was about to happen to him, but helpless to do anything about it – Tony was carried into the third room like a condemned man going to the gallows. This was it – the room in which Tony was going to be tortured – and Tony could see nothing of it at all.

Unseen hands took him from the punk’s shoulder and lowered him face up onto a surface. His legs were held straight out in front of him, and he heard motors whirring nearby. A few seconds later he felt something hard but padded grip his ankles. Then what felt like small straps were put across the joint of each big toe and tightened. At the same time someone removed the plastic tie binding his wrists. As he rubbed his wrists he heard a door close. When nothing further happened for a few moments, he tentatively raised his hands and pulled off the leather hood.

He found himself in a very strange situation: he was alone, in a wide, but very short room. It was just as long as the table he was lying on – and his feet disappeared through two holes in the wall at the end of the table. He tried to move, but the holes clamped his ankles comfortably but immovably. Tony could hear movement on the far side of the wall, and realised that the bit he was lying in was a sectioned-off part of a larger room. Apart from the wall holding his feet, he was otherwise unrestrained.

The efficiency with which they’d moved him was such that it had been less than a minute since Tony had had that incredible orgasm with the punk. His balls ached and he felt totally drained – as if not only every last drop of spunk had been milked out of him by that gorgeous punk boy, but as though somehow even more than that had been sucked from him. He felt as if he’d been connected to a vacuum cleaner.

Tony lay there for a few moments, waiting, dreading the door opening again and his torturers arriving – and so when the first touch came, it was totally unexpected.

And Tony screamed.

The bastards had gone for his most incapacitatingly ticklish spots first of all: on the other side of the wall, his torturers were working on his feet. As well as their talented fingers, they had an array of instruments at their disposal: brushes; q-tips; dry ball-point pens; feathers; pointed strips of stiff leather – plus lots more – and they used them in a non-stop assault on his size 12 feet.

Tony was beside himself with ticklishness. He writhed on the table, sat up, beat his fists on the metal surface – but nothing he did made the slightest difference. The straps across his big toes, securing them to the other side of the wall effectively immobilised them completely – he couldn’t move them an inch in any direction. The most he could do was to curl the rest of his toes slightly, and that did him no good at all. What made it worse was that apart from his feet, he was unrestrained. He could move his body wherever he wanted – but he couldn’t get away from the horrendous tickling of his feet.

He thought he was going to go insane. This was a thousand times worse even that he’d imagined it would be. Something stiff and pointed slipped between the tops of two toes and, with a sawing motion, slowly worked its way downwards. At the same time something was tickling his heels unbearably, while someone else worked on his arches, and yet another drew designs on his soles. He screamed, shrieked, laughed, cried, gasped for breath, beat his fists impotently on the table, yelled through the wall, begged and pleaded. They took not the slightest notice.

The boys in the first two rooms had done their work well. Martin, the dark-haired one had got him hornier than he’d ever been in his life – so horny, in fact, that when they’d taken him off that table a single brush against the end of his cock would have made him shoot his load. The blond wet-dream punk could have made him cum with a single finger – but holding him, kissing him, using his tight leather-jeaned thighs to milk him – that had been like using a steam roller to kill a fly. The earth-shattering orgasm that all this treatment had produced had so sensitized his nervous system that, had he been connected up to some kind of ticklishness meter, he’d have fused the thing.

He writhed in ticklish agony as they continued to find new ways of torturing his helpless feet. At one point he vaguely registered the fact that he was lying in wetness, and that he’d pissed himself.

It went on and on.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, they stopped. Tony lay back on the table, his body covered with sweat and jerking uncontrollably, expecting them to start again at any second.

But then Tony felt the small straps across his big toes being removed. Moments later the door opened and the two wardens reappeared. The wall separated and the two halves retracted into the ceiling and the floor, and through dazed eyes Tony saw for the first time the larger part of the room. It looked like a padded cell – all the surfaces were covered with very thick, soft, slightly ridged padding. As the wardens moved Tony into the centre of the room, the wall closed up again behind them and, with a final chuckle, the wardens left, closing the door behind them.

Almost immediately it opened again, and four figures entered. The first was black-haired Martin, and he was followed by the blond punk from Room 2. Two more boys Tony hadn’t seen before came in next – one was very cute, the other was more hunky – all of them were dressed identically – bike boots, leather jeans and jackets, and protective helmets – but in addition, they also wore mirror-black carbon-fibre body armour over their jackets. They formed a circle around Tony, who turned slowly like a cornered animal, not knowing what was going to happen.

Then a fifth figure entered the room. Tony gasped in terror – it was the hawk-nosed man. Unlike the others, he wore no armour or helmet. He took up position apart from the others where he could watch, and issued a terse command. Instantly the four boys closed in on Tony. Their actions had clearly been pre-arranged, as the two new boys grabbed Tony, forced him to the floor and held him down while Martin and the punk began to tickle him. Tony screamed in hysterics immediately – this was far worse than being strapped down. He fought, struggled, and tried desperately to defend himself, but he was a naked boy against four in leather, boots, helmets and armour, and he stood no chance. One would go for his sides or ribs while another squeezed his thighs just above the knees – or two would hold his arms high over his head so a third could tickle his armpits. Wherever he could put himself, hands could still reach his most ticklish spots.

They would allow him to curl up into a ball, and then one of the boys would force his hand between Tony’s thighs or tickle his feet, or dig stiff fingers into his sides, or force a hand between his upper arm and the side of his chest and work it slowly upward towards his armpit again – tickling, tickling, tickling. It was pure, unadulterated torture.

At one point they stood in a circle and passed him around from one to the other, each one tickling him in a different spot. At other times all four of them would work on him simultaneously.

Every forty-five minutes or so, the hawk-nosed man would bark a command, and the boys would stop. They would lie Tony on his back, the punk kneeling astride his head, gripping it with his knees and grinning down at the boy while he forced Tony’s face into his leather-clad crotch, and the others holding him immobile, ready for the hawk-nosed man to kneel between Tony’s legs, insert a rubber-gloved finger up the boy’s arse hole and masturbate him to orgasm quickly and efficiently. Each time this happened, Tony did everything he could to stop himself from cumming, but each time the man’s finger unerringly found his prostate and – together with his expert jacking of the boy’s cock – made the exercise academic.

And each orgasm made the torture ten times more unbearable.

Tony lost count of the number of times he passed out – but each time he came round, the torture would begin again. He pissed himself several times and his throat was hoarse with screaming.

Tony had thought that this was as bad as it could get – but after his second orgasm, the boys held him while the hawk-nosed man, grinning sadistically, slowly lowered one of the regulation hoods over his head and pulled the drawstring tight. Now, blindfolded by the thin leather, Tony couldn’t even begin to defend himself. If he’d thought it was bad before, the torture was now unimaginably worse.

The boys changed their technique, to take advantage of the fact that he couldn’t see anything. They worked on him unpredictably, from unexpected angles and directions, sometimes not touching him for many seconds, to allow his own brain to torture him by not knowing where the next unbearable tickling was going to come from. Of course, when it did come, they always made sure it was devastating.

Tony was beyond laughing, screaming, begging. The noises he was making into the leather hood were no longer human. He knew he was going to be a gibbering wreck for the rest of his life.

There was a pause, and his hood was removed. Martin lay down, and then pulled Tony on top of him so they were both lying face-up. The punk pulled Tony’s arms high over his head, cuffing them together so he could hold them there with just one hand, and a third boy clamped Tony’s ankles between his leather-jeaned legs. Martin placed his hands carefully on Tony’s sides, and then, suddenly, they all went to work on him.

Tony screamed as Martin’s stiff fingers jabbed and probed into the muscle just above his hip bones, and as the blond punk tickled Tony’s armpits – one with his free hand and the other with his mohawk hair. At the same time the cute one of the new boys went to work on Tony’s ribs and abs while the hunky one, whose legs Tony’s were tightly held between, kneaded the muscles above Tony’s knees and scraped sharp fingernails over the boy’s bare soles.

This was the worst it had ever been. Tony prayed he would pass out – but he didn’t. Covered in sweat, he screamed and struggled, but to no effect. The boys were tickling him everywhere. In the midst of this, Tony became dimly aware that the hawk-nosed man was standing over them, masturbating – and a few seconds later splashes of hot spunk landed on his chest, thighs, and genitals as the man came. His face was a mask of sadistic pleasure as he watched Tony being tortured on the floor at his feet, and his moans of ecstasy were drowned out by the boy’s screams of hysteria. With shuddering groans, the man’s contractions slowed, and he quickly zipped himself up and left the room.

Moments later the boys released Tony and, with sighs of exhaustion and chuckled comments from one to another, left as well. The blond punk turned, and winked at Tony before he left.

Tony lay there alone, quivering, on the padded floor, covered with sweat and spunk. He was physically and mentally exhausted. He jumped when the door opened a little later, but the wardens who entered assured him it was all over. They took him away for a cup of tea and a lie down.

* * *

A shaft of late afternoon sunlight shone through the window, fought its way between the almost-closed curtains, and cut the study into two like the blade of a golden knife. On one side of it stood a desk cluttered with books, discs, notepads, dirty coffee-cups, a pair of unwashed underpants, and a PC. On the other side, sitting in the murky darkness, a boy doodled on piece of paper that was already filled with drawings. Similar pages littered the floor around the chair. The ball-point pen was putting the finishing touches to a head – it was that of a youth, with a ring through his nose and a blond mohican haircut.

The boy threw down the paper, sucked the end of the biro for a few moments, and sighed deeply. For the last few days he’d been listless, unable to concentrate, and had hardly eaten anything. He could only think of one thing.

For the thousandth time, he looked across at the computer screen. On it was the logo of the First Bank of America, and below that the heading “Accounts”. One account was highlighted. At the bottom of the screen was a box containing the words “Anthony James Beresford. New balance = $100,000.00 Please press RETURN to confirm”.

Slowly, the boy got up and walked over to the machine. He extended his index finger, looked at it for a moment, and then placed it gently – almost lovingly – on the beige ‘return’ key. One single push on that key, and he would have committed a major crime – and, as he had not even tried to cover his tracks when hacking into the bank’s mainframe, the police would be here within the hour. However, if he were to push the ‘escape’ key next to it, the change of balance would not be entered, and he could continue his life without fear of punishment.

He stroked the surface of the key lightly, hardly touching the plastic. His finger moved gently from the one key to the other – back and forth – ‘escape’, ‘return’.

After a while his finger stopped above one of the keys and, with quiet determination, he pushed it all the way down.

On the computer screen, the message “Change aborted. Balance = [sterling]997.00” With a sigh, the boy switched off the computer and began to tidy the room.

* * *

On a different computer screen a similar message was being displayed. This time, however, the amount was not the same. It read “Anthony James Beresford. New balance = $500,000.00 Please press RETURN to confirm”. A finger hovered for a moment over the ‘return’ key, and then firmly pushed it. A new message came up: “Change confirmed. Balance = $500,000,00.”

A hand reached across the desk and switched off the Line Tag Generator – a piece of electronic gear that would convince any tracing equipment that the call had originated at Tony’s computer. The owner of the hand withdrew it and massaged his erect cock through his leather trousers.

He looked up at the punk and smiled thinly. “You owe me one,” said the hawk-nosed man.

The End

This rugby player should have been at training but instead he was abducted, chained, rubber hooded and ballgagged wearing only his padded under armour gear.

Click HERE to visit xtube and view the full 27 minute video!

Click HERE to visit xtube and view the full 27 minute video!

No football training for this soccer player as he spends his time kidnapped and chair tied instead.
The soccer prisoner’s wrists were tied behind his back and his upper body was roped tightly. His ankles, knees and thighs were all roped to the legs of the chair.
To prevent excessive struggling, the soccer prisoner’s neck was chained to the wall behind him. A ballgag was used to silence him and a tight rubber hood was used to provide partial sensory deprivation and a degree of breath control.

To visit xtube and view the video click here…

To visit xtube and view the video click here…

What do you think?

http://www.xtube.com/watch.php?v=ZhQKC-G606-

There’s five minutes of the chair tied, gas mask wearing, ballgagged soccer player struggling for freedom over at http://heavy-bondage.tumblr.com/post/132295294034/heavy-bondage-just-a-few-simple-rope-ties-plus

Full video coming to http://www.xtube.com/community/profile.php?user=heavybondage soon!

Forget ropes and a pathetic tape gag. This is how a kidnap victim should be stored…