Skintight clothing has always gone hand in hand with bondage. Be it tight shorts, tight underwear, tight lycra, tight jeans, tight leather or rubber…they all add to the overall aesthetic and appeal of the experience.

Here’s a little bit more X shaped spreadeagle captivity from which our failed rubber-clad prisoner simply could not escape…but this time, ‘The Captor’ decided to make ‘The Prisoner’ a little more seasonal by turning him into a shiny blue rubber Christmas decoration.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from ‘The Captor’ and ‘The Prisoner’.

‘Yule Tied’ from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

In the fourth of the ‘Alone’ series of bondage videos, ‘The Prisoner’ finds himself wearing a top to toe skintight rubber suit. His hands are placed in bondage mittens and chained high and wide to a ceiling beam and his ankles are chained together. To further add to the misery of his imprisonment, he is ballgagged and his head is then placed in a claustrophonic, breath restricting double fronted rubber hood. ‘The Prisoner’ is then left alone to contemplate his captivity and to figure out how, exactly, he manages to get himself into these situations in the first place.

Alone IV – ‘Y’ from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

An unknowing thief decides to break into the lair of ‘The Captor’ and very quickly comes to regret his decision…

#thief – part 1 from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

An unknowing thief decides to break into the lair of ‘The Captor’ and very quickly comes to regret his decision…

Video at bottom of post.

#thief – part 1 from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

After unwittingly breaking into the lair of ‘The Captor’, a very unlucky thief now finds himself to be a prisoner at the mercy of a master of bondage and captivity…

#thief – part 2 from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

After unwittingly breaking into the lair of ‘The Captor’, a very unlucky thief now finds himself to be a prisoner at the mercy of a master of bondage and captivity…

Video at end of post.

#thief – part 2 from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

‘The Captor’ promises ‘The Prisoner’ his freedom…but only if he can escape from a silver mummification in less than ten minutes…

Watch out for this new bondage movie at https://vimeo.com/heavybondage

‘The Captor’ promises ‘The Prisoner’ his freedom…but only if he can escape from a silver mummification in less than ten minutes…
Look out for ‘#silvermummy’ – a bondage movie…coming soon…

‘#silvermummy’ – a prelude from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

‘The Captor’ promises ‘The Prisoner’ his freedom…but only if he can escape from a silver mummification in less than ten minutes…

#silvermummy – a bondage movie – part 1 from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

‘The Prisoner’ has been mummified by ‘The Captor’.
‘The Prisoner’ now faces a challenge. If he can escape from his duct tape prison within ten minutes then he’ll finally be free from the clutches of the bondage master…

#silvermummy – a bondage movie – part 2 from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

His hands almost shook when he read the letter. It was printed on an old-style line printer. The letterhead was that of the District Attorney, and he was the addressee.

“The defendant is find guilty of all of the charges. For reckless driving the sentence is 20 days in prison, an open container of alcohol in a vehicle is 20 days in prison. For disturbing the peace 20 days in prison. All of the prison sentences are to be served consecutively.” stood on the letter.

“I guess I made a really poor decision. That’s an real understatement!” he thought. Speeding and trying to loose the police who tried to pull him over wasn’t the cleverest thing to do.

Now he was faced with this letter. It indicated that a warrant had been sworn out for his arrest. The Crown agreed to drop the charge of avoiding arrest, but they wouldn’t budge on other driving offenses. He never dreamed that he could land in prison! For two months!

He was to report to the Police Station within 3 days to turn himself in to face the charges, or a warrant would be issued for his arrest and he would face charges that could result in an additional two year sentence in prison.

His heart raced as he entered the Police Station, and approached the information officer at the front desk.

The receptionist was a blonde woman, a quite beautiful police matron. She smiled at him. He handed her the letter he had received.

The receptionist looked him up and down. “Follow me, please.”

She led him to a small cubicle. “Please step inside and remove all items of clothing.”

He stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind him. He stripped down to his boxer briefs. He then waited. He heard a voice, “Please step out of the cubicle.”

He stepped out. The reception again looked him up and down. Years of sport and gym had given him a tight, firm body. A set of abdominal muscles were his proudest feature.

“The prisoner must remove all items of clothing.”

“What!!”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be given prison attire.”

He stepped back inside the cubicle and pulled off his boxer briefs. He had a vision of himself in an orange prison jumpsuit. He stepped back out, naked. The receptionist grabbed all his clothes and possession and locked them away in a nearby locker. He stood naked, shivering.

“What am I supposed to wear?”

There was the briefest hint of a smirk on the receptionist’s face. She opened another locker and reached in and grabbed what appeared to be a small piece of white material. She handed the material to him.

He unfolded the material. It was a pair of shorts. White. Made from what appeared to be shiny PVC.

“Awww, man, what’s this? I can’t wear these.”

“The prisoner will wear the appropriate attire…or you can remain naked…”

There was a hint of menace in her voice. He pulled on the shorts. They were tiny, barely covering his butt. They were also skintight. They clung to his firm body. The tight, white PVC showing off his bubble butt and clearly outlining his dick and balls. Running down the outside left leg of the shorts was an eight digit collection of black letters and numbers which he assumed was his prison number.

She smiled and looked up and down his body appreciatively. “Please be seated. You will be taken shortly,” she commanded.

There was a fairly large room with rows of wooden benches. He walked over to the bench and sat down. He sat self consciously. Totally aware of his almost nakedness.

A few moments later she appeared in the doorway. “Please, stand up and turn around,” she called.

He slowly rose and walked toward her. As he rose, she took her handcuffs out of the holder on her belt, and waited for him to approach her.

He turned his back to the officer. She firmly took his arm and applied a twisting motion. He allowed her to guide him with her firm grip, and felt warm metal applied about his wrists. Each wrist was cuffed tightly so that there remained no play about his wrists whatsoever.

Next came a clattering, as she produced a pair of leg irons. She knelt by him side, and he co-operated by putting forward his feet. The ratchets were quickly latched shut.

“So… it’s two month in prison,” she said to him

Then she was taken behind the door.

Taking him by the elbow, she pulled it upward and toward the direction of the door. He stumbled in his chains as he was taken into custody.

“According to the regulations, you are to be treated as prisoner with high escape risk” she continued. “All security imposed on such prisoners will be imposed upon you. I am authorized to use any security measures I deem necessary. We are going to keep you in heavy restraints for the whole time.”

This was a joke, he thought. Surely they wouldn’t keep him so severely tied up for an entire 2 months.

He tried to resist as she led him to the far door on the right.

“Kelly, can you please help me restraining this prisoner,” she said to a beautiful blonde officer.

“My pleasure, Rachel” she answered.

Then they almost pushed him down the long hallway, and finally into a small cell. He was kept in handcuffs and leg irons.

“Come here and turn around” Rachel ordered.

“We better replace your handcuffs” Rachel explained. “I am going to put you in hinged handcuffs. They’re double-locking so they won’t over-tighten if you roll over on them, and see how they’re hinged instead of being joined by a little chain? When I lock them on you with the key holes pointing up, even if you ever did somehow get hold of the key you still wouldn’t be able to get out of them without help

Then his handcuffs were replaced and he was very tightly re-cuffed with hinged handcuffs.

“These handcuffs are a little tight” he tried with more than a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Your comfort just left your control” was the replay.

Then she was helped down on the floor and placed face down on his belly.

He tried to turn around with confusion.

“What are you talking about?” he said to the women.

“You are ours now and we are going to secure you in the most stringent ways imaginable.” Rachel said

“I’ve never agreed something like that!” he started.

“Well, we are here to put you in heavy bondage restraints and that’s what we are about to do. Hogtied with hinged handcuffs, gagged, chained and hooded” Kelly stated.

“You are joking, right?” he asked. “Gagged? For the night, too? Give me a break!

“And you are not released until your sentence is over.” Rachel continued.

“Okay, Kelly, let’s get him trussed and hogtied.”

“Hogtied? What does it mean?” he asked.

“You don’t know what a hogtie is?” she asked innocently. “You are about to find out”

“I’d better explain what we are putting on you,” Rachel said. “And if you co-operate with us, it will be easier for you”

Kelly reached down and grabbed his ankles and hinged handcuffs were placed around his ankles. Then the leg irons were removed.

“Now lift your legs straight up your back, please”. Then both handcuffs were connected together with a heavy padlock.

“Now you are hogtied” Rachel explained.

Then he felt a leather belt being looped around his upper arms and tightened roughly. His elbows were now almost touching behind his back. Then the belt was buckled there.

Kelly put a small rubber ball in his right palm.

“Do me a favor and squeeze this ball tightly please,” she said.

He complied with this seemingly innocent request. He felt something being forced over her right hand with the ball in it.

“These are called thumbless mittens. They are made of leather and their name explains what they are. When I put your hands in these, your fingers are forced into tight fists that you cannot open. These lock on with a key I have.”

The mittens were tight over his hand and the ball. Once placed on he could not move his fingers even slightly. The ball in his palm prevented him from closing his hands at all. He heard a lock click as the mitten was sealed on.

A second rubber ball was placed into his left hand and his fingers pushed around it. Another tight mitten was slipped and locked on. Her hands were now bound with handcuffs and leather.

Next the female officers pulled out a long, tapered black piece of leather. There were straps and buckles up and down the device.

“This is called a single sleeved armbinder. You can see it is pretty simple. It is a shaped piece of leather that fits over your arms and specially designed to be used with those hinged handcuffs.” Kelly explained. “Here at the bottom is where your hands will go. With those hand mittens and cuffs already on you it won’t make much difference having another layer of leather wrapping them up. The width of the sheath makes it so your arms from fingertip to elbow are going to be pinned tightly, almost together. There are straps that wrap around your arms about every five inches. Again, they are not necessary, but they just serve to make sure you are more secured. The binder goes all the way up to your shoulders. And of course we are going to strap you into this one as tightly as we physically can.”

He tried to get up, but Rachel was on her guard and forced him to his stomach again. He felt as the leather sheath was easily slid up his cuffed and bound arms. There was no way he could escape this thing. There were laces that ran the entire length of the armbinder. Slowly they began to tighten them. It took at least fifteen minutes for them to get from the tips of the fingers to the top of the shoulders. By the time they were finished, the leather stretched around his arms like a thin leather skin. There was absolutely no slack anywhere along the entire length of the binder. A flap with a zipper covered up the lacing all the way down his arms. Once this zipped up there was a lock at the top to keep it from going back down. They then wrapped all the straps around the outside of the binder – one at the wrists, one five inches higher at mid-forearm, one at the elbows, and one at the biceps. Each of these straps were pulled tight and had a small stainless steel lock on them. Finally two thicker straps ran from the top of the binder, over each of his shoulders and then buckled and locked to the other side of the binder right beneath his armpits

“This is too much!” he started. “You can’t treat me like this. I have rights”

“Temper now, mister” Kelly said. “Lets get started on those legs of yours, shall we?” She pulled out a device with thick leather straps. “I am going to sew your calf to your thigh, your ankle to your butt. Then thick leather straps will be tightened around your thighs and ankles.” she explained.

Just like his arms, they pulled each lace as tight as it could physically go, before moving to the next one up. Slowly and tightly they looped from his ankle and thigh down to his knee, fusing his leg together. By the time they were done his legs were completely immobile. Finally a very wide, very stiff leather belt was pulled around the bound legs, covering almost half of his thigh and calf. It was just another redundant addition to an already inescapable bondage and a hinged handcuff hogtie, another layer of leather to wrap him into.

When they were done, his legs were covered with a super tight leather skin from the very top of his thigh to the tip of his toe.

“Happy now?” he snapped. “You are not going to get a way with this!”

“Not quite happy yet. What do you think, Kelly, should we gag him next?” Rachel asked

She produced a red rubber ball, almost as big as a tennis ball. It had several straps and buckles attached to it.

“Look, I promise I won’t make any noise if you don’t gag me,” he pleaded.

They did not seem to hear him

“This is called a head harness ball gag, mister.” Rachel explained. “It is designed to keep this red rubber ball tightly wedged into your mouth. Once this goes on, the only sounds you will be able to make are little mews. There is no chance of you being able to slip it off without unlocking it. The straps will cover your face holding the ball in and your jaw locked around it. It is very effective.”

“I swear not to make a sound unless you say!” he pleaded! “I won’t let you put that thing in my mouth!”

Rachel put her knee into his back and grabbed his hair, pulling his head straight back. His mouth opened involuntarily as his neck was jerked roughly back. Once his mouth opened, Kelly expertly began to shove the ball in his unwilling mouth. After a few seconds of struggling the ball forced his jaw to extend wide enough to accept the rubber ball. He groaned and tried to pull his head away. Rapidly Rachel pulled the main strap of the gag around his head buckled and locked it as tightly as possible at the base of his skull. More straps ran from the ball, over his head and buckled at the top of his skull. Another strap ran under his chin and attached to the main strap around his mouth. When all these straps were tightened and locked, he could not move his jaw at all. He tried to shout around the gag, but of course nothing came out but a helpless mew.

“Isn’t that better, now we can talk without any interruptions from you.” Rachel said.

“I have something to make the gag even more effective” she continued.

Rachel picked up a soft piece of leather, almost four inches in square. On two sides it had four shining buckles. Rachel placed the leather square over his mouth and started to buckle it tight, pressing the ball deeper inside, sealing his mouth completely. Then a wide leather collar that went snugly around his neck and was shut tight by two padlocks. Short, but heavy chain was locked to the collar and attached to the wall. With it in place he could hardly move his head. He was unable to believe what was happening to him. He struggled for a few seconds, testing the binds to see if there was any slack. After several seconds of straining and pulling, all he had managed to do was cover his body with a sheen of sweat from the exertion. At this point he began to scream as loud as he could into the gag. This had no effect on the leather enveloping him so successfully. His mind raced frantically for a solution to this impossible situation. He tried to make as much moaning noises as the gag would allow.

“Well, mister,” Rachel said. “It looks like a leather hood is needed. It is going to cover your face like a second skin. There are small holes for you to breathe through your nose. Otherwise there are no other openings in that thing. You are going to be in that thing for the whole time of your sentence.

The hood was black with straps and metal rings all over it. There was no way he could allow that thing over his face. He strained and struggled to move away, shaking his head violently. Rachel then brought the leather mask over the face of the heavily restrained prisoner. The mask was all one piece, which had laces that ran all the way from the top of the skull to the base of neck. Rachel loosened all the laces and brought the hood over his shaking face. His whole body shook and strained against his inescapable bonds. It was hopeless though; the bonds that held him so well could have withstood the struggles of 50 men of his strength. There was nothing he could do as the leather was pulled over his head. He was plunged into darkness as the formed leather settled over his face. Rachel began to lace the hood at the top of his skull. She pulled and laced as the leather stretched to accommodate the prisoner inside. Soft pads fit over his eyes. Thick leather padding fit over the ball filling his mouth. As the leather hood tightened, the pad over his mouth actually forced the ball farther into his jaws. Tighter and tighter the hood laced, closing off all air, all light, and all hope of escape. A zipped flap covered the lacing and this was closed in with a small stainless steel lock. The zipper connected to a leather collar that went around his neck with the lock. He was sealed in a leather prison with no hope of escape. A two and a half-inch strap wrapped around where his eyes were. It was pulled as tight as Rachel could do it and locked behind his head. A second strap of equal size was pulled around his gagged mouth, tightened and locked behind his skull with a buckle and padlock. A final very wide strap ran under his chin, over his filled, leather-covered cheeks up to the top of his head. When this final strap was pulled as tight as cold be, his mouth was locked even more closed around the ball that had become part of his aching mouth.

Rachel ran two narrow straps from small “D” rings that were sewn into the toes of the leather leggings. Each thin strap ran to a third “D” ring that was attached to the middle of the single sleeve at about elbow level. Each of these straps was pulled tight and locked. One last strap to go, Rachel thought. She ran a belt-width strap from a buckle at the top of his skull and looped it into the same “D” ring at his elbow that held his arched feet. Rachel began shortening the strap, inch by inch. His neck arched farther back as she pulled the strap tighter.

By the time Rachel and Kelly locked this final bit of bondage off, he could not twitch a muscle; his body was immobilized by expertly applied leather and steel bondage.

“Looks like you are going to have to stay here mister until we get back.” Kelly said. Only response was a muffled mew of pleading and surrender.

Then they went to the door, turned out the lights and shut the door.

He was unaware of what was happening outside his tiny prison. He had not been able to move an inch in the fifteen minutes they had been gone. He lay in darkness. A chill passed through his body. The white PVC shorts giving him little warmth.

The next few hours were a continual cycle of he thinking about how he had to get out of this! Struggling would then ensue. He would sit quietly for a few minutes, and think about what was happening to him, but the struggle against the implacable bonds holding him.

The minutes turned to hours as he continued his desperate attempts to get even the slightest slack, the tiniest bit of relief from the constant strain of the hinged handcuffs and leather holding him. It was a hopeless fight.

He waited bound tighter than he knew possible. The darkness of the leather helmet laced around his head was overwhelming. He could not get a millimeter of slack in his bondage to give any relief. His defeat was so total and overwhelming. No sound could escape his rubber filled mouth. He could only feel the leather, rubber and metal holding him so tight, no other tactile input was available. Again and again he would struggle and pull with every fiber of his being. Again and again his bonds easily held his attempts.

Rachel returned after several hours. She casually opened the door to his cell and stepped in. He was in the exact same position that Rachel and Kelly had forced him earlier. He just continued sitting there, moaning into his gag.

Rachel began to loosen and remove the hood over his head. With all the buckles, belts and laces this was no quick process, but after an eternity she pulled the leather hood off his head. The way his body was secured still made it impossible for him to move more then a couple of inches. Rachel put a glass of water on the floor and put her finger to her lips to let him know to be quiet She then reached behind his head and unbuckled the harness gag. Rachel pulled the ball from behind his teeth; it made an audible pop as it came free. He gasped and coughed for a few moments while Rachel waited patiently

“Please… let my arms go. I won’t try to get away.” He squirmed his body around to try and show Rachel his bound arms. Rachel simply reached down and grabbed the ball gag again.

“No, no… Please. I’m sorry. I won’t say another word. I swear. Please, I can’t take that thing anymore.” Rachel simply put her finger to his lips again and gestured with the harness gag. He got the message and shut up. She brought the glass of water up to his lips and gestured for him to drink. He drank hungrily.

“Well, are you having fun?” Rachel asked. “Would you want me to remove those leather restraints and handcuffs?” she continued.

“Yes, please… I do anything if you let me go,” he pleaded.

“I bet you would want me to do that, don’t you?” she replayed. “But you know, mister, you are going to be my bondage prisoner as long as I like and there is nothing you can do about it!” She got the glass and the ball gag and walked behind him. He strained around to see what Rachel was up to. She jerked his head roughly back. He let out a squeal as his mouth jerked open. Rachel pushed the huge ball from the gag back into his still aching mouth. He tried to beg her not to do this, but the gag was as effective as it had ever been and reduced his pleading to a helpless groan. Rachel once again pulled the various straps around his face, once again buckling them as tightly as her strength would allow. She grabbed the same discipline helmet that had been on him before and brought it up to his face. His whole body shook as he desperately tried to move away from the impending leather device. It slid over his head and was laced up in a few minutes. The strap leading from the top of his head was once again attached to the “D” ring at his back.

A few moments of near freedom, only to be put right back into the exact same bondage. He was totally helpless to stop anything that Rachel wanted to do to him.

Rachel checked all the leather bonds and handcuffs one last time, pulling a buckle or two a notch tighter here and there. She briefly let her fingers touch his dick. He jumped as he felt her touch through his skintight white PVC shorts.

“You better get used to be in heavy bondage,” she said. “We are going to have so much fun with you.”

All of these images were found on the internet. Credit must be given to the creators of these images. If any of these images belong to you and you would like them removed then please contact me via this blog.

This story’s always worth a re-post…

I’d been watching him for several weeks now. Gliding by with his buddies he’d be, in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts, baggy, coursing elegantly over the corporate cement. I’d be hangin’ out on Saturdays, reading a novel, smoking cigarettes in the late spring warmth, thoroughly enjoying these young studs’ skate stunts (until the goddamn corporation cracked down later that year and put up signs and more security to drive them off). Several were quite nice-looking, but one stood out. About five-nine, jet-black hair of average length, heavy-boned frame, and, around his neck, oddly, a very-seventies shark tooth on a black leather cord. The young hunk was broad-shouldered and clearly well-built; he distracted me often from my book.

As I had decided to be more bold with my interest in good-looking, athletic, cocky young men, specifically desiring to explore my paternal disciplinary instincts, and the possibility of persuading one of these smirky, arrogant skatepunks into bondage and boyish tortures, I determined to strike up a conversation with this guy. . .eventually.

Weekend after weekend, the skatepunks did their moves. I did nothing.

But today, I’d noticed him looking over at me a few times, with what appeared to be. . .interest. (Naw, impossible. . .)

Then. . .suddenly, there he was, rocketing his board my way. My favorite skatepunk. When he got within twenty feet, I saw his eyes were locked on mine. . .he glided up, snapped the board’s end down suddenly, snagged his chariot up and padded over the grass to me.

The Skatepunk Asks For A Cigarette

Ahhh. The interest was in. . .my cigarette pack. Figures. I smiled anyway. I held up the pack of American Spirits. “Hey, you shouldn’t be smoking, pal,” I said. “You’re an athlete!” I smiled crookedly up at his face, silhouetted against the sun. He chuckled lazily. “Yeah, I know. I only smoke sometimes. Never buy ‘em. Only bum ‘em.” He took a cig. Smiling bad-boyishly at me, he sat down on the hot cement wall a couple feet to my left.

We shot the shit for a few minutes. Turned out his name was Tim.

“Yeah, I’ve got a couple of part-timer jobs. I don’t like to work much. Not with school on.”

“Well, you’re not in school now, are you? It’s summer.”

“Yeah, but. . .” He laughed and turned to me, grinning, a beautiful, devilishly boyish grin, his bright white teeth glinting sharply in the full sun as he threw his cocky head back. “Sometimes it seems I’m always in school. Fuckin’ shit.”

“I gotta fuck around, skate, scoot, party. . .you know.” He took a long drag from the cig and leaned back carefully on the wall. Then he bolted up and peeled off his t-shirt.

I jumped involuntarily at the sight of his chest. Very lean, a little more tanned than his face had given away, with a hard, gently muscled belly. His upper body was a lot more muscular than I’d guessed; Tim had a great set of small, hard, square pecs and heavy, well-beefed shoulders and upper arms. He’d be great in a fight, I thought. Jesus, I tried hard not to stare! He turned and lay back along the wall and groaned contently, stretching his blue-veined forearms behind his head, exposing a lusciously moist pair of deep armpits, lined with strong young-male tendons, bursting with exuberant, dark pit hair. I could have jumped him and poked him right there. I had to have him somehow. . .

“So you don’t have a job? What a fucking slacker.”

He looked insulted. “No way, man, I work. At the Seven Sisters. Pull espresso.” He looked serious for a moment. “Gotta save up money for my new board. Gonna cost me fucking almost two hundred bucks.”

I was kinda stunned. Not by his looks, suddenly, but by the price. “You gotta be kidding me. How can a fucking skateboard cost two bills? That’s insane.”

Time shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever. It’s a custom board.” He was looking off toward his buddies. He stood very suddenly and yelled something unintelligible at one of them.

Hooking the Trout

Tim laid back down on the wall, lifted his head, and glanced at me.

“You look like one of those frat boys.” He grinned wickedly. “Only older.”

I preferred to think of this remark as a male compliment on my clean-cut good looks.

Cocky little bastard. “Shouldn’t knock fraternities, smartass. You don’t have what it takes to be in a frat.” I pulled out a cig.

“Oh yeah? Like what am I missing? C’mon. Frat guys are a bunch of pussies. I should know. My sister’s dated enough.”

I lit my cig. “Yeah, maybe you think so, fucker, but the hazing’s tough!”

He took a drag and spewed it out extravagantly. “Oh, okay, hazing. Yeah. Gimme a break. I could handle that shit.” He glanced at me with cocky contempt, then looked away towards his buds.

I pulled myself up against the wall, stretching out my legs. “Oh, yeah, you think so, huh? You’re a little smartass, pal. Though you’re an awesome skateboarder.”

“Awesome? But you’re an old guy, so. . .”

“Old? I’m fucking twenty-nine. Old is like, seventy.”

“Nobody says ‘awesome’ anymore.” He grinned nonetheless.

“Not true, idjit.”

“Whatever. . .you’re old enough.”

“Oh yeah? Old enough for what? And how old are you?”

He leaning up again, eyeing me quickly, then grinned down at the pavement, taking a long drag off the cig.

“Nineteen.” He chuckled insultingly. “Check it out, you sit here and watch us skatin’. I’ve seen you before here. I’ve seen you here.” He met my eyes directly again, grinned again, then looked off at his buddies.

His gaze was so honest, intent, just for those few seconds. . .it threw me a little. Was he. . .getting at something? Naw, just young male bullshit, I thought to myself. Something in me suddenly decided to go for it, though, and that something started to speak.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. You think you’re so tough? Listen. How ’bout this.” I threw the cig down and stood, crushing it under my Timberland. I turned to face him with a wicked grin.

“You’re too lazy to work for your new board? Fine. I’ve got bucks. I’ll offer to buy it for you.”

He cocked his head, still lying on the cement and straining his neck to look up at me. He grinned incredulously, then sat up swiftly. “No way. Why?”

“If you can pass a simple test. Say, an hour-long test.” I was having a hard time not staring at the luxurious thatch surrounding his navel, black as the fur in his armpits, and about as dense.

“I get enough tests at the ‘dub, man. Hey!” Tim turned away suddenly, yelling again at one of his friends. They exchanged looks, and some sort of quick, unintelligible hand signs; he then turned back to me. “Anyway. Yeah. So.”

“Not an academic test, dummy,” I continued. “But it is. . . a. . . collegiate one.” I licked my lips quickly, despite myself, my heart beating harder. I turned away from his painfully handsome face, glancing off towards the guy he’d just yelled at, hoping he’d not seen my intensity. “You think my frat hazing was so easy? I’ll put you through the same one I got. For one hour. If you can pass without giving up, the skateboard’s yours.” I grinned.

He cocked his head again. He actually looked kind of interested for a moment. Then, just as quickly, his eyes turned again to his buds, the thick neck tendons swerving his skull. One of them was yelling something at us. “Cool! Hey, listen, man, gotta go.” He jumped off the wall, stuffing his t-shirt into the back pocket of his shorts. He took a few quick, lithe strides across the grass to the edge of the cement, tossed the board back down, and scooted away. But not before turning back, shooting me again that killer grin. “Hey, see ya again, dude.”

I was crushed. I went home immediately and. . .well, you can guess what.

The Next Saturday

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

We started talking about a mini-riot at one of the downtown clubs the night before. Tim still had six months to go before he could drink legally.

He brought up the subject of our previous little chat.

“Whoa. A new board? That’d be cool. Fuck. . .I need a new deck. Well, what’s it like? What kinda stupid shit they do to you?” He was curious, but also clearly a little suspicious now. He jumped off the wall quickly, picked up his board, and started screwing around with it, jumping on it, twisting, staring down at it intently, looking up at me lazily, then returning to total board absorption. Half a boy and half a man. Only nineteen.

Jeez, how was I gonna lead him, handle this. . .by instinct? Sometimes when men are with other men they’re trying to swindle, they forget they’re men themselves. . .as if the other guy were a foreign creature. . .like a female or something. I remembered this syndrome, and chilled, slowly regaining control.

I cleared my throat. “Well, if I tell you. . .that’s kind of dumb.” He glanced at me, put-off.

I continued quickly. “Alright, it’s kind of an interrogation thing. If you can tough it out, you get to join the frat.”

“Well, yeah, everybody got in the frat, though, you said.” He glanced at me with that “gee, I hadn’t realized you’re really not that bright” look. Suddenly I realized he thought he had me; he was wearing a contemptuous grin. Quickly I put on a confused look, like I was too mentally slow for him. I couldn’t tell if I were, or I was just a lucky verbal stumbler. “But it’s tough! It really was!” I suddenly copped a pathetic, pleading tone.

“Well, you went through it, man. And YOU don’t look so tough.” He laughed mockingly. “So it can’t be that big a deal!” He grinned at me arrogantly, leapt over to me, reached into my front pocket and took out my pack of Spirits. “I think I just got myself a new board, dude. Let’s go for it.”

“Sure,” I said languidly, my heart suddenly throbbing. “Wh-when?”

“Right now, dude. You just live up there, right?” he said, pointing and looking up to the beat-up old brick apartment building on the hill behind us. “Just an hour, huh?” He smiled, still looking up at the building, like he was trying to pick out the windows of my apartment. The strong, well-made fingers of his right hand stroked lazily through the thick fur of his muscled belly.

Minutes later, he was following me down the long corridor to my apartment.

Across the Threshold

“Okay. I’ve been thinking. I’m gonna change it a little.”

“Whaddya mean, change it? No way!” He had popped himself a beer and was walking back from the kitchen into the living room, well, the only room, of my ratbag studio apartment.

“No, just because. . .it can’t be identical. In this case, we’ll make it more of. . .more of a game. Here’s the gig. I’m gonna give you. . .how much do you need?”

“Like, a hundred and. . .sixty bucks.”

I thought for a moment. “I thought you said almost two bills?”

He looked at me like I was a complete moron. “Well, a hundred and sixty. . .is almost. . .two hundred. . .” He blinked.

“Okay.” Clearly this guy hasn’t been dealing with money very long. I looked in my wallet. I had a fat bunch of tens and twenties. “I’ll give you that much right now. I’ll go out in the hallway. . .no, I’ll go get some more beer at the stop-and-rob. While I’m gone, you hide each of the bills. . .”

“Stop-and-rob.” He giggled, and glanced at me, grinning. Then down at his feet. “Uhh, better make it a hundred and eighty, come to think.”

“Huh? I thought you saidÉ”

“Taxes, man. Fucking sales tax.” He jerked his handsome face up. He was still grinning, and now I could see on his big, perfect front teeth that slightly marbly look that guys get when they’re given certain antibiotics in childhood. God knows why, but I always found that kinda sexy. Whatever.

I looked at him, running my eyes quickly, carnivorously over his hot, sweaty bod. Jesus. Then I glanced quickly at and away from his moist, corrugated stomach. “What-fucking-ever. . .okay. . .here’s a hundred and eighty bucks. . .” I handed him the bills, and at that precise fucking moment Tim began absent-mindedly stroking his belly again, grazing his fingers through his thatch and even poking a finger into his navel. I thought I was gonna have a stroke.

I thought of the really foolishly huge amount of money I’d given him. “Hmmm…..doesn’t matter. . .I’ll probably get more of it back than he thinks. . .”

“You hide those in the apartment while I’m gone. When I get back, I’ll have one hour to get you to tell me where they are. Whatever you’ve still got hidden at the end of the hour is yours.”

“Wait a minute! What if you win some back? Then I won’t have enough. I don’t know, man.” He copped a cynical, bored look. “Maybe. . .” He glanced out the window, blue eyes narrowing. Far below was the corporate “skatepark”. His buddies were gliding along, far below, like wheeled ants. The roar of the freeway drowned out their sounds.

“All right, you bastard. Here. Here’s another twenty. That makes two hundred. And I still think I can get it all back from you during our game.” I was sure I blushed suddenly, confused, thinking I’d fucked up, that he’d interpret the sudden extra money as desperation to getting him into some sick situation. But my fear was for nothing. His greed (which I should have predicted) won him over immediately, and I realized that, yes, when we’re young men, cocky, untested, we think we’re immortal, that we can do anything, undergo anything, and come out on top. Always a key technique in manipulating young men: appeal to their greed and sense of omnipotence.

“Cool, man. Deal!” Tim grinned widely and chuckled, again lazily scratching that taut belly, absently playing with his own teenage male flesh, which I now noticed was streaked lightly with some sort of grime. His dark blue eyes shot pleasure at me from under the shock of black hair falling boyishly over his forehead. He raised his hand in goodbye. “See ya in a few, bro!” he half-sneered. Turning away, he began looking with interest through my library. “You read books?”, I thought insultingly, as I closed the door behind me.

I Return

As I walked back to my building with the six-pack, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of helpless frustration. You idiot. There’s no fucking reason he’s going to be there, man. You just gave a (nearly) complete stranger two hundred bucks, then left. Like he’s gonna be there? I felt like a complete moron; once again, led into stupid horny fantasies by the Mr. Happy between my thighs. As the elevator slowly rose, my stomach sank. And yet. . .as I walked in the door. . .there was Tim, squatting on the floor by a bookcase, a small pile of tomes dumped randomly on the floor. He was holding one, examining the spine. He didn’t even look up at me, but said, “Pop me a brew, dude”. Arrogant little bastard. . .

I slipped him a bottle and walked into the kitchen, putting the bag in the fridge. As I walked back into the main room, Tim was guzzling his beer thirstily. He turned to me with a new flush of cockiness.

“All done hiding my money. Can’t wait to spend it” he said, grinning, chuckling. “Come down there tomorrow and I’ll show you my stuff.”

Yeah, you’ll show me your stuff, you little bastard. “Good enough. All right, let’s get you set. Lie down on the bed. On your back. I’ll get you tied up.”

“HUH?” he drawled. Shit. “Tied the fuck up? Wait a second. You didn’t say anything about. . .why do I have to be tied up?”

“Because it’s an interrogation game, dummy.” I sniffed the air mindlessly, and suddenly caught wind of the tremendous odor this sweaty dude was throwing off from his pits. Not awful. . .just funky enough. REALLY sexy. Yow.

He cocked his head rebelliously and pursed his lips. “How do I know you’re not gonna hurt me?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, it’s just a frat hazing. Don’t be such a fucking pussy. Don’t worry, they didn’t hurt us. Remember, I got through it.”

“Well. . .okay.” He turned tough and sullen. “You do, man, and I’ll. . .” He glanced menacingly, crookedly at me. “My friends’ll fuck you up real good, man.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna hurt you, you fucking pussy.”

“Well. . .”

“Oh, I forgot. You gotta strip down to your shorts too. That’s what we had to do.”

His eyes turned suddenly matter-of-fact; setting his sensuous lips in a determined pose, he squatted down and lowered his heavy hands to his Reeboks and began unlacing them. “I should probably just get NAKED, it’s so fucking hot in here,” he blurted. I was kinda startled. Don’t worry, pal, I thought, I’ll decide when it’s hot enough in here to get you naked.

Tim pulled off his Reeboks and blue Docker shorts, revealing the rest of the plaid boxers that had been poking above his waistband. As he stretched back up and breathed heavily, my eyes couldn’t help but wander briefly to his groin, where under the boxers lay an obviously healthy, heavy basket. . .cool.

He lay down as instructed. I went into my closet, my heart beating hard again. I didn’t want to use my usual bondage stuff. . .prepared restraints, like my fur-lined cuffs, would really get him wondering, well before he was helpless. . .that might set him off.

I grabbed two of my rattier ties, one old leather belt, and seeing I had nothing else, one of my actual quality ties (this better be worth it, man, this is a GOOD tie, I thought to myself), and some old athletic socks. I quickly tied the various pieces of fabric into double-ended noose complexes, such that the ties would attach to the steel Murphy-bed frame, and the soft but strong socks would encircle the wrists and ankles of his powerful limbs.

When I walked back out, I noticed Tim had sat back up and was starting to pull off his left sock. Whoops! Don’t ruin it, man. I thought quickly. “Hey! Don’t take yer fucking socks off, man! They stink enough as it is.” Which wasn’t true, actually, but having him keep his socks on would most definitely be part of the whole game. Nothing like tickling a guy through his socks first, so that’s he’s then totally worried about how much more ticklish his feet’d be if they were completely exposed. He lay back down. I worked carefully but quickly on his ankles, fastening them tautly to the Murphy bed, spreading his legs just enough to allow access to the (hopefully) sensitive inner thighs.

Then I had him hold his arms out in front of him. He looked pretty calm, almost too calm. . .I was desperately trying to figure out his psychology on this whole scene (the mind-fuck maybe being more than half the fun right there, you guys well know). I slipped the athletic-sock nooses over his wrists together, softly but inescapably firmly, so he’d neither be hurt nor able to escape if he struggled. . .IF he struggled. . .shit. . .it better be WHEN he struggled. . .I still didn’t know if he were sensitive. . .not only did I crave a seriously ticklish teenage stud here, but I’d really feel like an idiot if I went to all this trouble only to lose a hundred and . . .no, Christ! now it was TWO hundred bucks.

I then pulled his bound wrists behind his head and tied them to the center bar at the head of the heavy steel bedframe.

Voila. Helpless.

The twin dark, deep curves of his armpits were exposed again, this time helplessly. “You’re gonna touch those teenage pits,” I thought, my cock flexing.

Stretched out as he was, his body was even more beautiful, seeing as how his ribcage looked twice as hard and muscled stretched out like that. As I ran my eyes with excited approval over his taut, rugged bod, I realized I was getting an even more-painful hard-on. I went to the kitchen and “rearranged” myself, as I began to breath excitedly. I popped another beer and nervously guzzled half of it. For about half a second I had the oddest feeling. . .the vaguest flush of boredom, that I should let him go, that I’d already won. . .what’s with that? I thought, as the moment appropriately passed, and my lust stepped back into the driver’s seat.

I then returned to the room where the young skatepunk lay bound and exposed, nearly naked, having no idea he was about to be lightly stroked, deeply probed, and generally and expertly teased into hysterical laughter and submission.

As I approached, Tim pulled languidly at the restraints, testing them, getting “comfortable”. I looked at the clock. Seven to three. The dull roar of the freeway distant below my high windows drowned out the sound of his buddies only two blocks away, who had no idea. No idea about where Tim was, or about what was about to happen to him.

“All right, let’s get started. It’s almost three. We’ll start exactly at three. You’ll get untied at four on the button.”

Tim smiled. “Two hundred bucks an hour is good pay, man. Thanks.” He grinned up at me arrogantly, the same clearly contemptuous sneer playing over his handsome face. He was really getting annoying with that. “Come on, big bro’, do your best! Let’s get this terrible frat boy ‘interrogation’ on the road!” He closed his eyes and sniggered contentedly, his belly muscles flexing.

I nodded grimly, as if I had a tough job in front of me. I liked his contempt; it would make torturing him easier. I finished the beer (I was drinking a little too quickly, I suddenly realized) and went into the little closet and found my “interrogation” kit.

I brought out the shoebox.

“Whatcha got in there?” He looked at me calmly, but intrigued, still smiling confidently, lazily. Four minutes until three.

“Just some stuff. Same kinda stuff the guys used on me. . .to get me to talk.”

“But you didn’t talk, right? They let you in the frat. . .” He stretched out against his bonds, flexing his fingers, grinding his heavy limbs and compact body into the futon, the steel springs straining loudly beneath his sturdy young bones and muscles.

“Oh, they let us in the frat. All six of us. But four of us talked. . .a lot. . ..we knuckled under pretty quickly, actually.” I grinned down at the shoebox, indulging in memory of that intense day. The laughter, the pleading, the smells of five other naked, furiously sweating young men, laughing and bucking and writhing like baby rabbits under the devilish fingers and feathers of the pledgemaster and the other upperclassmen.

“They let us all in, even though four of us, including myself, failed the test. They just wanted to test us, tease the shit out of us. . .see how tough we were. . .and they DID break us, dude. I was laughing like a fuckin’ crazy MOTHERfucker while they tortured us.”

Tim looked at me and blinked. Ha. What do you make of that, you arrogant little fucker?

“So, umm, whaddya mean, ‘talked’?”, Tim said in an uncharacteristically low voice. He had leaned his head forward, and was examining his bound bod.

“What did they interrogate you to get?” Tim was pretty swiftly looking worried. I walked over to the Murphy bed and sat down at the edge, admiring the old-fashioned, half-dump-of-a-1930′s-apartment frame, the overly-strong steel more than a match for even the wildest gyrations and thrashings of a strong, healthy kid like Tim. A wicked, more confident grin widened on my face. “I guess I’ve got to admit. . ..I’m a pretty physically sensitive guy. My older brother saw to that.” I laughed evilly.

I looked into Tim’s cobalt eyes.

“I’m a pretty fucking ticklish guy, pal. Insanely ticklish, Tim. Jesus! For most young guys, getting tickle-tortured with feathers and stuff is pretty challenging. Especially when they’re tied up and helpless. . ..like you are right now.”

Tim jolted suddenly and pulled anxiously at his bonds. His handsome blue eyes were fucking BUGGING! A nonchalant reaction from him would’ve surely been a disappointing sign, but Tim was suddenly clearly freaked, and I was well pleased!

“Wha-wha-whaddya mean, um, ti-ti-ticklish?” He licked his lips and glanced down quickly past his muscular, hairy belly at his sock-clad feet, then back up at me, uncomprehending-like, but. . .comprehending.

I answered him coolly. “Well, the thing was, they told us all this secret stuff, secret frat stuff; y’know, dumb stuff like, secret code words and shit. . .” I grinned at the recollection, looking away from his handsome face and far into a distance. “Secret stuff we weren’t supposedly to reveal to any other man, no matter how we were tortured. Guess like in the military, or something.”

I looked calmly at him. Indulgently, even. Big brother to little brother look. Then I looked down into the box and slowly pulled out my prized tickler: a good-sized seagull feather, in really good shape. Spines still stiff, tip still soft. Perfect to start freaking out a nineteen-year old, cocky-ass, near-nude skatepunk.

“Thing was, nothing they told us to memorize, but not to tell, was real.” I straightened up my posture. “Just a bunch of made-up shit. Just so they could torture us. Tickle-torture us.” I began twirling the feather between my fingers.

Tim was staring hard at the feather, not EVEN blinking. You woulda had to have seen that look, you guys. . .Jesus. Priceless.

He said one word. One long, drawn out word, in a low voice. “No-o-o-o.”

I cocked my head, smiling. “Whaddya mean, no-o-o-o-o-o?”

He blinked now, staring at the feather, then catching himself, efficiently changing demeanor. “I mean, no, (clearing his throat) um, yeah, I see what you’re saying. But I’m not. . .you know. . .” he chuckled gamely, “uhhh, sensitive, ummm, y’know, uhhh, th-that way.”

I looked down at the feather and dramatically and slowly drew its long whitish edge along my left palm. Christ, would that tickle on a young man’s belly. (And had, in fact; on my former roommate of six months back.) “You’re not what, you mean?”

“Not. . .huh? No, like, I mean, uhhh, Chris man, I, uh, mean I’m not, I’m not. . . you know, like. . .I’m not, heh heh, like, (*gulping*) ti-ticklish, m-man.” He grinned nervously and gulped again, having said the magic word. Ah, Lord. I just wanted to hear him say it again. (Please, Tim, say again the word “ticklish”.)

“Huh? You’re not. . .what?”

“Ti-ticklish.”

Nice.

Again he stuttered. And blushed. Excellent. And as I stroked my eyes along his belly, up between his taut pecs, and up to his baby blue orbs, he blushed deeply and gulped again. That time he must have caught it. . .he had to have fully realized by the look I must have been wearing that I wanted his unbelievable body BADLY.

“You’re kidding! Not ticklish? A studly, athletic young guy like you? Shit! Too bad, man. Goddamn it, I guess I’m gonna lose the money. Shoot. Guess I should just untie you and let you have the bucks, dude.” I stared back into his dark blue eyes. “Shit, I thought for sure I’d had you. I thought for sure you’d be fucking ticklish as hell.”

He relaxed totally and suddenly, letting out a strong sigh of relief. “Yeah, sorry. Wow. Guess I win. Sorry, guy. Ha ha.” The bedsprings creaked as he relaxed.

“Yeah, man. . .I mean, it woulda been great to check out your stomach. . .and those pits! Seemed to me that a little teasing there, with this feather, for instance, would drive you wild, drive you outta yer fuckin’ mind. But if you say so.”

Oh Christ. It was gonna happen. And since teasing is the key to this scene’s excitement, I teased. I continued to wear my disappointed loser’s look as I put the big feather down on the bed next to the firm flesh of his tanned right side and moved down to his right ankle and began to undo the slipknot, while I continued to mutter mock-angrily about the money I was supposedly going to lose.

“Yeah, those guys tickled us fucking half to death to get us to spit up the secret info, just to see if we were the kinda guys who’d crack. And, as I said, most of us were!” While I continued to slowly undo the knot holding his left leg firm, I paused. . .

“But you never know. ” I brightened up a bit, dropping his ankle. “Y’know, Tim, you just might be more sensitive than you think.” I stopped for a second, looking off into near space dramatically, like a dummy thinking hard; I then refastened his ankle. “Before I untie you, I might as well test your reactions, just to see if you’re at all ticklish. . .like maybe with this feather here?” Again I picked up the feather that I’d placed just inches from his ribcage. I was grinning stupidly.

I climbed up on the bed and straddled his hips snugly. He tensed immediately, and looked terrified again. “I mean, you never know, man.” His sharply clear blue eyes stared straight into mine. That neatly sculpted, all-American face, with some of that proud beauty of a German Shepherd. The youth’s breath ragged, expectant. Beautiful. Deer-in-headlights look. Waiting breathlessly.

Doomed. . .

The Tickle-Torture Begins

“I think I’ll start right about. . .here. . .right over your lower stomach. Let’s just see what happens. Let’s just see what happens when I stroke this feather over your stomach.”

I slowly brought the white tip down over Tim’s rock-hard belly, turned the point downwards, and, at long last, began to stroke him. One stroke, two, three. . . The little feather danced lightly over the fur and down under, onto the smooth skin around his navel. The kid tensed, and his stomach trembled; as I continued to stroke, his powerful abs spasmed in little involuntary jerks.

“Ahhh. . .ahhh. . ..uhhh. . .uhhhnnngggghhhh. . ..guh. . .guh-huh. . .huh-hu-huh. . .ahhhhh. . ..haha. . ..heh. . .heh-heh. . ..”

“No! Ahaahahaha. . .stop, I. . .”

I drew the tip slowly across the edge of his boxers. Tim began to tremble harder as the feather got closer to his soft groin skin.

“No-oo-oo. . .ahhh. . ..no. . .no. . .you don’t have t. . .t..taahhh. . .to do this. . .I’m. . .not. . .ahhh. . .ticklish, c’mon, you. . .ahhhhahah. . .”

“Well, I don’t know, buddy. You seem to be having kind of a hard time here. You sure?” I copped the loser look again. “Or are you just trying to get my hopes up? C’mon man, that’s mean! I really don’t have the two hundred bucks to lose!” I straightened up, adding indignance and outraged pride to my rising voice. “I’ve got to get some of that money back! Jesus, you told me you only needed a hundred and sixty anyway!”

I put the feather down. He relaxed slightly, still staring up directly into my eyes, slightly mesmerized, panting.

I began moving my fingertips, all ten, over his beautiful torso. Feeling him up lightly. God, it was great. His smooth young skin, his rock-hard belly, completely mine. Like probing the surface of a trampoline made of veal. Nothing he could do to stop me from lustfully stroking him. He jumped at this new stimulation, and yelped a little, squelched it quickly and twisted involuntarily. I could feel his solid thighs trembling underneath my butt. I decided immediately not to overload him with sensations. . .clearly I had at least a reasonably ticklish guy here. . .better to give him the hope that I’d be a lame or lazy tickler, and he’d be able to keep his cool. Better to torture him psychologically as well, and give him hope of escape, if he’d just be able to keep his cool!

Under the goofy-green plaid boxers, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a quick glimpse of. . .movement.

“Well, not much reaction there, really,” I lied, like I was blind. I examined his thickly-furred little navel. . .the same belly button he’d been stroking himself just fifteen minutes before. . .with a single finger tip I stroked all around it, dipping down into it a couple of times, then back out, still stroking his taut flesh, loving the smooth feel of his helpless young male skin, as well as the light tickling of his belly hair on my fingerpads.

“Ahhhh. . .huh. . .huhuhhhh. . .” He gasped and twitched excitedly. Yep, ticklish navel. Under my hand I could clearly see the boxer fabric moving. . .forming into. . .a solid, thickening shape.

For a good ten minutes, I simply stroked him all over real lightly, all along his thighs, his muscular, thick hairy calves, down to the tops of his feet, and stopping there, guessing that if I went an inch further. . .then I started back up. I was having so much horny fun just touching this muscled punk all over, I didn’t want it to end with a sudden hysterical cave-in on his part, which would undoubtedly happen if I stayed in any one spot too long. His whole beautiful body was now all goose-bumped, shaking subtly but electrically; his excited, ragged gasping turning me on like all get-out; and as I turned round again from his feet to face him, now it was obvious: he had a full fucking hard-on. His snugly-hidden prick pressed out arrogantly, sideways, against the fabric of his boxers. Ouch! It seemed to me like a painful position for a cock to be in, especially one as healthily-sized as his clearly was, pointed off to the side like that, raising its head hard and wet against the fabric like the nose of a puppy under a blanket. I had a hard time taking my eyes off it, and he saw my constant, practically lip-licking glances down at it, but I said nothing, nor of course did he.

I had a new idea. He still hadn’t laughed really hard out loud, and could still make the case that he wasn’t really ticklish. Could I make his body arch up off the bed without making him giggle or cave in?

“All right, my tough-ass little pledge. Let’s try some new spots.”

“OKAY! No PROBlem,” he gasped faux-confidently, still staring, but now smiling widely, idiotically, his eyes big as hubcaps. “This is still. . .haha. . .kinda. . .huh. . .dumb. . .”

“I’ll test you here, along the very bottom of your ribs, towards your back.” Tim licked his lips quickly and squirmed. I straddled him again (Jesus, man, drop the hard-on, or I’M gonna lose it!) and reached my fingertips down to where his moist sides met the skewed, sweat-dampened fabric of the bedsheets.

With a gentle but rapid stroking of just my fingernails, I moved along his sides, from his lower abdomen all the way up to just under his hairy armpits. It took only a few rapid, efficient trial runs before Tim was gasping again as before, his blue eyes steeled hard, but my premonition had been right: he began to arch his back to pull his body away from my dancing fingertips. As he gradually arched up, holding himself off the bed slightly, I moved my fingers just so under his back and kept up the stroking, and sure enough his trembling increased. Now he began to emit little groans as he desperately raised his back up even farther.

After a minute of this, I had his back completely bowed. His upper body rested on his rear shoulder muscles, and his butt was held to the bed by my straddling weight. I now used my fingertips to continue tickling his back, and used each thumb pad to reach up and brush his ribs. Oops. “GAH. . .gah. . .uhhhhHA. . .huuuh. . .ahha. . .haha. . .gnhhh, hnnh, hnnnhh hnnnhh.” He suddenly started trembling and gasping a whole lot more, and his face broke out into an even wider, tortured grin. His eyes, which had been directed towards the ceiling, fixed at some spot like he was trying to meditate away my caresses, clenched shut. He was just about to lose it, and as my hands moved back down his torso, my thumbpads gently lapped at his soft, taut skin as I ran them just under his shorts. “GAH! HA! HA!” he blurted suddenly. Writhing strongly, he started to giggle steadily, and out of the bursting plaid bag of his boxers suddenly jutted the fat tip of his thick prick. I pulled my hands away and he fell, tired with effort, back down hard on the bed. Oh my god.

Over six inches, velvet plum head all slick with his juices, which the elastic had just tautly drawn in a wet film over his sensitive, swelling cockhead. He trembled, growling like a tomcat. His shorts had just missed jacking him off! (Oh God, I must be tripping, this is so good!, I thought.)

“Well, I haven’t been very successful. But you’re obviously sensitive to some extent.” I grinned fake mutual buddy-embarrassment as I glanced at the several wet inches of him that were exposed, then back into his eyes. He was breathlessly turned on, blushing furiously, choking in and out short, hard breaths, embarrassed by getting a hard-on in front of another guy; he stared at me wide-eyed again, and oddly, it seemed with some sort of. . .boyish awe..

“Until your woody popped out just now, I was gonna let you go. But now I think. . .I deserve another chance to get you to laugh and break down. Though you’re obviously a real tough guy, maybe I can tickle the location of at least a ten-spot out of you.”

I glanced at the clock-radio. Already fifteen minutes had passed. Damn! Time was going too quickly! There was no way I would relent on my promise to untie him precisely at four. I’m used to guys taking me at my word, and I wasn’t gonna break it now for anything. . .not even for the prolonged enjoyment of Mr. Tim, nor certainly just to get my bucks back.

“I’ll make you a deal. I think you’re right. I think you’re tougher than I was, too tough to get you to submit. How ’bout this for a deal. I’ll continue to probe you. The minute you lose the hard-on, I’ll consider myself to have lost, and I’ll untie you. That seems fair to me.”

The air was faintly sharp with the salty Clorox odor of his precum. I started to feel kinda faint. It’s really hard for me in a situation like this not to immediate slurp that clean, young, boyish juice, to feel the sturdy buck moan and writhe helplessly as his velvety cock is stroked and licked by my supereager tongue. Always wondered why I’ve been so weak for the taste of man-juice. . .eventually attributed it to growing up in a small, southern Cal beach town, spending every possible hour swimming or body-surfing as far out as possible, beyond the reach of help. . .occasionally, caught helplessly in a wave, gulping down warm salty water. . .But Tim’s climax would come later. . .right now, we had a lot more ticklish investigations for him, a lot of robust masculine laughter to coax out of his tautly-muscled ribs and armpits. . .

“Think you can do it?” He said nothing, but kinda shrugged as best he could within his strong, soft bonds, still staring stupidly.

I was now impatient for him to break down and admit his ticklishness. I got two Q-Tips and decided to try a technique I’d long wanted to. I began to stroke them over his stomach again, but this time I was not going to go lightly. When he tensed and gasped again, I kept up at his navel, drawing slow circles with one,. while stroking with the other in random, difficult-to-predict patterns. With one Q-tip, I decided to explore the inside of his rather large, deep navel, just to see. As I wriggled it around there, Tim suddenly began to gasp and giggle desperately. I stopped immediately; obviously I could break him there in his navel. Gradually I moved up his ribs a few inches, then down one. As he watched me, squirming slightly and grinning again, I wanted him to see where I was aiming. Where the Q-Tips were going. So he’d freak. ‘Cause that’s where I would take him down. I somehow knew it. And it’s my favorite spot to torture these super-masculine guys in. No man can resist this spot. I think Nature bred it into men as a place for maintaining male hierarchical structure, a place where guys could discipline each other with erotic overtones while causing no pain. A male-bonding spot.

The deep, muscled, moist, darkly-hairy crevices of the armpits.

As he stared intently at me, nervous, squirming, alert as a guard dog, I’d glance at his pits. Then I’d move the Q-tips up his ribs again. Then down one inch. . .then another grinning, evil glance at his pits, then. . .another evil glance at his pits, then slowly back up. . . About three or four glances back and forth at his armpits, and he got the picture. Tim knew exactly where the little Q-Tips were heading. And now, finally. . .he really started to squirm, and started, finally, to REALLY giggle.

“Hahaha. . .heheehh. . .ahhhh. . .gah. . .hahaahh..hehhee. . .nawhhhahahaha. . .nawwwhhhh. . .c’mon. . .”

“Whatsa matter, man?” I asked, smiling. I paused for a couple seconds, just to tease him. He calmed slightly. I then continued, grinning wildly. Tim continued to gradually break down, picking up again with the shuddering and steady giggling. Finally, I knew that he knew that I knew, and that it was all over with the pretend-teasing. His deep-voiced, thoroughly masculine giggling was now continuing unabated, and the giggles now openly began to turn to outright laughter; for the first time, his arms began jerking really hard against his bonds. “Ha haha haha hahahahaaha. . ..hahahaha. . .ohhhaaa. . ..no, I. . .hahahahaahaaa HAhahahaha. . .”

Now or never. Very lightly, VERY fucking lightly, while I stared at his handsome face to catch every sensation therein registered, I slowly moved the one Q-Tip right up to the tautly-tendoned threshold, the dark entrance to his right ‘pit, and let it hesitantly sniff at its sensitive quarry, the deep, dark Realm of the Hairy ‘Pit. Tim tensed and gulped, and closed his eyes again. Then I let the other Q-tip trace a light, dancing line to the edge of Tim’s other ‘pit. He continued to giggle and writhe mindlessly. And I began the decisive, stud-breaking strokes.

Ever so slowly, I directed the cotton tips, in a back-and-forth little dance, over the Maginot Line of his tendons, then suddenly and swiftly down, directly down the ticklish slopes into the deep secret wells of his ‘pits.

“AAAHH! AAAAGH!! AHAHAHAHA, AHAHA, HAHAHAAAAHHH!!!”

And in two seconds Tim lost it entirely. Bucking wildly, he began screaming and laughing uncontrollably. Licking my lips, unbelieving my luck, I stroked and stroked the Q-tips throught the helpless, doomed pits, the hairy pits which were betraying him, revealing his decisive, boyish weakness. “AHAHAHAHAHA, ahh, f-f-u-hahaHaHaHAHAHAAA, oh, sh-shi-shi-hahahHAHAHAHa, uhhhahHAH..AHAHAHAHAHA!!!” He was laughing so hard, going so crazy, so wildly ticklish in his armpits he was, and so giddy was I, that I started laughing too. I continued for about one minute. Then I dropped the Q-Tips, and the pretense that I might not break him, and, still laughing excitedly myself, plunged my fingertips into his sopping, deep hollows. He continued to scream and laugh, but even harder, louder now, thrashing his head up and down against the pillow, trying hard to say something that was getting choked off in his now-hysterical laughter. “What’s this, buddy?” I taunted him. “What’s this?”

After a couple of no-holds-barred tickling minutes, I chilled a bit, though still lightly tickling him there in his ‘pits, and he cooled down enough to begin breathlessly pleading.

“PLEA-EA-EA AHAHAHAHA -EA-EA-SE ST-ST- AHAhahahahah. . ..stop! It. . .hahahaha, c’c’c’mon, it. . .”

“It what?” I laughed.

“AAHHAHAHAHA, OHHH. . .AAHAHAHAHAH, AAAUUUGGH! GOD, STOP ahahahahHAHAHA!”

“FINISH THE SENTENCE, Tim. It ‘what’?” I stepped up the light scraping of my fingernails in his armpits. “Say it, Tim.”

“OKA..HAHAHAHA, Ohhhh, OKAY hahahahaHAAHAAAAAAHHH, it TICKLES!”, he bawled out.

“And I thought you said you weren’t ticklish.” I drew my wet fingers from his ‘pits, and stroked him lazily all over his ribs and hard stomach. He continued to giggle and buck as his voice returned.

“AAAAUGH hahahaha-a-a-a-hhhhh, ahhh, I, (*nngghh*) haha, heh, adMIT it, okAY? Hahaha, oh, ohhh, uhhhh, sh-shit, don’t, don’t. . .don’t TICKle, dude, haha, please. . . I’m totally ticklish there, man! Don’t! D-d-haha-DON’T, man, oh please, haha, it TICKLES, dude, haha, STOP!”

“Where? Your ‘pits? You mean. . .up here?”

Tim jerked and began laughing nervously, his eyes wide. “Oh! Ohhh-ha, haha, hahaHAhahahhh, I. . .ah-hah, d-don’t HAHAhaha tickle me, haha there, ummmmnnnnggggghahahahHAHAHAAAAgh, oh, no, ahhh, AHHHHhhh, pt-hee-hee, ahhh, no! Please, man! Oh, oh fuck, haha, god, just. . .mmmnnnggggghahHAHAHA not, NO, c’mon, fuck-HAHA-fucker, NO, not, HAHAH in my, not, NO, NO, NO, dude, hahahahhhhh, NOT IN MY PITS! Please, God! Ahahahaha, oh, not, ahahahah, oohhhohoha, please, not THAT!”

All that pleading, as I swept my tickling fingers up and around his writhing upper bod, closer and closer to his sensitive hollows, and quickly back in, back into his dripping pits, driving him crazy wild again.

And now, to get my money back. . .

The REAL Struggle Begins. . .

Tim gulped for breath as I let his pits alone to move down to his feet.

“Where. . .where’re ya. . .hey, no, hahaha, no, NO, NO-O!”

“OKAY!! I already admitted it!! I lied, haha, I’m a fuckin’ dick, haha, heh heh, ohhhh. . .”

“NAWWWW, AHahahaHAAAH!!! AAAAGH! AUUUGH! PLEAse man, I. . .HAAAAHAHAHA!”

“Yes, you fucking lied to me!” I grinned punishingly down at him. “You lied!!! You unnnncoooolll little bastard!”

His thick white athletic socks were now giving off clouds of that familiar, acrid, but totally erotic locker-room odor.

“So let’s test your feet, buddy. You ticklish here, too, like in your ‘pits?”

His feet were leaping half-assed, like chained trout, the assumedly-sensitive soles hidden by his socks. Only temporary protectors, my friend, I guarantee you.

I pulled off his right sock, and he continued to giggle and squeal, knowing full well what was coming.

“You about ready to tell me where you hid any of the money?”

“NO! Ha ha, uh, hhhaaa, haa, I mean, I don’t remember, no, hahahaha, PLEease!”

“You can’t remember? That’s hardly plausible.” I wiggled my fingers and brought them closer to pink, moist sole. He instantly jerked his tanned, hairy calves against his ankle bonds.

“I mean, ha ha, you’ve got me, ha ha ha, man, kinda freaked out!”

“Oh, you don’t remember? Maybe this’ll remind you!” While pulling off his left sock with one hand, Tim still giggling and begging, I raked his right sole with my fingernails.

“AAAAAGGGGHHHHH HAHAHA, HAHAHAHA, OH GOD, AHAHAHAHA!!!”

He starting bucking high off the bed, without my weight to pin him, and he was shaking his handsome head back and forth hard while I tickled on, scraping both his soles with my fingernails. Drops of juice flew off his manic prick as it slapped hard, repeatedly, against his lean belly. With time passing quickly, I was determined to tickle some of this teenaged punk’s money ( I mean, MY money!) back from him. So I just kept it up. . .just kept tickling his beautiful, soft, sensitive feet while gales of deep, masculine laughter erupted from his deepest guts. He started having a little trouble breathing, so I immediately slowed down and let him catch his breath substantially, hoping he’d give in. . ..when he didn’t, and was OK again, I started up again with the tickling, and he naturally started up again with the hysterical bucking and howling. He looked like a sleek dolphin trying to leap over a barrier.

Just when I suspected that he secretly LIKED being tickle-tortured, and I thought, “Jeez, what if I CAN’T get him to succumb. . .Christ, I can’t be out two hundred bucks!”, he yelled between wild yelps, “OKAY!! I’ll HA HA SHIT TALK!! HA ha ha SHIT MOTHER hahaha FUCK I’ll TALK!!! HAHAHAHAH!!!” I immediately stopped stroking his warm, still-twitching feet, and held them in each hand, massaging them firmly, to take away the ticklish sensations. He moaned in relief, and fell back on the bed. I was overcome with affection for him. He grinned nervously at me, out of breath, and said, really quickly, breathlessly, “Okay, man, there’s one in that book over there, on the end of the shelf. . .the black one, with the swastika on it!” I glanced over where he was looking. It was my copy of Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. I grinned back at him, half-surprised that he wasn’t pissed or terrified. . .he sure was playing along with this game. . .almost suspiciously well. . ..I grabbed the book and opened it, and sure enough, a ten-dollar bill fell out. A hundred and ninety bucks to go. . .but only 35 minutes. . ..

Tim Is Rendered Naked

I let my boy calm down again.

“You’re still rock-hard, man. So you lose. And that means you’re gonna lose your shorts. And that means more places for me to explore. Like. . .with THIS feather!”

Tim clenched his eyes shut again and laughed uproariously, shaking his head back and forth vigorously, even though I wasn’t tickling him. Although I was holding up for his contemplation a doozy of a tickler: a four-inch, narrow, sharply-pointed little feather, bright green, that I’d gotten off the tail of my dead parrot a couple years before.

“NO-O-O-A-HAHA HA heh heh. . .Oh God, please don’t. . .please don’t. . .FUCK, ahahaha, take off my. . .Oh my god, ohmigod, omiGOD please, man, no. . .I. . .I. . .”

“Whatsa matter, Tim? You afraid of being naked?” As soon as the word “naked” escaped my lips, Tim’s agonized giggling suddenly increased in volume and tempo. Cool. Do it again, Tim.

“You afraid, dude? What d’ya think will happen, Tim, if you were totally NUDE,” (more sudden jerking and hysterical laughter), “right now, completely naked and HELPLESS?”

As I cruelly drew out the hiss in ‘helpless’, my skatepunk plaything heaved his heavy bones hard against the taut sock bonds, making the steel frame creak under his robust musculature. He was laughing and pleading almost as much as if he were being tickled. I was tickling him just with my words, with just my tongue.

I took from the box a small pair of scissors and began to very slowly, very carefully, cut the fabric from his hips. Again his struggling increased, and he began cursing furiously. Slowly, slowly I lifted the fabric from over his incredibly erect penis, slowly, uncovering each inch of the nearly-seven which composed his thick shaft, down to, finally, as I gasped internally, a very fat scrote, heavy with unusually large, juicy balls. Yep: a breeder! Better get this buck to the fuck-pen! Right away the air was choked with the strong scent of his ballsweat. Tim was giggling forlornly, his eyes shut now, and he was just blushing like a motherfucker. A very nervous, devilishly handsome young skatepunk, ticklish and helpless, now finally and completely nude.

I had to touch it. I grinned, shot him a mischievous glance he couldn’t see, and slowly and gently seized his meat. With the soft pad of my right thumb, I rubbed the wet front of his cockhead. Tim jerked and shuddered, pulling at his bonds, his torso bucking violently upwards, his eyes springing open. He moaned long and extravagantly. “NNNNGGGGHHHHHHGH! OH! ohhh, man, . . .I. . .ohhh. . .I’ll. . .n-no don’t, don’t. . .I’ll. . .ohhh, oh christ I’ll fucking, nnngh! come. . .ahahaha. . ..I’ll fucking co-o-me, man, if you don’t stop. . ..st-hey HEY, no, NO, NO, man, what’re, hey, NO, c’MON, man, not that, DON’T, hahahh, you CAN’T, hee hee, ha, oh HAHA haha HA. . .”

He’d just caught sight of my hand as I moved the sleek parrot feather slowly towards his heavy, odiferous scrotum. The heavy, hearty odor of fresh teenboy musk continued to waft up, thoroughly rank; a serious turn-on. I noticed that his ballsac was looser than most guys’. An excellent thing: his balls were so big and ripe that there was no way his body could pull them inside his groin to hide them from the approaching torture. I reeled with lust, and suddenly, inexplicably, kinda felt weirdly violent, and started fucking barking at him.

“I’m gonna tickle your balls, man! I’m gonna fucking tickle your BALLS, Tim! And you can’t stop me! Unless. . ..unless you tell me where you’ve hidden the rest of the money!” I was going nuts, feeling increasingly giddy and out of control, as if I were 16 again, playing these games, though at that time less-sophisticated versions, with my buddies out in the fields and treehouses of my youth. My own turgidity was quite painful, trapped inside my shorts.

“NO, NO, please, ah ha, NO, not my balls, man!” Tim was laughing agonizingly, laughing and laughing endlessly, repeating, “No, no, please!” like a mantra, bucking and arching his back, squirming like a madman, thrashing his handsome face back and forth on the pillows. “You can’t, dude! Ha ha, you WOULDN’T!”

Oh, yes, I WOULD.

When I finally grazed the feather against his balls, the result was electrifying. Tim in an instant torsioned his whole body into a twisted spiral, a good foot off the bedsheets, and he was so ticklish there that he couldn’t even laugh! He was completely desperate to avoid my tickling him THERE, desperate to prevent my tickling him in the very origins of his youthful and exposed masculinity; I had to climb back on top of him, onto his legs, to pin him enough to keep contact between the feather and his heaving scrotum. Again I eagerly stroked his spread balls, and this time he heaved his thighs wildly, bucking my surprised ass clean off the bed. Amazing, amazingly stronger than I’d imagined. Nothing like a husky teenage male for wild strength.

As I picked myself up off the hardwood (unfortunately) floor, he giggled and gasped hysterically, his dark blue eyes open and wide, the size of blimps, a freakish, acid-trip grin contorting his breathless face. “Not my balls, man, please, I can’t take it! Please, man, I’m begging you, ha ha, anywhere but my balls! That’s uncool! That’s, hahahaha, uncool, man! It. . .it. . .aha. . .it tickles so much, man, please, I’m fucking BEGGING you, ahahahAHAHAHA! Please! Please, heh heh ha, not there, DON’T!!!”

Uncool? Calling me uncool? Fuck you, you little bastard! You’re in no position! Embarrassed a little at having been thrown to the floor, and determined to break him completely, I strode into my walk-in closet and got out two sturdy belts. . ..quickly (time still running out fast!) fastening them around his upper thighs and then the ends to the steel bedframe, Tim swearing now, half pissed-off and really nervous, cursing profusely, for the first time REALLY seeming vulnerable, realizing my own anger and my crazed dedication to intricately torturing his ball-sac. . .I climbed back aboard quickly, and returned the tip of the feather to the most vulnerable square inches on his body. . .I musta been sucking in air more raggedly than even he. . .I didn’t know I could get quite this turned on. . .he began shaking fearfully, losing control again, and laughing desperately amidst fearful pleadings in a high-pitched, boyish voice while he clenched his eyes shut again, trying to shut away the inevitable. His strong fingers jittered helplessly in the air behind his tightly-bound wrists. I danced the fiendish feather’s tip lightly against a tiny patch of skin on his right testicle, and then I let it go completely apeshit, attacking his whole scrotum.

Then the screaming began.

Tim’s body tried again to buck me off him, but the taut leather belts around his thighs held him impossibly, and I was able to ride his wild writhings. Now I was nervous because he was merely screaming. . ..lots of high pitched laughter, surely, but mostly just full-on fucking SCREAMING. . .swift waves of shudders rippled through his muscled, bucking frame, and he clenched his eyes shut and threw back his head on the pillow, his yelling, laughing mouth so far open that I could see the dark glint of the slanting late-afternoon sun off the fillings in his molars. Tim was lost in ticklish agony now, slamming his head hard repeatedly against the soft pillow, his decisive vulnerability exposed, the most sensitive spot revealed. . .and I continued to tickle him there, on his helpless balls, continuing nonstop, making him mine, stroking the feather now lightly, now firmly against his helpless gonads. “Can’t stop me, can’t fucking stop me, can’t, you ticklish bastard, I’m gonna tickle you to DEATH, you handsome. . .” I leaned down, my face just inches from his balls, inhaling the wild-animal odor, watching his ball-hairs part at the touch of the feather, everything in slo-mo visual and out-of-control laughter soundtrack. . .a little voice inside me said, “go for it, it’ll never get this good again. . .”

I was out of it, I might as well have eaten a fistfull of ‘shrooms. I was also getting some serious nausea from the pure rushes of lust. . .I felt pretty sick to my stomach. . .so much so that I actually lost my hardon. There was no way he could move far enough to prevent the feather’s contact. . ..I then moved the feather on a little track from his balls up the length of his prick, then along the grooves where his thighs gave way to powerful tendons on either side of his robustly-thick dark pubescape. The skatepunk’s laughter and hysteria continued unabated.

I tickled the underside of his balls, too, thrusting the feather repeatedly through to his asshole, and he continued to go wild, new bursts of apeshit sweat breaking off his shining body as he industrially thrust, within the limits of the leather bonds, his impressive erection towards the distant ceiling.

I only stopped, just for a brief minute, when I noticed that the shark’s tooth thing had flipped up in his writhing and gotten caught in his mouth. He was too out of it to spit it out, so I took care of it.

At times I reached down and gripped his cock in my other hand, pumping him slowly and firmly while still relentlessly stroking his balls with the feather. Every time I’d grasp his plump, hard rod, it would swell achingly, unreal groans of animal pleasure erupting loudly amidst his wildly sexy laughter. Yet more prespunk oozed out, and I’d again and again lick that delicious juice off my fingers, reeling.

I got another sixty bucks off him (two twenties and two tens) via the testicle-tickling, which was by far the most effective interrogation technique even when I used my fingertips and then my tongue to stroke and tickle them, techniques I didn’t think would tickle as much as just more thoroughly hornitize the dawg. . .but it worked. I got another ten when I returned to his extremely ticklish armpits. . .but having to get each bill separately was taking up too much time, even though he’d given up seventy bucks in twenty minutes. I suddenly wondered if he was milking this (so to speak) for all it was worth. . .he was skillfully manipulating the situation to his benefit. I felt a surge of affectionate (though rueful) respect for his cunning, and realized with a start as I looked at the clock. . ..3:45. . .I had only fifteen minutes with his beautiful body before he was free! I also realized that he instinctively believed me, that he really believed I would release him exactly when I said I would. Another surge of respect welled in me, and I realized there was no way I could disappoint him, betray his trust; the remaining ten minutes would be more enjoyably spent simply playing with him and getting him off. . .time to suck that thick young prick spiring up from its root in the fat cum-filled balls. That’d be worth. . .what. . .at least a hundred bucks. . .besides, he’d amply earned it.

I stripped off the rest of my clothes and practically leapt onto the bed beside him. I kissed and licked his sensitive nipples while he cursed and shuddered, moaning loudly, turned on massively, at least several loads of come backed up in him, overdue for release. I buried my tongue in his left pit, and he went ballistic, squealing with high-pitched, boyish laughter, the sweat still pouring off his body. I gave in now to my strongly affectionate feelings towards him, holding his trembling body tightly against me while I continued licking his roasting, sweating flesh with my tongue. My eyes closed, lost in lust, I reached for his prick, clumsily jabbing the head with my thumbnail. Tim jerked harshly and yelped in mild pain. Ouch! (Jesus! Sorry, man. . .fuckin’ clumsy. . .goddamn!) But half a second later, no damage. . .I was gripping his thick shaft, slowly pumping it, while Tim moaned and repeated, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, I. . .ohhhhhh”, thrusting his sweat-slick, muscular thighs up to push his meat repeatedly through the lusciously slick circle of my fist. I was dumbfounded at the flow of juice he was producing. . .it rolled in an endless slick stream from his cockhead, coating my hand. My own five-incher lay, near bursting, along his right thigh, my balls resting on his knee.

Now it was just 3:55. . .five precious minutes with my horny captive. Five minutes to spend savoring my victim’s blue-balled boner.

I laid down on my stomach, my head between the far-spread, marble-hard thighs of my beautiful young athlete. I began licking and sucking his balls, not to tickle them, but to drive him fuck-wild, while Tim groaned, whined, and cursed contently, completely lost, as I was, in pure enjoyment. I took each huge plum in my mouth, hungrily licking off as much of his musky scrote-sweat. I licked up and down his shaft. . ..and finally, after teasing him by sucking him hard, my tongue pressing really firmly against the near-bursting purple head and pink shaft, then, when he was about to spurt, pulling off and squeezing the head firmly to kill his rising orgasm, causing him to curse and buck angrily, vigorously again. . .after four or five times doing that, torturing him with frustration, I finally began taking him repeatedly to the root, while he screamed and bucked . . .no teasing now, pal, just hard-core, serious cock-sucking. . ..then. . .inevitably. . .the ordeal was over as Tim began that low-throttle, guttural male groaning signifying pure lost ecstasy, then the hot rushes, delicious, hot, clean, pure male juices pouring over my tongue, deliciously salty, like hot sea-water. Tim bucked up and down off the futon powerfully, the orgasm charging through him like meat lightning, his roaring and swearing growing and turning suddenly to those freakish monkey-like screams that guys emit when they’re having a TRULY overwhelming orgasm, his prick pulsing and swelling rhythmically against my tightly pressing tonguemeat. I let not one drop of Tim drip free.

I untied him, at 4:03. . .well, nobody’s perfect. He twisted into a fetal position, and actually began to drool a little, so out of it he was. I maneuvered him onto his stomach, and began affectionately kneading his taut shoulder muscles.

So I got back about a third of my bucks. . .and Tim was left with enough money, added to what he’d saved, to get his foxy new board. I was proud to see him working his elegant moves with it during the following waning weeks of spring and on into summer. . .

And that wasn’t the last of my experiences with Tim. . ..because we became fairly close friends, despite the rather significant age difference. I think I played an extra big-brother role in his life. And speaking of big-brother roles, I ended up tickle-torturing him twice more, both times after he was old enough to go drinking, when I taught him how to play pool, and he ended up making stupid drunken bets on the games, which he’d lost. Tim also became rather aggressive about getting those expert blowjobs when he was between girlfriends, which also made me quite happy.

Interestingly, he also introduced me, at a coffeehouse, to some other guys, some of his skateboarding (and other) friends, with a couple of whom, like his beautiful blond buddy Dirk, I had some very interesting bondage experiences.

But those two stories are for another time.

All of these images were found on the internet. Credit must be given to the creators of these images. If any of these images belong to you and you would like them removed then please contact me via this blog.

This story is taken from the website which was run by the late, great Ropejock…

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.

A single strip of duct tape is not enough. Full sensory deprivation is required for all prisoners…

All of these images were found on the internet. Credit must be given to the creators of these images. If any of these images belong to you and you would like them removed then please contact me via this blog.

‘The Prisoner’ finds that ‘The Captor’ has suspended his release…quite literally.

Look out for ‘#suspension’ – a bondage movie…coming to https://vimeo.com/heavybondage soon!

‘The Prisoner’ continues to face the dubious hospitality of ‘The Captor’. In this latest escape challenge, ‘The Prisoner’ finds out that chances of freedom will be literally suspended if he can’t free himself from a roped spreadeagle…

Watch more videos like this at https://vimeo.com/heavybondage

#suspended – a bondage movie – part 1 from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

I think the most important thing I could possibly tell you is that I’m straight.

The idea of anything involving my asshole or another guy’s cock repulses me beyond imagination. I like pussy, end of story. I’ve always been attracted to cute little blonde girls, and the more the let me walk all over them the better. Unfortunately, I seem to go through girlfriends faster than a roll of Charmin.

Anyways, one girl I dated for a while was named Maggie. She was about 5’2″ with bleach blonde hair and a nice rack, so basically my type. We met at the local bar, Twenty Two, one of my favorite haunts, and ended up going back to my place. Needless to say, it was a good night if you know what I mean. After that, we kept seeing each other for a while, but then I met Alexa — who had way better boobs and a smaller waist. I was pysched, Alexa was into me, right off the bat we started sleeping together, and Maggie was out of the picture.

Or so I thought.
____________________

I was meeting Alexa at Twenty Two for drinks and hopefully taking her back to my apartment afterward. I had on a pair of nice, dark jeans, a light blue button-up with a white T-shirt underneath, and my most expensive brown leather shoes. My long, dark hair hung around my face in perfectly messy waves, and even in the low light of the bar my bright blue eyes stood out from my tanned skin. I knew I looked good, and Alexa obviously realized it too.

She was sitting up at the bar, sipping at some fruity cocktail that was inevitably going on my tab, looking smoking hot in this little black number I couldn’t even begin to describe. My cock nearly jumped for joy at the very sight of her. I got into the seat next to her, ordered some vodka on the rocks, and just when I was about to start sweet-talking her, she put her hand over mine.

“Seth,” she said quietly, a devious smile on her lips. “Let’s not waste our time here, alright? Come on. Let’s go back to your place.”

Magic words. I instantly leapt off my seat like my ass had been burned, grabbed her arm and steered her out the front door. We’d just passed the convenience store nearby when two pairs of arms reached out from a dark alley and pulled me in.

____________________

I, obviously, shrieked in terror like a little girl as they threw me to the ground. A swift kick to the gut had me gasping for breath but successfully shut me up. One of the pairs of hands wrestled my arms behind my back and handcuffed them there. My panic only increased, my screams resuming.

“Seth!” an all too familiar voice shouted angrily at me. “Shut the fuck up!”

I forced myself to lift my head off the dirty cement to better get my bearings. Four people were standing in the alley: the two guys who had grabbed me, neither of which looked at all familiar, Alexa, and… Maggie.

“Maggie?” I whispered hoarsely, stunned. “What the fuck is going on?!”

Maggie sighed. “I guess I do owe you an explanation,” she muttered, taking a few steps closer to me. I lifted myself up into a sitting position, pressing my back against the wall so I could look her in the eye.

“Alexa,” she explained, indicating my hot date with a sweep of her hand, “is one of my best friends. She just moved in with me the other week. We’ve known each other since grade school. Once we realized we’d both dated the same idiot, and that you’d totally used us… We knew we had to do something.”

Alexa moved to stand next to Maggie. That devious grin was back, but this time I saw it for what it really was. She’d totally set me up. They both had.

“You are such a fucking pig,” Alexa spat. She pressed her spike heel into my crotch until I cried out in pain. “You think you can just get away with using women like this? Well,” she scoffed, grinding her shoe into my balls so tears sprung into my eyes. “You’ve got another thing coming to you.”

The two guys leaned down to get me, each one grabbing one of my arms and hoisting me to my feet. “You stupid bitches!” I screamed as I struggled for all I was worth. “Fucking cunts!” But the guys were far bigger and stronger than I was. I had absolutely no chance against them.

Suddenly, a black pickup truck pulled in front of the alley. “Ah, your ride’s here,” Maggie announced, patting me on the shoulder. “Well, I hope you have a nice weekend. Should be a really great learning experience for you.”

That said, the guys began dragging me toward the truck. One attached metal cuffs on my ankles, hardly any chain in between, before they lifted my body and threw me into the bed of the truck. A rope was attached to my handcuffs and to my ankle cuffs, hog-tying me and rendering me helpless.

“No!” I screamed in complete terror. The guys climbed into the truck bed with me before closing it. I felt the engine rev. “Maggie! Alexa! No!”

“Bye Seth,” the both said sweetly in unison before the truck pulled away with a rumble and a jerk .

____________________

My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I was sweating profusely from both my struggles and my fear. The cuffs were biting into my wrists and ankles painfully, but I hardly noticed; I would have gladly cut off my hands and feet to be free.

“Please,” I begged, practically sobbing. “Please, you gotta let me go. Don’t do this to me, please!”

One of the guys shifted a little, reaching over to grab something. The keys to the cuffs, I thought desperately. But suddenly a black rubber ball gagwas pressed between my teeth, straps on either side being pulled around my head and fastened tightly in the back. I screamed into the gag, fighting it for all I was worth, but it was well-secured and going nowhere. I heard the unmistakeable sounds of duct tape being pulled off a roll and torn, and then a large silver piece was pressed down over my eyes. I was immobile, speechless, and blind. I’d never been more terrified in my life. Where were these guys taking me?

____________________

A long, silent ride later, the truck finally came to a stop and the engine died down. I was sore from lying on the hard bottom of the truck bed, hog-tied; I was completely disoriented; and I was absolutely scared shitless.

I heard the door to the bed open and then four individual hands gripped my arms, pulling me out. I tried to talk through the gag, determined to convince these guys to let me go, but no intelligible sound came out of my mouth. Before long, all I did was sob.

“God, he better shut the fuck up,” one of the guys mumbled as they carried me along. I fought them every step of the way, but they seriously overpowered me. This was the first time I’d heard either of them spoke, and I wished so badly that I could answer.

“Don’t worry, Matt and Chris will fix him up,” the other one responded, grunting with the effort of carrying me. Suddenly they dropped me, and I landed hard on my side on a brick stoop. I heard one of them ring the doorbell, and after a few moments, the knob turned and the door swung open.

“Excellent,” I heard a new voice murmur, and I could practically feel his eyes raking my body even with my vision obscured. “Bring him inside, would you?”

The guys lifted my body up again, and even though I twisted and writhed in their grip they still managed to deposit me inside the house. I yelled unintelligibly through the gag, squirming around on the floor but not truly getting anywhere. With the duct tape over my eyes, I didn’t even know which way the door was. But I wasn’t just going to lie still.

I heard the sound of paper rustling, and realized the guy in the house was paying the two “delivery boys” who had brought me here. After saying their thank you’s, the door opened and closed again, and there was a brief silence.

I heard footsteps approach me, and suddenly a hand tore the tape off my eyes. I yelped in pain, certain half my eyebrows would be missing, but quickly focused on taking in my surroundings.

“Mmm mm!” I demanded fiercely, making the guy laugh. He had a deep laugh and a deep voice, which matched his extremely large, muscled, tanned body. His head and face were clean shaven, small silver hoops in his ears, his eyes a deep green. He was wearing a pair of expensive looking jeans and a simple, tight black t-shirt. He crouched down next to me, surveying me like a piece of meat at the market.

“My name is Chris,” he told me, reaching out a running a rough hand through my long hair.

“Mm!” I yelled again, jerking my head back, trying to convey to him that I didn’t give a flying fuck what his name was; I just wanted out.

“My partner Matt should be back in an hour or so. I’ve got to get you all ready before he comes home.” I didn’t like the devious smile spreading on his face one bit. He pulled a pocket knife out of his jeans and I began screaming in terror, but all he did was slice the rope hog-tying my arms to my ankles. I pulled them apart gratefully, thankful to be able to straighten my aching legs.

He grabbed onto my waist and jerked me to my feet before readjusting his grip, hoisting me into the air, and throwing me over one of his large shoulders. I tried to kick and fight him, but I was still well-secured in the cuffs. I couldn’t deny that I was amazed at how strong he was. He’d lifted and tossed me like a rag doll.

“Okay, buddy,” Chris said, putting me down none too gently on the cold tile floor of a bathroom. “Your jaws hurt?” he asked, almost sounding concerned. I nodded my head wearily. “Well, if I take the gag out, you better shut up,” he warned. I nodded my head again and he leaned down and unbuckled the gag. I immediately spat it out and opened my mouth to talk.

“No,” Chris said reprimanded me sharply, digging the toe of his boot into my gut. I groaned in pain, but otherwise kept quiet. I didn’t want him to put that thing back in, so I figured I’d be better off listening to him. And this gave me a chance to call for help later.

“Lie on your back,” he instructed, and before I could move he used his boot again to roll me over. I was lying on my cuffed hands, and they quickly began to feel numb. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t seem to care.

Chris went over to the medicine cabinet and took out an electric razor. I panicked, thinking he was going to shave off my precious hair, and I quickly began squirming all over the place. “No, please!” I begged him, cowering in the corner I’d managed to get into.

“I’m not shaving your head, idiot,” Chris snapped, grabbing one of my legs and yanking me back into the center of the bathroom. “And even if I was, you wouldn’t have a choice.” He sat down on my gut, facing my feet, and undid my belt and fly. He ripped my pants down until they were around my knees, only further immobilizing my legs. I yelled in terror as my precious genitals were exposed, and suddenly he squeezed my balls. Hard.

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” he growled at me, holding my balls threateningly in his giant hand. I stopped yelling immediately, afraid he’d rip them off if I kept it up. The only sound in the room was my panting, and then that was drowned out by the buzz of the razor. My heartbeat roared in my ears.

I whimpered unhappily as he began shaving my pubic hair off, but the process was pretty quick and painless, and soon I was completely bald down there. He even shaved every little hair off my balls, something I’d never bothered to do.

He got up off of me, slipped his boot under my back, and flipped me over roughly onto my stomach. He grabbed my hips and yanked my bare ass up in the air. With one hand he spread my cheeks, and with the other he shaved my ass bare. I was too terrified he’d hurt my favorite part of my anatomy if I moved, so I held stock still. My whimpering continued, but he didn’t shut me up.

Finished, he stepped back to admire his work. “All done,” he muttered. He put the razor back into the medicine cabinet, pulled out some lotion, and proceeded to rub it all over where he’d just shaved.

I jerked back in surprise when the cold product hit my very bare skin. “Don’t touch me, you fucking creep!” I shouted at him. The shaving was one thing, but this felt almost… intimate. It was disgusting.

He simply laughed in my face, held me down, and finished the task. “If you think that’s bad, you’re certainly in for an interesting weekend,” he muttered. I felt my stomach twist up into a thousand knots at that sentence. Why had he shaved me? What the fuck was I in for?
____________________

Chris took a set of keys out his pocket and undid the shackles on my ankles. Then he grabbed the back of my shirt, hoisted me to my feet, and yanked my pants and underwear down around my ankles. “Step out of them,” he demanded, and I resolutely stood my ground. With an angry sound, he swatted at my balls, sending a wave of debilitating pain through my groin. I practically fell to the ground, but instead I quickly stepped out of my pants, afraid of another blow.

“Good boy,” he muttered, picking up the clothes and tossing them into a small black garbage bag. Next he unshackled my wrists, but before I could even think about fighting him or grabbing a phone or whatever, he wrapped a threatening hand around my balls again.

“Take your shirt off,” he growled. Trembling in his hold, I quickly shed my shirt, tossing it on the ground next to me. He quickly shackled my arms back up and threw the shirt in the bag.

He stood up and surveyed my shaking body. “You scared?” he asked, one side of his mouth tipping up in a grin. His hand shot out to grip my chin, his eyes only inches away from my own. I quickly averted my gaze, my heart feeling like it was going to positively explode out of my chest.

“Hmph,” he said appreciatively, letting go. “Not half as scared as you’re gonna be.”

I swallowed down on the lump in my throat. But with a lurch, my stomach lost it. I desperately twisted around to try and find the toilet, but with all my shackles I was off balance and I simply tumbled to the ground, spewing vomit. Not much more came out than spit and whatever drinks I’d consumed earlier, but it was still quite disgusting as I landed in it and it dripped down my chin.

Chris let out a loud, pained groan. “You fucking idiot,” he cursed, reaching down to grab my hair in one hand and my upper arm in the other. He hoisted me up and positively threw me — shrieking and jerking with pain — into the bathtub. He turned the shower on, the knob turned to COLD, and the freezing spray hit my skin like little ice pellets. My shrieking only escalated, but after a minute I felt him shove the ball gag home again, silencing me.

My body shivered violently, almost convulsively where I lay in the tub, my lips quickly turning blue, my skin covered in goose bumps. He scrubbed the vomit off me and the floor with a washcloth, looking beyond furious the entire time. Finally, he shut the water off.

I felt positively hypothermic. The one good thing about the cold shower was that it had knocked me so senseless I wasn’t even aware of my nausea anymore. Chris grabbed me by the hair and upper arm again and lifted me painfully up and out of the bathtub. I could hardly stand I was shivering so hard. My teeth would’ve been chattering had my jaws not been stretched wide by the gag.

Chris replaced the ankle restraints with a pair that had more chain between them, so I was hobbled but able to walk. He then took out a very long, thick chain and a fat padlock out his pocket. He wrapped the chain around my neck and used the padlock to secure it into a collar with a lead. Without bothering to dry me off, he yanked on the lead, tugging me out of the bathroom. I stumbled along, too numb to fight him, my newly shaved skin chafing painfully.

Chris pulled me along through the house, into a back room with no windows and only one door. He turned a single, naked light bulb on which hung in the center of the room, and it dimly illuminated an iron, four-poster bed, a large Saint Andrew’s cross, multiple examining tables, cages, and hundreds of different objects hanging on the wall.

I let out an “Mmm!” of unhappiness, my knees stiffening as I dug my heels into the ground.

“Ohh, no you don’t,” Chris muttered, giving the lead a hard tug so I was forced forward. Once he’d dragged me into the center of the room, he attached the chain he was holding to a pulley system, then cranked it so the chain was lifted high above my head until I could hardly breathe. I felt like I was being hanged.

I continued to yell at him, quite unsuccessfully, through the gag. He went around the perimeter of the room, looking for something, and I twirled in my shackles so that he never left my sight. Finally he picked up a complicated looking lump of leather and metal, which he began attempting to force over my head.

“Mm mm!” I screamed at him, but he slammed his knee so hard into my balls that I saw stars. Moaning in pain, drool dripping down my chin, he ripped the gag out of my mouth and got the leather hood over my head, fastening all the various straps and buckles until I couldn’t see, couldn’t open my jaw, and could hardly hear.

“Matt should be home soon,” I distanttly heard Chris say before I was left all alone, shackled and hooded and strung up by my neck.