It was Tim’s ankle strap falling loose that woke him on Thursday morning.
Click!
He opened his eyes slowly.
Thursday …
… Eleven days in.
Now no longer attached to the bed, Tim felt able to pull his feet towards him.
He hugged his knees whilst pressing his face further into the pillow.
He smoothed fingertips over a free ankle, lifting himself from bedsheets and pillows where he shot fuzzy eyes over to the strap, disconnected externally, no doubt by remote, outside of this room.
That had happened only once before.
Tim rubbed sleep away from his face as he looked up at the communication device wired into the ceiling of his room.
He expected to be greeted by Armie’s voice.
Instead, no sound crackled from the speaker.
Despite the silence, Tim couldn’t help but think that the ankle straps random disconnection might be a form of communication in itself.
A ‘hello’ that felt like a ‘come here’.
Tim ruffled up his hair, sniffed in some morning and then swung his feet off the bed.
He walked towards the wardrobe, pulled open it’s doors and then snatched an oversized sweat shirt from a hanger.
He threw it over his head, pulled some joggers above his waist and then took bare feet from carpet to floor boards as he left his ensuite and headed towards Armie’s bedroom.
Armie stood in briefs, by his bedroom window, with the ankle strap’s remote in his right hand.
He waited for Tim’s arrival whilst peering out over New York City.
Approaching footsteps informed Armie that detaching the strap externally had done the job.
Armie crept back into his sheets, placing the remote down on the bedside table.
A faint knock knock sounded on the other side of Armie’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” Armie propped some pillows up behind him, resting his back against them.
Tim nudged the bedroom door open with his toe and took an almost too-shy step inside.
“Hey.”
Armie tucked his hands behind his head, exposing armpits thick with hair.
“Hey.”
Tim slid recently tortured soles over the soft carpet by kicking quietly at thin air, his sweatshirt sleeves dangling over his hands as he walked towards the bedroom window.
Tim took a seat at the window’s ledge, his face lit up by the brightness of the morning.
“My feet still tingle, after last night,” Tim announced.
Armie laid his hands over his lap, shuffling upward from his once relaxed position.
“Two brushes at once. That’s uhh, that’s a first…”
Tim remained expressionless as he kept his eyes on the building windows opposite.
Armie patted the empty space beside him.
“Come here.”
Tim stayed still.
He didn’t want to give Armie his presence straight away.
He’d deny him it, for a few seconds at least …
… Call it punishment, for joining Miller at the end of the session, where more than one hair brush made it’s way over Tim’s oil drenched arches, for over ten minutes, non stop.
Armie sighed in defeat, knowing all to well the wrong he’d done.
Today, he’d make that better.
Finally, Tim stood away from the window and turned to face Armie’s bed.
He climbed onto the mattress, crawling to the patch of messy sheets and blankets that made up the invited area besides Armie.
Tim plopped himself down in the cross legged position.
Armie started his apology.
It didn’t come with words, or a verbalised sorry.
Instead, it came with actions.
Armie reached across the mattress, curling his fingers around Tim’s left ankle.
He then gently pulled Tim’s foot towards him.
Tim placed both of his hands behind his back, leaning on his arms as his foot found it’s way to Armie’s lips.
Armie closed his eyes and delicately kissed Tim’s sole, starting with the pads of his toes.
He then pecked over the side of Tim’s foot, where he finished with lips brushing over Tim’s heel.
Armie then placed Tim’s foot back down on the bed, as if it were expensive china.
Tim spoke with a factual tone to his voice.
“He has a hold on you, doesn’t he …”
Armie sat up, facing his body towards Tim.
“Almost as much as you have a hold on me.”
Tim looked down in his lap, his legs returning to the cross legged position.
“I guess we better pack.”
Armie nodded slowly.
“Only if you still want to go …”
Tim smiled, lifting his head up positively.
“I’ve signed. It’s happening. You better let your accountant know…”
Both young men chuckled as a passing ambulance and it’s siren hurtled down the streets below, filling the bedrooms quiet.
Armie messed up Tim’s hair with his palm.
Tim scrunched up his face.
“You need a hair cut …” Armie fingered some of Tim’s curls, “… I want you looking and feeling you best, over the next few days.”
Tim relaxed his face, his eyes looking upward at the tuft of hair rolling between Armie’s fingertips.
“Barbers are all locked down … So, I guess that’s your job.”
Armie dropped his hand down onto Tim’s knee.
“It’ll be my honour,” a smile bloomed over his face, “And, it’s safe to say your feet will be getting a lot of attention, no doubt. So, a pedicure will be on the cards too… They’ll need to be perfect.”
Tim tidied up curls Armie had just ruffled up.
“Such high maintenance, you tickle fetish guys…” he then checked the bottoms of his feet.
Still smooth, still soft, still the same pair of feet Armie had obsessed over, throughout these eleven days so far ...
“They look fine to me?” Tim questioned the need for such beautifying, after never once receiving a single complaint, “Besides, wasn’t two brushes at once a pedicure in itself?” Tim glanced at Armie mischievously.
“You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?” Armie fell back against the pillows behind him.
Tim shook his head.
“Nupe.”
Armie folded his arms across his chest, taking the resentment on the chin.
He’d have to make special effort to win Tim back, before they set off to Tickle Fest.
“That’s it,” he announced, “I’m cooking you breakfast. Whatever you want. However you want it. And then, I’m giving you the greatest grooming service you’ll ever receive, far better than all the professionals and experts that pamper you before The Oscars and The Golden Globes, and what-not …”
Tim raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite the commitment.”
Armie flung himself out of bed, the sheets slowly floating away behind him.
Tim felt the press of air against his face, created by the sudden exit.
“I’m a man of my word, kid,” Armie readied himself by clapping his hands just the once, “Now, let’s get your hair washed.”
Tim smiled as he shuffled off the bed.
Before he fully stood, he took a second or two to appreciate that, once again, despite such rigorous torture and all of this constant kink - it was still possible to have normal days like these with his best friend.
***
Tim sat on the kitchen stool as Armie sprayed lukewarm water from a plastic bottle over his head.
He then combed Tim’s hair, slicking it to the back of his scalp.
Tim closed his eyes calmly.
“You can be so gentle, when you want to be …” he murmured.
Armie caught some curls between his fingers, hooking his thumb and middle finger through the handle to silver scissors, “I bet it feels good to have a brush at this end of your body, instead of —“
“—Oh, it feels fucking fantastic!” Tim laughed.
Armie snipped off the ends of the curl in his grasp. He then ran fingers through soggy strands where he continued to repeat the same process.
“Do you even know what your doing?” Tim asked quietly.
Armie tutted.
“Of course,” he lied.
Tim didn’t feel convinced.
But with hair salons across the country shut down due to covid, he had no other choice but to trust Armie …
… Something he had found easy to do, up until lately.
“So uh,” Tim tread carefully, conscious he might hurt his own feelings by asking his next question, “Do you know anyone else who will be there?”
Armie shook his head, slicing off another inch of curls.
“Not well enough to spend time with them. Miller is the only person I’d engage with, the others are more … Associates.”
Tim kept his head still as Armie continued to cut his hair.
"Will there uh, be ... Other people, l-like me, that you've tickled before ...?" Tim played with the draw string to his sweat pants.
Armie gathered more hair between his fingertips.
"Worried you'll be jealous?"
Armie could sense Tim's shoulders stiffen.
"No," Tim spoke almost too fast, "I'm allowed to ask questions, right?"
Armie continued to snip.
"Ask away."
Without warning, a flood of curiosity dribbled out of Tim’s lips, far quicker than he’d planned.
“H-have the people there tickled you too? When, when was the last time Miller tickled you? Am, am I getting tickled, between the things I signed up f—“
“—Whoa, whoa, whoa …” Armie placed his hands on Tim’s shoulders, pressing his body against his back reassuringly, “… You can’t know everything all at once, Tim. Just like, I can’t tell you everything all at once, either.”
Tim nodded in understanding.
“Sorry.”
Armie shot a pained look at the kitchen ceiling.
“Hey. I told you, stop apologising.”
Tim bit his lip, in an attempt to stop himself from saying sorry once again.
Armie slid his hands off Tim's shoulders and continued to style his hair.
“There are men, and there will be women there too, by the way … They’re not monsters. We’re not monsters. They won’t be snatching you away, or trying to abuse you. They’re people, with respect, with control …” Armie tidied up the section of curls he’d just cut, “… If anything, they’ll be too overwhelmed by the fact they’re at the same event as Timmy Chalamet …”
Tim wanted to lower his head into a natural blush, but keeping still so Armie could continue to shape his hair restricted him from doing so.
Armie combed Tim’s curls slowly, staring forwards in thought.
“I hope I’ve not given a negative impression …” Armie frowned, “… On this world, these people.”
Tim tucked his hands between his thighs.
“No, y-you haven’t … But uh, Miller, last night … He uh …” Tim ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth as he tried to word his feelings properly, “… He was intense. Getting you to do that, with the brush … Two at once, it felt a little …”
Armie slid the comb out of Tim’s hair.
“… It was too much,” he finished his ‘lees sentence for him.
Tim patted his left fist into his right palm, “Man! It was way too much! I thought my face was gonna explode.”
Armie chuckled, tucking some more curls between his fingers.
“Well, you took it like a champ. And, above all else, you got what you wanted. Far more money, with way less time …” Armie snipped away some hair, “… That’s a pretty decent result, Tim.”
Tim smiled in achievement, proud of his regained control, even if it had only lasted for one day.
His positive expression faded when, out of the blue, he felt his brain formulate another sensitive question.
“Did Miller … Did he … Turn you into, into what you are now?”
Tim regretted asking the question as soon as he felt Armie’s fingers stop moving through his hair.
Armie spoke down into the top of Tim’s head.
“Do you like what I am now?”
Tim bobbed his knees nervously, “Don’t answer a question with a question …”
Armie wiped some hair off of the back of Tim’s neck.
“He did,” Armie confirmed, “He introduced me to … Well, everything … The way I’ve introduced it to you …” he slid his hands back through Tim’s drying curls, “… But, you know that already. I made that clear, as soon as he got in touch.”
Tim huffed.
“I know, b-but … I’m not … Going to turn into a tickler, just because you like to tickle me…” Tim continued to peel back the layers of Armie’s past, “… It has to be a part of you, I guess. Already there … Right?”
Armie cut more of Tim’s hair, watching the curls drop down at his feet.
“Yes, it does. I already had a dominance in me, twenty years ago. Miller expanded on that. He helped it grow … Helped it evolve.”
Tim took more cautious steps forward, into his learning of Armie’s development as the person he is today.
“So, the … Positions, you’ve had me in, since we started all of this … Are they all your own ideas, your own fantasies, or, or are they inspired, by what Miller used to do with y—“
Just as Tim assumed he’d have the ability to explore further, Armie shut down the conversation.
“—Your hair is looking perfect, I dare say so myself …” he interrupted.
Tim blinked, stopped mid-sentence, his mouth still shaping the word ‘you’.
“Go check it out, tell me what you think,” Armie said, spinning Tim on the kitchen stool and then pinning it to a stop with his heel.
Tim slid off his seat and walked towards the downstairs bathroom, located to the left of the living room.
He smiled as he approached the tall mirror nailed above the sink basin.
“You’ve actually done a pretty awesome job…”
Tim ran his hands through his hair, still long and curly, but now in shape and glimmering fresh.
“You sound surprised …” Armie called from the kitchen.
After all of the revelations, after Miller and the hair brushes, the toe ties and the feathers, the edging and the ball gags …
… After all of the random things that had happened inside and outside of this apartment, over the past eleven days, Tim simply mumbled out his thoughts quietly.
“… Can you blame me?”
***
Whilst Armie scooped up the remains of Tim’s hair with a dust pan and brush, Tim showered in his ensuite.
Once scrubbed clean, he stepped naked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, where he unexpectedly found Armie kneeling by an open suitcase.
Tim scrambled back behind the door, flapping his hand around for a towel as his bare feet squeaked over the bathrooms tiles.
“I’ve tickled you naked, Tim…” Armie reminded his ‘lee, his back facing the bathroom, “… I’ve seen you dribble, nude, senseless and hysterical,” he glanced at Tim’s open wardrobe, wondering what would be best to pack, “I’ve seen the very core of you, the very essence of your loss of control … You can be comfortable around me, honestly…”
Tim’s palm fell onto something thick, made of cotton …
… His fingers curled around the towel, whilst part of him wrestled with the idea to wrap it round his waist, and another part of him wrestled with the idea of letting the towel go.
Tim made his decision.
He approached Armie and the suitcase, naked, in a confident stride.
Armie took his eyes away from the wardrobe, straight to Tim’s feet.
Tim planted both feet trustfully apart.
He held his right wrist with his left hand, whilst staring down at Armie.
Armie’s stare travelled up Tim’s legs, past his plump balls, over his narrow, hyper sensitive waist and up to his erect nipples.
They landed on his red-cheeked face.
“See,” Armie cleared his throat, “No biggie.”
Armie’s surveying eyes excited Tim more than he thought they would.
He lowered his hands over his crotch, where they hid his confused, growing arousal.
Armie gestured down to the suitcase.
“I’d pack stuff you won’t mind getting sweaty in,” Armie got to his feet, walking towards the open wardrobe with a curious gaze, “The events you’ll par take in will no doubt have you fully clothed, whilst you’re tickled … Nudity is banned at Tickle Fest …”
Tim let his hands dangle at his sides, confidently revealing the girth below his waist.
He took a few steps forward, arriving at Armie’s side, where he reached into the wardrobe and fingered through t-shirts and baggy hoodies.
He started to pull sweat pants, basketball shorts and vests off of hangers.
As his growth continued to stiffen, Tim folded up the clothing and began to neatly lay the chosen items out inside the suitcase.
Armie turned away from the wardrobe and glanced down at Tim’s bobbing erection.
“Packing a suitcase a big turn on for you?" He teased.
Tim knelt down on the carpet, avoiding Armie’s jibe entirely.
“Can you grab me three pairs of socks, from the top drawer?” He asked.
Armie threw back Tim’s comment, from earlier.
“Don’t answer a question with a question …” he said, pulling open the drawer and retrieving three balled up pairs of white Nike socks, as requested.
Tim smirked as Armie threw the socks over to him.
“It’s the being told what to do …” Tim answered surely, snatching the socks from the air, “You, making me be … Naked, around you … It’s like you know I don’t have a choice,” Tim tucked the socks down the side of the suitcase, “… I'm just as surprised as you are."
Armie smiled at Tim’s gradual understanding.
“You’re starting to find the submissive nature exciting.”
Tim stood, stepping over the suitcase, where he re-approached the wardrobe.
His naked, aroused beauty intimidated Armie to the point where Armie found himself stumbling back.
Tim chuckled, pausing before the open top drawer.
“You okay?” He asked, pulling out three individual boxer shorts.
Armie coughed into his fist.
“I’m okay. Are you okay?”
Tim took the underwear back to the suitcase.
Armie watched his ass from behind.
“I’m okay,” Tim answered, kneeling back down, this time with his shoulder blades facing Armie.
He then leant over the suitcase, squashing the underwear into pocketed compartments, his behind fully exposed.
Armie mouthed the words ‘holy shit’ as his eyes fell into the area between Tim’s smooth cheeks.
He had seen Tim topless before, hundreds of times, in this apartment, tied up, begging for mercy …
… He’d witnessed him half naked in Italy, in swim shorts, on the grass, in sunglasses …
… But, only a few days ago, he had slid his index finger into the most intimate, tight, private part of Tim’s being …
… A part that stared Armie in the eye, right this very second.
“You uh …” Armie swallowed away the frog in his throat, “… You finish packing. I’ll ready the pedicure …”
Tim nodded, laying out more underwear over folded t-shirts and vests.
As Armie left his bedroom, Tim walked back to the wardrobe and retrieved a few caps, some silver rings, and three pairs of sneakers …
… Although something told him he might not be wearing those so much, during Tickle Fest.
He placed them inside the suitcase, stepping back shortly after to assess all he had chosen.
Anxiety slid into the middle of Tim’s chest.
Packed and ready to go.
Next step, the journey there.
In an attempt to relieve nerves, Tim ran his left hand through his newly cut hair as his right hand curled around his solid growth.
He ran fingertips up it’s base, over the tip, back down and then up again.
He patted his hand over his tummy, just as Armie returned back inside Tim’s ensuite bedroom.
He carried a large plastic bowl covered with a wooden lid.
Tim turned away from the suitcase, facing Armie as he headed towards Tim’s bed.
Armie carefully placed the bowl down on the carpet.
Tim peered over at the bowl’s wooden lid, assessing nail clippers, a sponge, a blindfold, coconut oil and tweezers laid out over it.
Armie got to his feet, patting a space at the edge of the mattress.
“Sit down.”
There was that ordering tone, that dominant voice.
Tim approached the bed and took a seat, feeling the softness of the cotton sheets beneath him.
Armie picked up the blindfold and stretched it apart with both hands.
Tim looked up at his ‘ler in hesitance.
“Wait,” he rested his right hand on Armie’s left, “Why the blindfold?”
Armie paused before answering.
His reply wouldn’t be the most detailed, but it would be the most perfect.
“Why not?”
Tim raised eyebrows in defeat.
He then placed both hands at the edge of the bed whilst Armie strapped the blindfold to Tim’s head, removing his sight entirely.
Tim lifted his face to the ceiling as he looked out into complete darkness, his erection still present.
Armie knelt before Tim, taking his left foot carefully in his hand.
Tim jolted in surprise.
Armie rested Tim’s foot over the top of his chino covered left thigh.
“I’ve uh,” Tim gulped down nerves created by being so naked, so exposed, so blinded, “I’ve never had a p-pedicure, b-before.”
Armie inspected Tim’s toes carefully, pulling them apart gently as he stared over their detailing with crystal blue eyes.
Tim bit his upper lip, resisting the urge to pull his foot back.
Armie knew Tim’s feet were perfect - if anything, this moment was more of an excuse to just play with them …
That’s what these entire four weeks are about, right?
“Well, Tim, knowing how ticklish you are, it doesn’t surprise me…”
Tim looked to the left, then to the right, his vision still consumed by black.
“In, in all honesty, I’ve n-never really let anyone touch my feet before …” Tim angled his head towards where he thought Armie would be, down by his left leg, “… Until you came along, anyway.”
Armie lingered around Tim’s left Index Toe, smoothing his thumb over its length.
Tim twisted his foot a little, arching his back at the same time.
“I see. So, me cracking your toes during the nose bleed scene … That was the first time someone had been so intimate, with these?” Armie asked, whilst applying pressure to his hold.
Tim nodded.
“Well uh, f-friends have tried to tickle them, in the past…” Tim shrugged, “… My ex girlfriend once buried me in the sand, on vacation. Head and feet, popping out, like some kinda cartoon…”
Armie smiled as he picked up nail clippers from the board.
“She tickled you, whilst you were stuck?”
Tim bobbed his head, speaking like a destroyed superhero.
“She was the first to know my weakness…”
Tim pressed his lips shut tightly, at the strange sensation of the cold metal sliding between his big toe nail and skin, as Armie began the pedicure.
Armie couldn’t help but feel jealous of this ex girlfriend, and her opportunity, her experience.
It was then he had to remind himself of his current position.
Only eleven days in …
… So much more to go.
“You’re giving me ideas, you know …” Armie shaped Tim’s big toe nail perfectly, with two snips.
Tim chuckled into his fist.
“Thank God there’s no decent beaches in New York …”
Armie moved his fingers to the next toe, all the while having to keep Tim’s foot in place.
“There might be some in Atlanta …” he warned, snipping off the edge of the next nail.
Tim clenched his teeth, the need to address his hardness, with a touch at least, now at the forefront of his mind.
Tim went to brush fingertips over his shaft.
Armie’s grip tightened on his foot.
“Keep your hands by your side …”
Tim’s hand hovered over his arousal momentarily, before returning to the edge of the bed.
Armie gave Tim his left foot back, carefully taking his right.
Tim looked down into his lap.
Despite being blinded, he could almost see his erection staring right back at him, due to the strength of it’s presence.
Armie began to snip, in the same order he had done with the toenails of Tim’s left foot.
“I’m surprised to still see you so aroused,” Armie commented, “It would seem there’s been a shift.”
Tim wanted to readjust his balls, but after Armie’s stern orders, he decided to endure the discomfort and keep his hands where they were.
“A, a shift?” He asked.
Armie nodded, once again smoothing thumbs over the length of Tim’s right Index Toe.
“We’d spend hours, days, weeks together … All the time, back when we filmed Call Me By Your Name … We’ve kissed, groped each other …” Armie chuckled, “… You’ve even licked my neck …” he put down the nail clippers and then picked up the tweezers, “… And not once did you express genuine attraction, like you do now.”
Armie picked at a long hair poking out of the top of Tim’s foot.
“Ah!” Tim gasped.
Armie smoothed fingertips over Tim’s skin.
“Well,” Tim clenched his teeth, “That was … That was acting …”
Armie placed the tweezers back on the board.
“And this isn’t?” He asked, taking ownership to the fact he no longer felt insecure about where they were as friends, by asking such a risky question.
Tim scratched a part of his nose tortured by stray cotton from the edge of the blindfold.
“Of course not! Since last week, all that we’ve done, it’s…” Tim flared his nostrils, “… It’s made me feel things, things I guess I didn’t expect to uh… To uh…”
Tim sneezed into both hands, aiming his face away from Armie.
Ach-hoo!
Armie curled his hand around Tim’s right foot, “Bless you.”
Tim wiped the top of his lip with his palm.
“Thanks.”
The sneeze blocked further discussion, on Tim’s arousal and what it meant.
Natural progression, understanding change, new, physical experiences were all part of the concoction, when it came to what Armie had only just described as ‘a shift’.
Tim had been edged, by a male.
He had been tickled senseless, naked.
He had given foot jobs, stripped his feet clear of socks …
… He had flirted with the unknown, for payment.
He had submitted.
And now, during another moment of submission, he found himself excited.
Hard.
Blinded.
Armie chose to forget the sneeze happened.
A minute or so had passed.
He cleared his throat, his heart beat lifting in his chest.
“What do you like, about this moment, Tim?”
Tim shuffled a little on the spot, Armie’s soothing foot massage arousing him further.
“The uh …” Tim forced down gathering butterflies, “… The f-feeling of knowing, I, I guess … The understanding of what you want to do … A-and, how much y-you want to do it …” Tim looked Armie in the eye, despite the black stretch of cotton covering the middle part of his face, “… To me.”
Armie spoke quietly, breathlessly, as if the words coming out of his mouth were undeniably true to the thoughts they originated from.
“If I had it my way, I’d tie you to your bed right now and tickle you so hard, that all of the other times would seem tame …”
Tim opened his mouth, his nerves vibrating in his throat.
“P-please … Please don’t… “
Armie kept his hands curled around Tim’s right foot.
“How can begging no sound so much like begging yes …” he whispered.
Tim felt Armie’s thumbnail press against his arch.
He tried to pull his foot back, but Armie held onto it tightly.
“Why don’t you want me to do that, Tim?”
Tim gulped down a dry, solid bubble.
“… Because… I, I can't take it …”
Armie now felt the same level of arousal, however unlike Tim’s, his remained hidden behind trousers.
"... Can't take being tied, spread eagle, naked ... And tickled?"
Tim nodded quickly.
"I'd fucking die."
Fuck, Armie thought.
Fuuuuuuuck.
Armie’s fingertips slid away from Tim’s foot.
He wanted to throw away the plan, the idea he had.
Pin Tim to the bed, tickle him like he'd just described.
But he knew there'd be time for such intensity, when they got back from Atlanta.
And Atlanta would surely push Tim over the edge anyway.
Armie pushed The Tickler away and stepped into the shoes of a Friend.
A Friend who might be Something More.
Armie removed the wooden lid off the bowl, revealing the bowls contents: boiling hot, soapy water.
He then positioned the bowl at Tim’s feet, careful not to spill any bubbles over the plastic edge.
Armie stood slowly.
“I want you to bathe your feet, Tim … Clean them, whilst I watch.”
Armie took some careful steps back as he folded his arms over his chest.
Tim, blinded as he did so, held onto the edges of the bed as he lifted his right foot and dipped his toes through the foamy surface.
The water soothed toes once pinned back by string, often attacked by feathers.
Tim then submerged his left foot inside the bowl.
His sole, a frequent victim to baby oil and hair brush bristles, became overwhelmingly consumed by comforting warmth.
Tim expressed relief in the form of a long, shuddered sigh.
He leant over his knees, sliding his hands inside the water, where he began to rub the bubbles into the sides of his feet …
… His ankles, his toes, his heels.
Tim lifted his right foot out of the bowl and rested it over his left knee.
He ran his fingers over the balls of his feet.
He massaged them, cleaning unwashed skin, erasing the tingling feeling still present from Miller’s tickle tools, twenty four hours ago.
He so desperately wanted to curl his fingers around the tip pressing against his stomach …
… To run some of this water over his own arousal.
He envied Armie, who stood there, allowed to rub at the growing shape beneath his chinos.
He could hear Armie’s hand pressing over the trouser material.
And then he could make out Armie taking footsteps closer towards him.
Armie’s hand pressed against the back of Tim’s neck.
“This way …” Armie spoke in a quiet whisper.
He gently manoeuvred Tim forwards, where he then held onto Tim’s shoulders.
He turned Tim around, positioning him so that he now knelt on the middle of the bed, in the doggy position.
Tim ignored the feeling of total exposure, mixed with the sensation of blinded vulnerability.
If he acknowledged it, he might start to shake.
And after gaining such control, he didn’t want to appear weak.
Tim took in a sharp breath when Armie’s hand pressed against his stomach.
“Lay down,” Armie whispered.
Tim lay on his front, his stomach and waist surprised to feel the softness of gathered pillows.
He gasped as Armie’s fingers curled around his growing ache.
He winced as Armie pulled it between his thighs, laying it out over the pillow, where it continued it’s throb.
Armie ran fingertips over it’s length, up past an entry Armie’s index finger had slid into a few days ago, past the bottom of his back and up the line of his spine.
Tim swallowed down as goosebumps decorated his calves.
Just as he felt Armie move away from him, Tim lifted his upper body and twisted his head in the direction he assumed Armie stood in.
“Wait …”
Armie glared into the blindfold strapped around Tim’s face.
“ … I … I …” Tim lowered his head, curls of hair falling over the black cotton blinding him, “… I’ve never done this sort of thing before … I, I don’t know what I’m doing … I don’t know how to be…”
Armie took some quiet steps away from the bed.
“Just be yourself.”
Tim let some frustrated air blow out of his nostrils as he turned back towards the mattress, laying his upper body back down over bedsheets.
With his waist hooked onto the height of the pillow in this way, his back arched into a position where his behind splayed open.
His legs, parted.
His hard on, rigid and exposed.
His feet still wet, covered in bubbles, at the end of the bed.
Despite being so blinded, Tim could see Armie watching him.
He could sense his eyes, all over his body.
He could even sense that his arms were folded, his legs were parted …
… His stand purely dominant, giant, tall and powerful.
Waiting.
Tim embraced the darkness of the blindfold as he continued his show, his portrayal of a ‘lee, an obsession …
… Along with the boiling water from the bowl, he soaked in the ability to be sexual, to be submissive, to be wanted.
… He embodied the position, all the while knowing what it would be doing to Armie.
God he felt grateful, so grateful that Armie hadn't tied him here like he had suggested.
Suddenly, Tim felt the drizzle and scent of coconut oil as it landed over his erection.
He jumped, startled by the unexpected application.
Tim closed his eyes as he felt the return of Armie’s soft palm and long fingers, curling around his arousal - a feeling he hadn’t felt since Monday morning.
Tim pressed his face into the mattress as Armie carefully rubbed the lubricant into the thickness gliding between his hand.
Whereas before he might’ve felt uncertain about a scenario like this, Tim instead leant into being genuinely intrigued and confidently excited.
He rolled his hips, pushing his arousal further into Armie's oily grasp.
As his hips rolled back into the pillow, Armie’s touch left Tim almost as soon as it had arrived.
Tim peered over his shoulder, where he aimed a blindfold covered face towards the bottom of the bed.
Armie perched down over Tim’s ankles, capturing his soapy feet between his thighs and the edge of the mattress.
Tim felt Armie adjust his feet by positioning them side by side, straightening out Tim’s once widened legs.
Tim’s erection now sat squashed between his own thighs and the pillow it lay hooked over.
Armie took the sponge from the wooden board and dipped it inside the bowl of hot soapy water.
He soaked it in bubbles whilst applying a drizzle of shining coconut oil over both of Tim’s soles.
Tim curled his toes and slid his feet against each other slowly as the water and oil landed over his heels.
Armie yanked his belt away from the waist of his chino's.
I have to.
Tim felt the leather wrap around his ankles.
I can't not.
Once, twice, three times …
“Mnn …” Tim twisted his head to the side, “… No, Armie … C-come on …”
Armie took the sponge, sliding it down Tim’s right sole forcefully.
Tim arched his back, stretching his left foot across the sole of his right, in an attempt to block out the sponge.
“Ffff-uck,” he hissed into the bedsheets.
Armie applied the same movements to Tim’s left sole, and then his right once again, implementing a repeated attack every time Tim tried to hide his sensitivity with each foot.
Another dip of water, another drizzle of coconut oil …
The sponge, soaked in bubbles, slid once again over Tim’s soles, cleaning and scrubbing them, whilst tickling them at the same time.
Almost as effectively as the hairbrush.
Tim growled, his fists clutching onto the mattress, “… No …” this wasn’t the pedicure he’d imagined it would be.
But then again, with Armie as his ‘ler, could a pedicure not be as erotic, or sensitive, or torturous as this?
Tim automatically kicked his legs as the sponge increased pressure.
His hips twisted, his waist pushed down into the pillow.
Every move, every writhe, every squirm only made his oil drenched arousal rub and press harder into a pillow now rife with the scent of coconut.
Tim endured the sponge’s tickle, at the same time he endured the increasing amount of pleasure between his legs, pleasure now seeping out politely and quietly in the form of pre-cum.
Armie glared down at Timothée’s shining soles poking out between his thighs, soaked in bubbles and oil, sliding over and around each other as they wrestled with the sponge and Armie’s fingers.
Tim bellowed spluttered laughter into the bed as Armie sent the sponge under his toes, repeatedly.
The belt kept Tim’s feet in place, as his hardness twitched and throbbed.
The more Tim rubbed his body against the pillow, the closer he got.
The more he squirmed, the more friction he created …
… The more he reacted this way, the more Armie tickled.
The vicious cycle continued, until Tim felt the sponge arrive at his arch, announcing the end of being able to handle such intense tickling mixed with such pained arousal.
“Fuck! I can’t! Stop!”
Tim twisted around his upper body.
His rock solid girth slid away from the pillow.
Armie watched Tim’s feet go from facing down, to facing up.
Tim now sat up on the mattress with coconut oil drenched pillows beneath him.
He kicked his legs frantically whilst hysterically panting into Armie’s back.
“Okay, okay! Alright, alright! Stop, fuck, stop! Armie, you mother fucker!”
Armie grinned sadistically as he used one hand to hold Tim’s feet into place with the belt, and the other hand to scrub the soapy sponge over his soles.
Tim dragged his ass across the bedsheets clumsily.
He held onto Armie’s shoulders and head butted his back.
He grabbed Armie’s waist, trying to tickle him himself, in an attempt to get his Tickler to stop.
Armie didn’t flinch.
He either endured Tim’s attacks without reacting, or his waist wasn’t ticklish …
… Either or, Armie put up a fight.
Tim gave in.
He bellowed manic laughter out into his bedroom ceiling.
His eyes widened, his jaw fell open, his throat expelled hysteria.
He fell back onto the bed, rolling from side to side, flapping his upper body about like a electrified eel.
And then, suddenly, the tickling stopped.
The brush slid to an eventual slow down, gliding over Tim’s soles before leaving the ends of his heels entirely.
The sponge landed in the bowl with a soapy plop.
Tim used his elbows and then his hands to lift his body upward.
He shot panicked, confused looks from side to side, his face still blindfolded, his eyes still looking into darkness.
He felt Armie’s weight lift from his aching ankles.
Tim curled his toes in anticipation as his hard on twitched between his thighs.
The grinding, the squirming, the natural rubbing of his arousal against the pillow during such a desperate amount of wriggling had got him painstakingly close.
He couldn’t hear Armie move, or walk, or talk …
Tim felt breathless, his chest tight …
He went to remove his blindfold, but Armie’s hand held onto his wrist.
Tim gasped as something warm and moist landed around the tip of his manhood.
Soft lips, a strong tongue, wet saliva …
… Something they had only acted out, years ago, behind Luca's camera in Italy …
… And now, for the first time, actually taking place, in the middle of Tim’s ensuite bedroom, on the second floor of Armie’s apartment.
Tim shuddered.
His throat tightened up, his hands left his blindfold, his fingers curled through Armie’s hair.
Hot, soapy water still dripped off his toes and onto the carpet.
The movement slid up and down, up and down, slowly at first and then faster.
Tim bit his upper lip.
He felt the dull ache in his stomach transform into a sharp slice.
It shot through his crotch, it gathered at his balls, at the base of his arousal.
The tip of Tim’s hard on throbbed and shimmered.
“Mmnn!” Tim opened his mouth, his voice breathless and coarse, “Fuck!” He wanted to announce the approaching explosion, the nearing relief, but he squeezed his mouth shut.
He knew expressing such eagerness would warn Armie of how close he appeared to be …
… But Armie didn’t need verbalisation to know that.
He was an expert, after all.
Just as Tim’s eyes widened behind the blindfold, the warmth slid away.
Lips left the strength of Tim’s near explosion, as if finished with a fruit-flavoured lollypop.
Armie stood abruptly.
Tim arched his spine, rolling over to his back, where he took his hands towards his crotch and then—
“—No.”
Through the desperate darkness, Tim could hear Armie’s order shoot through his ears in a stern, authoritative tone.
Tim held his hands up, in surrender.
He fell lifelessly against the bed, his arousal twitching, his balls pulsating …
… His orgasm, denied.
The feeling of intense pleasure rolled back into hiding as Tim snatched away the blindfold, squinting his eyes up at the brightness of the ceiling in distress.
“Fuck,” he managed, curing the blindfold up into a ball.
The next “Fuck…” came out in an aggressive growl.
He pushed the blindfold into his mouth and bit down onto it, in an attempt to relieve some frustration.
Armie lowered his pointed hand.
Power regained.
“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it … The want … The desire, to move your hands, to finish…”
Tim nodded frantically, in his sprawled out positioning, staring over his chest at Armie with wide, open eyes.
“I’ll allow it,” Armie offered Tim false hope, if only for a few seconds, “Just not today…”
Tim let out a giant sigh, edged once again, for the second time in less than two weeks.
“… But first, we have a trip to go on.”
TCTLR continues in Chapter Eighteen - ‘It’s Only A Party’ …