This story takes place after ‘How Harry Won His Grammy’ and ‘Harry’s Secret’.

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t h e c o t s w o l d s

e n g l a n d

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Harry tossed and turned in his sleep as memories of his time with The Masked Tickler tormented him in the early hours of the morning …

First came the sound of the electric toothbrush buzzing around his pinned back toes as his baby oil soaked feet sat snug in stocks, his wrists bound high above him …

Then there was the mind blowing feeling of thirty fingers attacking him at once; some deep within his underarms, others travelling up and down his stomach, the remaining ten pinching, grabbing, poking at his rib cage as The Masked Tickler invited two of his masked friends to join in on the fun …

Harry let out a quiet whimper, kicking his feet within the bedsheets as he acknowledged the sharp pin point tip of a feathers quill glide non stop around his left little toe—

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—Harry opened his eyes.

His heart beat slowed down, his blurred vision focused, his fast paced breathing decreased …

Like yesterday morning and the one before that, and the one before that and the one before that, Harry naturally calmed himself down …

He looked into the smooth, tanned skin of Louis back, just inches away from his face …

He breathed in Louis scent …

A smell so fine and eye watering that it made Harry’s cock stiffen into a full erection within a matter of seconds …

Harry shuffled in closer to Louis, taking him in his arms, nudging his waist against Louis’ plump derriere.

He rolled his hips, allowing his hard on to rub and press against the bottom of Louis spine where it would gently plant itself between Louis’ juicy ass cheeks.

Both young men laid in silence as the grey sky outside of Harry’s tiny countryside cottage began to shine through the half open window, a chilly November breeze finding its way inside where it would greet Louis toes currently poking out the bottom of the heavy, cream duvet.

Louis slid his feet under the covers, his eyes still closed, a smirk lifting his lips at the feeling of Harry’s rock solid cock now testing its presence by carefully pushing itself into Louis, where just the tip of Harry’s arousal began its entry.

Harry tucked his right knee between Louis legs.

He then lifted his knee so that Louis' thighs parted, further more spreading his ass, allowing Harry easier access inside of Louis.

Louis smirk turned into a grin.

With eyes still closed, he moved his hands behind him so that he held onto Harry.

He pulled Harry closer …

Harry bit his upper lip and pressed his face against Louis’ shoulder blades as he arched his back gently, his throbbing cock now entirely inside Louis, Louis’ ass consuming Harry’s erection completely.

Louis let out a delicate pant, his arms sliding back to the front of his body where he held onto the bedsheets, biting into them as his vision began to blur.

Both Harry and Louis lay in bed, in the spoon position as sparrows and nesting birds in the leaf-less trees outside of Harry’s cottage tweeted and twirped, their bird song filling the silence in the room.

“Morning, lad …” Louis spoke with his mouthful of bedding.

Harry didn’t verbalise his ‘good morning’ with words; instead, he brushed his lips against the back of Louis neck and kissed the top of his spine.

Louis felt Harry twitch inside of him.

“Today’s the day …” Louis arched his back, pressing his ass into Harry’s waist, a concerned, “—Mnn—” contained between pressed down lips as he acknowledged the tip of Harry’s cock nudge against his prostate, “—How, how are you, h, how are you feeling, lad?” He asked breathlessly.

Harry took one hand and reached around Louis, curling it around Louis’ growing erection.

He massaged it as his other hand reached down to the ultra smooth space of flesh that made up Louis taint.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked, as he began to brush the hyper ticklish area between Louis currently filled hole and his now pulsating balls.

Louis huffed; he hated how much Harry loved the fact that he had been boiling with jealousy and anxiety for the past few weeks …

He squirmed in Harry’s hold, his body unable to shuffle away from Harry’s fingernails as they glided across his taint, mostly due to his entire ass being so successfully wedged around Harry’s cock, which currently worked as an extension of Harry that cunningly pinned Louis into place.

“You’re just ti, tickling h, him, aren’t you—” Louis swallowed down a dry bubble, licking his lips, squeezing his eyes shut as Harry continued his stroke, “—No fu, fu, funny business …” the more Louis rolled his hips and waist, in an attempt to dodge Harry’s fingertips between his thighs, the more his prostate pushed against the tip of Harry’s cock, further hardening his own arousal in Harry’s grasp …

“Nothing more …” Harry whispered into Louis spine, “… Nothing less …” he persisted in stroking Louis’ taint, his lovers ass now grinding with every squirm over his cock, his tight hole massaging Harry’s erection as he giggled into his pillow.

“An, an, and oh, oh, oh—” Louis tried to clamp his legs together but Harry had buried his fingers deep into his taint, as expertly as he had buried his cock deep within Louis’ behind, which meant Harry could easily continue to scratch and smooth Louis taint as much as he wished, sending the thirty one year old into a confused and bewildered state, his mind dealing with the tickling whilst also trying to handle the overwhelming sense of pleasure taking place between his ass cheeks, his own cock now swelling between Harry’s palm, “—it’s, it’s oh, oh, only three days—” Louis took in a quick breath, “—Just three days—” he gasped.

Harry nodded into Louis right shoulder, his fingers still working Louis taint, his cock now pressing deep into Louis where it would slide out but never leave, only to return in deeper once again, Louis entire ass still wiggling from Harry’s teasing, tormenting touch, his own prostate being hit on repeat, non stop, within the warm confines of Harry’s antique double bed.

“No more …” Harry repeated, “… No less …” he spoke quietly into the now glistening skin that made up the smooth landscape of Louis back, “… Just three days …”

Louis couldn’t take it anymore.

As both young men gyrated against each other in a mixture of tickling and sex, their orgasms arrived at the same time, as they did most mornings, in the form of heavy grunts and unexpected huffs; Harry’s lasting the longest mostly because he had complete control of his ecstasy, whereas Louis lay victim to Harry’s girth still residing inside of him, Harry’s fingernails still smoothing his taint, Louis levels of ticklishness still exploited, even during his own expel of back arching satisfaction.

Harry took his taunting touch away from Louis taint and then slid it around Louis stomach, where he kept his other hand curled around Louis cock, a cock still twitching out cum as Harry tightened his hold.

Harry relaxed his clutch, allowing Louis to shuffle around in the bed where he positioned himself on his side, now facing Harry.

Styles and Tomlinson looked into each others eyes as they allowed the remains of their orgasm to tingle across their skin, in unison, both experiencing a similar physical feeling, but neither one of them experiencing the same mental feeling …

For Louis, it was complete worry; a dire dread that the person arriving to this tiny home later this morning would replace him and therefore ruin everything forever …

For Harry, it was pure excitement, he felt like he had been given the keys to a candy shop; a chance to act out all he had learned on someone he had dreamed of dominating for over thirteen years …

Louis decided to do the thing that had been on his mind since he had discovered Harry’s secret; it would cement Harry as his, remind him of how serious their relationship was, what would be at risk if Harry chose to stray …

Louis said the words quietly, regretting them instantly with every muscle that moved his mouth and shaped his jaw, yet he still let it happen, he still spoke it out loud.

“I love you, lad.”

Harry kept his eyes on Louis, a small smile lifting his lips.

Louis smiled back, a wave of relief washing over him, but not quenching his paranoia enough, not till he heard Harry say the same thing back …

Instead, Harry kissed Louis on the lips, rolled out of bed and made his way into his ensuite bathroom, leaving Louis alone, deflated, covered in cum and with a taint feeling raw from Harry’s relentless touch.

Harry impaled a sizzling sausage with a silver fork, pressing it into the surface of the oil soaked frying pan before picking it up and taking a bite out of the end.

He gasped, bouncing on his socked toes as he struggled to deal with the sausages heat, rolling it over his tongue, to the left side of his mouth, to the right side of his mouth, chewing on it frantically until it finally cooled down and felt comfortable enough to swallow.

Harry wiped his lips with the back of his hand and fingered the sausage off of the fork, landing it back into the frying pan with the other five sausages, his two slices of white bread toasting up nicely in the toaster as he cooked his breakfast and sipped his coffee, his tiny, low ceiling kitchen now consumed with the smells and mouthwatering fragrances that made up the beginnings of a full english breakfast.

Harry wore white Nike socks, gym shorts, a white vest and a blue dressing gown, its belt tied loosely around his waist.

He spun on his heels just as Louis arrived at the kitchen table, rucksack over his shoulder.

“Right …” Louis sighed, “… Guess I’m off, then …”

He lowered his head as he heard the sound of a Range Rover rolling slowly over stoney gravel.

Harry carefully laid down the fork over the surface of the kitchen side.

He wiped his hands free of grease and slowly approached Louis, his feet making no noise at all as they walked over the orange coloured tiles.

Harry neatened up Louis outfit, once he stood toe to toe with him.

He adjusted the collar of his Fred Perry jacket, tidied up his brown head of hair and then placed his hands over each of Louis shoulders.

“I’ll see you in three days …” Harry looked at Louis lips as he spoke, “… It’s just training, alright? If they’d let me do it on you, I’d do it on you … It’s as simple as that.”

Louis looked down at his feet, avoiding Harry’s gaze for now.

“They’re wankers,” Louis declared, “They’re doing it on purpose!” He muttered begrudgingly, “They’re making me resent you.”

Harry squeezed Louis shoulders in an attempt to provide some form of reassurance.

“I don’t disagree. The Masked Tickler said that’s what they call ‘a narrative’. It’s all part of the set up …” he then took his right hand and gently tapped under Louis chin, successfully making his boyfriend lift his head so he stared him in the eye, “… And in three days, it’ll all be over. We’ll be back on that sofa, I’ll order that favourite Chinese you like … We’ll have some beers, do a couple of lines, watch Jurassic Park …” Harry grinned as he watched Louis smile, “… You feeling more chilled yet?”

Louis nodded slowly.

“When I get back,” his eyes travelled around Harry’s face; his faint facial hair, his soft lips, his crystal green eyes, “We’re not talking about it. Not one bit. Alright? I’m coming back, we’re fucking in the bath, and then we’re doing all the stuff you just listed, yeah? Deal?”

Harry bought Louis in for a hug, resting his jaw over Louis’ left shoulder.

“Deal,” he said, kissing Louis on his neck.

Louis closed his eyes.

He held onto Harry, wrapping his arms around him, nestling his head into Harry’s chest.

Beep, beep!

Louis ride outside reminded both young men that their time was up.

For now, they chose to ignore the impatient driver and instead remained quietly in each others arms, where Harry gently took hold of Louis head and angled it in the perfect position for an encouraging kiss.

Beeeeeeep, beeeeeep!

Louis smiled as Harry brushed his lips against his, taking Harry’s kiss entirely, their embrace passionate and heartfelt, their emotions vibrating out out their face in the form of pink cheeks, narrowed eyes and burrowed brows.

Breathless and aroused for the second time this morning, both Harry and Louis broke their cling as the Range Rover beeped it’s horn for a fifth, sixth, seventh time …

“I better go,” Louis mumbled, hooking the arm of his rucksack further up his shoulder as he made a strong willed effort to force himself away from Harry and down the cottage’s hall that stretched only four feet between the kitchen and the front door.

Harry stood with his hands dangling at his sides as he watched Louis step out into the autumn gravel, tiny rain drops landing around him as thunder broke in the distance …

Louis ducked his head from the sudden shower and jogged towards the front gate, knocking it open with the toe of his shoe, running at the Range Rover, yanking open the back door, throwing his bag inside, where he jumped into the backseat …

He turned to face Harry’s house; the tiny door he had just walked through framing Harry, who stood in the hall with his right hand waving gently to Louis.

Louis waved back as emotion caused his nostrils to flare.

He twisted in his seat, now facing the driver, who of course, wore a mask.

"Get yourself comfortable, Mr. Tomlinson. The drive to the airport is around four hours.”

Louis took his airpods out of his bag as the Range Rover wobbled into motion, it’s large tyres rolling he and The Masked Driver away from the path and onto the country road, where they began to slowly drive away from Harry’s house.

Rain patted against the window as Louis looked up into the grey sky …

He glared at the helicopter currently floating one hundred feet above …

It tilted to the left where it began its descent, heading towards a nearby field just a two minute walk from the cottage he had just left.

Louis felt his blood boil at the thought of the passenger inside that helicopter.

He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice filled with menace and frustration.

“Enjoy yourself, you lucky bastard …” he said.

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Shortly after the helicopter touched down on the damp, soggy Cotswolds field, Harry’s subject was manhandled out of the aircraft by two masked henchmen.

The subject wore only his underwear; his hands were tied behind his back, a red plastic ball gag sat stuffed in his mouth and a black hood had been thrown over his head.

He consensually allowed the two masked henchmen to pick him up under each arm and carry him across the field, his bare feet sliding through the grass, a now heavy amount of rainfall slamming against his tattooed torso.

As Harry finished eating his breakfast, popping one last fork full of bacon and scrambled egg into his mouth, his still open front door became occupied by the sudden presence of three bodies; two large, well suited muscular masked forms either side of one slim 5’9 lad originally from Bradford.

The two henchmen carried the stumbling subject over floorboards, where his rain soaked soles slipped and slid across the floor, until he tip toed over cold kitchen tiles in an attempt to keep up with his captors, who eventually forced him down onto a wooden chair pre positioned by Harry himself.

Harry, seated at the other side of the small, square kitchen table, sucked some mayonnaise off of his pinkie finger as he shot commanding looks at each henchmen, who stood out of breath and wet from the typically dreadful British weather falling all over the countryside outside of this cosy home.

“Cheers, boys,” Harry licked the remains of the mayo away from his upper lip as he nodded at the entrance to his home, “Close the door on your way out,” he smirked.

Both masked henchmen nodded, turning away from Harry in unison, where they both soldiered out of Harry’s House, closing the door behind them, as requested.

Silence filled the kitchen as Harry’s subject sat panting behind the hood covering his head.

Harry dug some baked beans out of the back of his teeth with his tongue as he eyed his subject from head to toe; taking in his size nine and a half feet first, currently stained with wet dirt and soggy blades of grass from the field he had been dragged though, where his eyes then moved up his hairy calves and over his thighs, thighs currently bobbing from side to side nervously.

Thanks to the rainfall, Harry’s subject’s underwear clung to all areas of his crotch; the damp cotton working as a soaked second layer of skin, a large, circumcised cock shaped out over a swollen pair of balls presenting itself between the subjects thighs.

Harry’s assessment continued as he journeyed his eyes over the young mans abs, his stomach lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping …

His nipples were rock hard, mostly due to the cold temperatures outside, and his once trembling shoulders had now started to drop into some form of relax, thanks to the roaring fire in the living room that currently heated the cottage.

Harry always thought his subject went over the top with the tattoos; there were wings over his chest, a tiger on his left arm, a chequered flag detailed down to his wrist; symbols, guns, heart shapes, skulls and cross bones littered his otherwise smooth, flawless, soft olive skin …

Harry got to his feet.

He yanked off his subjects hood …

He stepped back, folding his arms across his chest, grinning at the line of drool seeping out of the ball gaged stuffed into Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn blinked, struggling to handle the ball of plastic wedged between his teeth, glaring up at Harry with a furious scowl.

Harry leant over Zayn and carefully unclipped the gag, removing it slowly, keen to make sure his first move would be an act of kindness …

Zayn licked his lips and sucked up some dribble, fully aware that some of the saliva had seeped down onto his navel.

Harry dropped the hood and ball gag down over the kitchen table like the discarded toys they were.

He then asked his subject, in his deep toned Manchester accent …

“ … Cuppa?”

Zayn’s dark brown eyes shifted from left to right as they took in this homely surroundings; he breathed in the scent of over cooked bacon, scrambled eggs made with too much butter, toast that had been left in the toaster a little too long …

Already, tiny details informed Zayn of something important - even if the set up he had arranged was beyond extraordinary, at his core, Styles hadn’t changed a bit.

Zayn’s eyes landed on Harry, his face flat and expressionless.

“Yeah,” Zayn shrugged, his hands still tied behind his back, “Go on then.”

Harry stepped closer and gently nudged the side of Zayn’s head with his knuckles, causing Zayn to turn his face away from Harry, a smile almost lifting his lips, but the thirty year old forced the smile down hard and fast, something he had grown used to doing, during the times when Harry would flirt with him so openly.

Harry turned away from Zayn and switched on the kettle.

“You look amazing,” Harry declared, picking out two mugs from the cupboards, “From head to toe.”

Zayn shuffled his feet underneath the chair, curling his fingers around the rope binding his wrists to the back of the seat as he acknowledged the sting in his stomach as soon as he saw a framed picture of Harry and Louis, neatly placed on a shelf littered with tiny plants, all three of Harry’s Grammy awards and four Brits; he didn’t want to address the situation so soon, especially considering the quantity of other questions he currently had gathered at the back of his throat, but this particular enquiry felt the most urgent to get off of his chest.

“Does he know about this?”

Harry opened the tin of tea bags and removed two, popping each one into two separate mugs as the kettle continued its boil, bubbles now erupting behind the plastic, a strong and steady roll of steam pumping out of the spout.

Harry nodded his head as he reached for the tub of sugar, popping open the lid, tea-spooning out two lumps for his mug and one lump for Zayn’s, never needing to ask how he would like his tea, after their intense bond during their time as band mates.

Zayn felt his eyebrows stiffen in confusion as Harry delivered a wordless answer he hadn’t expected, therefore increasing the number of questions now forming at a rapid rate within his brain.

Is Louis part of this cult too?

Does Louis get off on this stuff as well?

Is Louis joining us later?

Have you talked, about …

Was he okay?

Zayn squeezed his eyes shut as he pushed away the noise, silencing the many internal mutterings by clearing his throat and returning his attention to Harry.

“Do … Do the boys, know about —”

—Harry walked to the refrigerator, the rain still landing against the kitchen windows, the morning grey outside deepening in shade.

He shook his head as he retrieved a bottle of milk, uncapping the lid, tipping the creamy white contents into each mug.

Zayn huffed.

Harry’s refusal to speak the answers to his questions irritated him more than he dared to admit; he bounced his knees and clenched his teeth, burning his eyes through Harry as Harry ever so casually prepared two mugs of tea, Zayn’s annoyance at how quickly it escalated behind his narrowed stare now matching the boil within the kettle, the steam now pulsating out of the spout so hard that lines of hot water began to dribble out from the kettles lid, it’s whistle now screaming at a high pitched tone, where Zayn opened his mouth and readied himself to shout his anger and distress at Harry when—

— the kettle stopped boiling, clicking off automatically, the bubbles and boil decreasing in their intensity …

Zayn dropped his head over the back of his shoulders as he glanced up at the cob web riddled ceiling.

Harry poured the hot water into each mug, the spoons clinking impact with the china being the only noise inside this tiny kitchen.

Harry sat down on his chair and placed Zayn’s mug of tea next to him, on the kitchen table, fully aware that Zayn didn’t have the physical capability to pick it up and drink it.

Harry sipped his tea and smiled at Zayn, tilting his head to the left.

“You’ve missed me, haven’t you …” he delivered his words as a statement, not a question.

Zayn rolled his eyes and dropped his head back over his chest.

Harry continued to press.

“You’ve been thinking about me every day, since you left the band, haven’t you …”

Zayn tutted; another statement, another arrogant declaration with minimal to no evidence to back it up.

“Be honest, Zayn …” Harry spoke over the surface of his tea, “… In this house, only honesty and truth will get you out the door you were carried through …”

Zayn pressed his lips together and gave Harry a taste of his own medicine; no words, no speaking, just a slow shake of the head.

Harry sipped his tea.

He placed the mug down over the kitchen table and then he slid off his seat, where he landed on the tiled floor, knees first.

Zayn blinked.

Harry then reached out under Zayn’s chair and curled his hand around Zayn’s right ankle.

Zayn grunted, forcing his feet together, as Harry started to tug at his leg.

Harry grinned with excitement, the more he felt Zayn refuse to give up his foot.

Zayn tried to kick his leg free, but Harry decided to use both hands to hold onto his right ankle, yanking it out from under the chair and forcing it down over his lap.

Harry licked his lips, keeping Zayn’s foot pinned into place with his right hand, his left hand now gently picking wet blades of grass and small chunks of mud from the field away from Zayn’s toes.

Zayn so desperately despised any attention on his feet that he didn’t even want to provide Harry with his left foot, by using it to kick Harry away; instead he kept it hidden under the chair, even if it’s strength could prove useful in this moment in time …

“ … Over the next three days, you’ll be more than honest with me,” Harry announced, “You’ll feel things, say things, do things you never thought possible. You’ll own up to everything, admit what I know you have to admit, react in ways you’ve never reacted before,” Harry pinched Zayn’s big toe, his eyes never leaving Zayn’s as Zayn watched Harry in his knelt position, “My god,” Harry spoke in an aroused trance, “I can’t fucking wait to hear you beg …”

Once again, Zayn tried to pull his foot away from Harry, his shock and alarm at how quickly Harry had broken the contract leaving him entirely speechless.

Harry pinned it harder against his lap.

Zayn gulped as he felt two contrasting things at once; the fleshy girth of Harry’s erection beneath his underwear, and the sharpness of Harry’s fingernails as they pressed against the buttery bottoms of all five of his toes.

“You’ve missed me, haven’t you …” Harry repeated, “… You’ve been thinking about me every day, since you left the band …” he whispered.

Zayn huffed and shook his head for a second time, enduring a sudden scratch from Harry’s bright yellow painted fingernails as they slid around the pad of his foot, his face filled with grimace, his visceral hatred for having his feet touched now in full swing.

“Say it …” Harry urged, “ … You’ve missed me, haven’t you … You’ve been thinking about me every day, since you left the band …” he struggled to keep hold of Zayn’s foot the more Zayn’s leg began to jolt, the fingernails now around the base of his toes causing him to kick fiercely, once, twice, three times, until the sensory overload took over his movements, forcing him to hunch forwards and kick for a fourth time, his eyes widening, his mouth stretching out into a wide open grin, a bellow of giggles ready to leave his lips, but they were forced back down his throat for now, his bigger focus being breaking free, something he successfully did after one fifth and final kick into Harry’s stomach—

—Harry let go of Zayn’s ankle and hugged his tummy, a heavy “—oof!—” forced out of him as Zayn quickly shuffled both of his feet back under the chair.

Harry returned to a standing position, dusting off his bare knees, sitting back down on his chair, picking up his mug of tea …

He felt his cheeks flush red as he watched a breathless Zayn, who had been able to disarm him with a simple kick only seven seconds into Harry actioning his first tickle on his temporary ticklee …

Harry felt embarrassed, ashamed, unsure …

He reminded himself to be better, to not let these three days be a waste, to consume himself with an identity unfamiliar with kindness, mercy or compassion; someone who was in control, someone who wouldn’t overlook any opportunity to hear Zayn plead, someone who would take their ticklee to the same mindless oblivion Harry had been taken to at the hands of his teacher, The Masked Tickler.

As thunder rattled the kitchen, he contemplated talking Zayn through his stay within this cottage; what each day would consist of, the tools he’d use, the body areas he would work over the most, the ways he would be tied, the levels of bondage he would experience …

After all, The House of White Feathers had provided contraptions, instructions, kits and devices for Harry, where he could install them wherever he would like; in his spare room, his living room, his dining room …

Harry smiled to himself as he decided to give Zayn little to nothing.

Leave him in the dark.

Tease him, only a tiny bit, on what may, or may not happen, over the next seventy two hours …

Let the curiosity, the worry and the dread boil within Zayn just as forcefully as the bubbles that had boiled in the kettle only moments ago.

Harry picked up Zayn’s mug of tea and lifted it towards Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn carefully pursed his lips and allowed Harry to tip the mug, so that the tea fell into his mouth and ran down the insides of his throat.

Such a warm, comforting sensation made Zayn relax somewhat within his chair; after being taken from his Beverly Hills home, stripped and bundled into a private jet without any food or water, the sugary, caffeinated bliss landing in the pit of his stomach was more than just welcomed, it was adored.

Harry returned the mug back to the kitchen table and crossed his legs at the knee.

Zayn sighed, a shiver causing him to tremble as the crackling flames in the fire place located in the living room began to die out and the insides of the cottage began to fill with a chill.

“Remember when we used to tickle each other on stage?” Harry smiled at Zayn as his eyes twinkled at the memory, “You were always the most ticklish. The one that used to kick up a fuss more than anyone else. You were never sock-less. Always watching. Always cautious. I always struggled to get my hands on you …”

Zayn smirked as he looked into his lap, shuffling a little further up his seat, the rope attaching his wrists together squeaking as he did so.

“Is that why I’m here?" Zayn wanted to keep his eyes of Harry, to continue to stare down at his damp underwear, but no matter how hard he tried he found his head lifting, his gaze caught in Harry’s intense stare, “Is …” Zayn swallowed down hard, his adam’s apple bobbing before he could proceed with his enquiry, “… Is that why you chose me?”

Harry felt his eyelids flutter as he took in Zayn’s beauty.

Zayn had been escorted here for many reasons; he was here for more than just tickling, more than just a way for Harry to act out what he had learned, more than just a way for Harry to secure a ticket to Sweden, more than just a object to play with …

He wasn’t sure if Zayn knew that or not …

By day three, he’d find out regardless.

Harry spoke so quietly that the words almost did not make it out of his mouth.

“… Yes …”

Zayn shuffled his feet out from under the chair and confidently planted both bare soles over the tiles of the kitchen floor.

Finally, Harry had decided to not just nod, or shake his head, but to instead provide his answer with a word, even if that word was unintentionally soaked in vulnerability.

Harry sniffed, clearing his throat, standing away from his chair, where he walked behind Zayn, kneeling down, fingering the rope binding his wrists together …

Zayn felt his hands fall apart, whilst wondering, in quite a nervous way, what would take place next.

Harry patted Zayn’s shoulders.

“Stand up, Malik. It’s time for a tour.”

Zayn, to his own surprise, stood up almost immediately, almost too quickly, as if he had subconsciously already become Harry’s slave, willing to do as he ordered at the click of a finger, without even realising it.

Zayn composed himself and turned around slowly, standing in just his underwear, opposite Harry.

A beat of silence landed between both boys as Zayn waited for Harry to lead him through his house.

But, as the moment of quiet continued, Zayn found himself using this noiseless pause to ask Harry a question he had put off asking since the hood and ball gag had been removed; he had been too overwhelmed with the situation, with all the other questions floating around in his head, but, as he watched Harry quietly, the rain still patting against the kitchen window, he realised this one question encapsulated all the other branches of curiosity that stemmed from a simple line of enquiry.

“Why are you really doing this?” Zayn asked.

Harry’s face dropped as he peeled his eyes away from Zayn, only to have no choice but to return them where they landed directly over Zayn’s mouth; he spoke in a grainy, reserved growl, as if Zayn had pulled out his heart so they could both assess the damage made since—

“—You know fucking why,” Harry had not realised his fists were so tightly clenched until he felt his nails digging into his palms …

Zayn lowered his head.

As he stared at the wet blades of grass still tucked between his toes, Harry directed the same question, his voice less stern, a little softer this time round.

“ … Why are you doing this?” Harry asked.

Zayn smiled quietly.

He lifted his head and looked Harry square in the eye, providing his answer in a whisper.

“You know fucking why.”

Harry’s eyelashes fluttered as he felt his cheeks flush pink.

He offered out his right hand to Zayn.

Zayn gulped down the frog in his throat and looked at Harry’s hand; if he took hold, there would be no going back.

Lightning caused both boys to jolt as thunder rumbled in the distance a few seconds later.

Zayn placed his hand in Harry’s, where he remained oblivious to the fact that Harry would not only be taking him on a tour of the house, but he would also be introducing him to his first ever tickle session …

t h e l i v i n g r o o m

Another act of kindness that reminded Zayn of the Harry he had fallen for back in 2014 was the simple gesture of ensuring Zayn was warm.

Harry slipped off his dressing gown and hooked it over Zayn’s shoulders; he didn’t ask if Zayn were cold, or if he even needed the gown itself, he just applied it without prior discussion, stepping away from Zayn seconds after, his socked feet now walking past a closed living room door, towards a narrow staircase that would lead to the cottage’s first floor.

Zayn shuffled the dressing gown onto himself, sliding his tattooed arms through each sleeve, tying the fluffy cotton belt around his waist in a tight knot, following Harry in a speedy walk.

“You’ve got your own room,” Harry declared, almost as if he were doing Zayn a favour, “Double bed, ensuite bathroom, a fan to plug in, incase you need to cool off the sweat …” he began to walk up the stairs, “ … And believe me, Malik, you’re going to get very sweaty …”

Zayn, still often expecting Harry to turn around and announce that the contract was a joke, that he did not have a thing for tickling, that there was no eight million dollar payment, raised his eyebrows as he took in the sight of Harry’s ass, just inches away from his face; he had forgotten how round it was, how plump, how perky it could appear, no doubt enhanced in shape over the years thanks to his gruelling concert scheduling and its physical demand …

So much about Harry had changed; his hair, his tattoo quantity, the glow in his skin and sparkle behind his eyes …

His career and levels of fame had reached heights that were stratospheric, compared to his time in the band, which was already setting the bar pretty high when it came to how individually famous each boy was then compared to now …

He had found love, too, not just in Louis, but in this new, unexpected, one of a kind kink …

As they reached the top of the stairs, a thought landed in Zayn’s head - he seems happy.

“My room is next to yours,” Harry thumbed the two open bedroom doors, side by side, both leading into rooms containing large beds, a chest of drawers each, a soft looking carpet, wooden beams across the ceilings, pane glass windows with a view out into murky fields and grey, rainy air, “There’s basic white t-shirts, pants and socks in the drawers if you need them,” Harry grinned, “But, you won’t need them, not really. You’ll be naked, most of the time …” Harry winked at Zayn as he nudged him out of the way, heading back down the steps in an excited gallop, “Now, onto the living room!” He declared.

Before turning to follow Zayn, Zayn narrowed his eyes at a single length of rope and one leather cuff attached to the bottom right corner of his bed.

“Come on, Malik, we’ve only got seventy hours left!” Harry called from downstairs.

Zayn spun on his heels, taking careful steps down the steep one hundred plus year old staircase where he finally arrived at the living room door.

Harry stood holding onto the handle, “Brace yourself …” he warned, a playful smile decorating his face.

He then turned the handle and slowly opened the living room door, walking in, moving to the side so that Zayn could follow.

Zayn walked in, his mouth slowly falling open as he took in the sight of something extraordinary within the ordinary setting.

Amongst the large sofas, the fireplace, the open brickwork, the pillows and the cosy decor dangled two chains that had been nailed to the low ceiling.

Attached to the ends of each chain was a leather cuff, on the armchair was a rusty tool box.

“ … Alright …” Zayn gawped.

Harry chuckled.

“I haven’t seen you this nervous since you auditioned for X Factor,” He quipped.

Zayn closed his mouth as he approached the bondage, raising his right hand to brush his fingertips against the left leather cuff hanging a foot or so away from his face.

“When …” Zayn dropped his right arm and turned away from Harry, where he stared into the remains of once roaring flames that now existed as some crackling amber within ashy clumps of coal in the fireplace, “… When did it go from tickling your mates on stage, to this?”

Harry tucked his hands into his gym short pockets and kicked the floorboards with his toes.

“These people …” Harry spoke quietly, as if ‘these people’ were listening, “… They have a way of discovering you, a way of doing things to you, a way of … Changing you, even if …” Harry’s eyes glazed over as he arrived at a realisation, “… Even if you yourself weren’t aware you needed to change,” he walked slowly towards the chains and looked up at the cuffs, “… You could say they’ve awoken something within me.”

Zayn dropped himself down on the edge of the sofa and covered his face with his hands, sighing into their clammy surface.

He never thought, in his wildest dreams, he would be in a situation like this, with someone that used to be his best friend, where he would need to ask the sort of question that made its way over his tongue and past his lips where he mumbled it into his palms.

“Are you giving me a safe word?”

Zayn slid his hands away from his face and looked at Harry.

“Each session will be different,” Harry explained, “Some will include safe words, some will not. Today,” he bit his lower lip, hiding an eager smile, “Today, you don’t get a safe word.”

Zayn slid both of his hands over his short head of hair and slowly got to his feet.

“You’re making me breakfast before we start, right? We’re not doing this right now, are we?”

Harry untucked his hands from his gym shorts and placed them behind his back as he slowly began to approach Zayn.

“You ever been tickled, hardcore, after consuming a full english?” Harry asked.

Zayn rolled his eyes and tutted.

“Mate, I’ve never been tickled ‘hardcore’ before in my life!” He huffed.

Harry now stood toe to toe with Zayn, the exact same stance he had taken with Louis just two hours ago …

“Sixty nine hours and fifty nine minutes left …” he warned, his eyes taking in Zayn’s stubble and his plump, juicy lips, “ … What? You thought we’d keep on chatting? That all your questions would distract me? I’d pour you another cup of tea?” Harry pointed at Zayn’s tattooed chest, his index finger pressing against his skin, “I’m only allowed you for three days, and there are some important things I want to do to you, Zayn …” Harry then dragged his index finger gently away from Zayn’s chest where it arrived at his navel, “ … I think it’s best we make a start … Throw you in at the deep end …” Harry started to draw a circle around Zayn’s bellybutton, “… Don’t worry, I’ve sound proofed the windows …”

Zayn jumped away from Harry, where he used the dressing gown to cover up his chest and stomach, wrapping it tight around his torso.

“Alright, alright!” He hissed, “Just, just give me a minute to process all this,” he shook his head, “Fuck,” he tried to compartmentalise his thoughts, he tried to understand how this would go, he tried to figure out if he could even handle it, “I’m so fucking ticklish,” he whispered to himself, “Ahh shit, fuck, you’re a shit head, Harry, seriously …” Zayn then began to remove the dressing gown, submitting himself, confirming his willingness to get started, fully aware of his signature on the paperwork still laid out over his desk in his Beverly Hills mansion, “… Just go easy, alright? Don’t be a dickhead. Don’t go too hard, and, if, if I say stop, could you at least stop for a —”

"—I’m calling the shots … ” Harry reminded Zayn as he stepped back, allowing Zayn some room to continue to remove the dressing gown, “ … I decide how long this goes on for, I decide when to stop, I decide every fucking thing until you step your beautiful feet out of my house …” Harry felt a fieriness sparkle deep within him as he spoke like a tickler, he acted like a tickler, he became a tickler; not in the same way as with Louis in their hotel in London, but a real tickler, the kind he had witnessed whilst he himself had been locked in stocks, tied to beds and manhandled by those who refuse to create such hysteria without wearing a mask, “… Got it?”

As Harry stood with regained confidence, Zayn finally shrugged the dressing gown away from his shoulders and then pulled it off his body, throwing it to the side of the living room where it landed over the arm of the sofa.

He stood, back in just his underwear, curling his fists into balls where he offered Harry both of his hands, the movement itself answering Harry with the words ‘I understand’.

Harry provided no verbal communication either; the two of them had known each other for so long, were so unbelievably close and had often exchanged words by look dozens of times before, that sometimes words simply were not needed.

Harry’s smile said, ‘let’s begin’.

He stepped towards Zayn and gently curled his right hand around Zayn’s left wrist; he then took Zayn away from the edge of the sofa and into the middle of the living room, underneath the set of cuffs and chains that now dangled above his head.

Zayn wriggled his nose and tilted his head to the left, cracking out some pressure, where he then tilted his head to the right, nudging our more clicks and cracks.

Harry let go of Zayn’s wrist and then walked towards the armchair; he held onto it and pushed it across the floor, grunting a little as he positioned it next to Zayn.

Harry removed the tool box and then climbed onto the armchair, standing tall, reaching down to Zayn’s left arm.

Zayn helped Harry out by lifting his arm into his grasp, where he allowed Harry to secure his left wrist to the leather cuff, wincing as he reached upward, the bondage a little higher than expected, resorting to Zayn now having to stand on tip toes.

Zayn lifted his right arm, where Harry took his wrist and connected it to the second cuff.

He hopped off the armchair and kicked it out of the way, stepping back to admire Zayn in his newly restricted position.

Zayn’s arms were now forced above his head, his feet dancing on his toes as he swayed from side to side, his biceps squashed up at either side of his face, his long, olive torso stretched out and fully displaying every inch of tattooed detail covering him from neck to waist; but above all else, his open armpits were now entirely exposed, their cavern-like depths on show, Zayn’s generous display of black underarm hair staring right back at Harry.

Harry held onto his cock, rubbing its growing shape beneath his gym shorts.

Zayn could smell his own armpit hair, they were that close to his face; so pulled apart, so vulnerable, “Could really do with a wee,” Zayn managed to say, whilst standing in his uncomfortable dangle.

Harry smirked.

He picked up the tool box and placed it back over the armchair, “If you piss yourself, you piss yourself,” he said, flipping the lid of the tool box, where he picked out a single seagull feather from inside, “I don’t care …”

He turned to face Zayn, who eyed the feather confidently.

“That’s … Not gonna tickle,” Zayn scoffed, “A feather? A fucking feather? I thought this was going to be hell …” he blew a raspberry with his lips, “… Pfft, he’s got the voice, can write a number one hit, has the looks, but a masterful tickler he is not …” Zayn licked his lips, hiding a smile, testing Harry, toying with him, quite simply because it was the only thing that made him feel better, the only thing that gave him a sense of control during a situation where he felt so very much entirely out of control …

Harry twisted the feather’s nib between his index finger and thumb, eyeing the tickle tool with respect as he walked slowly towards Zayn.

“You always loved flirting with me,” Harry now stood just inches away from Zayn’s torso, “In fact, I think it was you who flirted with me first. Technically, that would mean you’re the one responsible for all of this. You’re the one to blame, for what happened after that first flirt, for what happened when you left the band, and for all that happened in-between …” Harry took the feather and began to stroke it under Zayn’s chin, “… You could say, you flirting first is what got you here, in these chains, in my house …”

Zayn twisted his neck, pulling his head up and away from the feather as his tip toes continued to dance across the floorboards, “Piss off, you twat—” he spat the feather away as it brushed against his lips, “—Get over yourself, you idiot,” he wiggled away from Harry as Harry started to twirl the feather across his chest, “Do one! You bell end …”

Harry raised his eyebrows, taking the feather down to Zayn’s stomach, where he fluttered it across his abs, over his waist and past his hips.

“Wanna call me anymore names?” He used his free hand to keep Zayn in place by grabbing hold of the waistband of his underwear, “Being such a cocky bastard isn’t going to make things easier for you, Malik …”

Zayn blushed as Harry’s hold over his underwear opened a gap between the waistband and his stomach, offering a generous view of his swelling cock and balls, currently stuffed within the cotton.

“Oi, Ha, Harry, let, let go—” Zayn twisted to the right, “—Oi, stop, don’t—” he twisted to the left, the feather now working its way towards his thighs, where Zayn began to hop and kick away from its torturous flutter, “—Aye! Alright, mate, en, enough—” Zayn peered down past his torso as he watched Harry crouch down by his feet, “—Harry!—” Zayn, for the first time since being taken, acknowledged a sense of panic as Harry curled his free hand around Zayn’s left ankle, the feather now sliding across his toes, over the sole of a now fiercely stomping foot, where it tickled one of Zayn’s most ticklish areas, an area he despised being manhandled, an area he had to violently kick away from just thirty minutes ago, “—NO—” Zayn growled, “—Not the feet—”

With his ankles untied, Zayn was able to action another set of swift kicks, whilst curling his fingers around the chains, using them as leverage, lifting his legs up and away from the floor as he bent his elbows and used all of his upper body strength to climb up the chains, his feet now swiping so furiously that they almost smacked Harry in the face.

Harry dodged Zayn’s kicks by throwing himself against the floor, rolling onto his back, giggling like a school boy as he dropped the feather out of his hand.

Zayn, panting and now slowly dropping himself, very carefully, back into a tip toe position, could do nothing but glare at Harry as he rubbed both of his feet against each of his legs, “Fuck, not the feet—” he repeated, “—I made it pretty fucking clear in the paper work that I’d only do this if, if you didn’t touch my fucking feet, and you’ve bloody done it twice, now …”

Harry stared at the ceiling, grinning triumphantly, his hands resting over his chest, a gleeful tone leaving his wide mouth.

“But you’ve got beautiful feet!” Harry announced, “Probably the nicest feet out of all of us, and by far the most ticklish … It would be criminal for me not to spend at least one whole day with them …” Harry crawled into a standing position, “… I’m sticking to all of you from the waist up today, and then we’ll cross the foot-phobia when we come to it, aye? How does that sound?”

Zayn tutted, twisting away from Harry once again as Harry suddenly grabbed Zayn’s waist, pulled him in close and shoved a large, wet kiss against his cheek.

Zayn pulled a face, “Harry! Bloody hell, for fucks sake!” Sticking out his tongue in grimace as Harry licked his jaw and sucked on his skin, “You’re not touching my feet, mate, I swear to god, otherwise I’m walking ouhhhhhhhhhh—”

Harry then spun Zayn on the spot, twisting him into a speedy twirl, causing the chains above Zayn to mangle together …

Harry stepped back and cackled as he watched Zayn spin in the other direction as the chains began to unravel themselves.

Zayn struggled to focus as he watched Harry’s cottage living room blur into nothing, a dizzy sensation arriving in his head when he finally stopped spinning.

“Bloody hell! For fucks sake!” Zayn widened his eyes, the sight of Harry walking to the discarded dressing gown over the arm of the sofa arriving in a distorted haze until everything sharpened up, just in time for Zayn to witness Harry pull the cotton belt out of the hoops around the dressing gown’s waist …

“For now … ” Harry turned to Zayn, “… I will need to stop the kicking …”

Once Harry had haphazardly tied Zayn’s ankles together with the dressing gowns belt, he went back to his box of tools and picked out a bright green water pistol.

He walked towards Zayn and aimed the water pistol at his chest, as if it were an actual weapon.

Zayn, still dangling from his chains and still tip toeing from side to side in a disgruntled sway, eyed the water pistol with a cocked brow.

“You’re such a kid, Styles.”

Harry smirked.

“I’m the child? All the tools in that box were packed by someone who goes by the name, ‘Clown’ …” Harry began to squirt the water pistol at Zayn’s chest, “ … If you want to witness real immaturity, you’ll want to meet him!”

Zayn sniffed up the scent of the liquid landing over his torso as he spun on the spot in an attempt to avoid the gushy squirts saturating his nipples, stomach, pits, shoulders, neck and now face, “—Pffffft! Pfftt!—” Zayn spat, “—Is, is that baby oil …?”—, Zayn squeezed his eyes shut and swung his feet up, in an attempt to kick Harry away, his ankles tied tightly together, his swipes failing as Harry smacked his legs aside and continued to squirt him with the water pistol.

“It’ll make your already super ticklish body…” Harry pinched the air with his free hand, “… Just that little bit more ticklish …”

“Harry! Fuck, you bloody idiot, pfft!” Zayn shot a worried look down to his crotch, “You’re getting it all over my bloody pants,” he tutted, “For fucks sake! Harry! Gigi bought me these!” He whined.

Harry, once content with the amount of baby oil now trickling down Zayn’s body, shoved the water pistol into the waistband of his gym shorts as if he were some kind of cowboy tickler; he then stepped closer towards Zayn, clawed a tight hold of his underwear and then yanked them down to his knees, yet again without warning, exposing Zayn’s thick cock, which immediately sprung free, much to Zayn’s disliking.

This time, Zayn didn’t whine.

Instead, his voice deepened into an angry snarl as he twisted away from Harry, keen to hide his cock and balls, overly conscious of them, of how naked he suddenly was, of how bare and on display his entire body suddenly felt …

“Harry, oi, come on, mate, pull them back up, that’s, that’s not funny,” he grunted, his tied together feet unable to do much as he wiggled his waist, Harry now pulling his underwear down to Zayn’s ankles, twisting them in the middle so they worked as a second form of bondage to keep Zayn’s feet locked together, “Fuck, mate, you’re a dick! I swear to god,” Zayn huffed, rolling his eyes up to the wooden beam covered ceiling as he swung and spun on the spot, droplets of baby oil littering the living room floor around him, “Okay, great, so, now I’m naked, cool, thanks a lot,” he sighed, “Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

Harry chuckled.

He stepped back and allowed his eyes to travel over Zayn as he hung in his straps, his ticklee’s arms high above him, his now shimmering torso shining in the grey light beaming through rain soaked windows only two feet away from him, his cock long and snug, protruding from a neatly shaved space of flesh at the bottom of his stomach; its shape was perfectly cylindrical, its structure hairless, the veins curling around Zayn’s shaft pulsating the more he hung there nude and revealed, the entire set up now arousing him in ways he had not expected.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Harry placed his hands on his hips, “And it looks like me seeing you naked is bringing back some memories … You’re getting hard, I can see it,” Harry circled Zayn, eyeing his taunt, strung up frame, his perky ass, his tip-toed feet, his baby oil soaked back …

Harry then pulled down his own underwear, allowing his own erection to stand tall and mighty.

He kicked his briefs away from his feet and returned to Zayn’s front, facing him in just his vest and socks, his hard on staring Zayn in the face.

Zayn’s eyes widened.

“It’s got … Bigger …” Zayn commented.

Harry looked down at his cock and raised his eyebrows.

“I guess its been quite some time since you last had your mouth around it.”

Zayn blushed, rolling his eyes away from Harry as his own arousal continued to stiffen.

Harry smiled.

He walked quietly towards Zayn and then moved around him, so that he stood inches away from his back.

Zayn closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, readying himself for Harry’s fingers to invade his upper body, ready to expel a loud, explosive amount of hysteria as he dangled from the living room ceiling …

Instead of feeling Harry’s fingertips first, Zayn felt the shaft of Harry’s erection arrive between his buttocks in the form of a gentle brush.

Zayn acknowledged how quickly his throat tightened.

He then felt Harry’s breath on the back of his neck, Harry’s chest now pressing gently against his shoulder blades …

Zayn opened his eyes and glanced down at Harry’s hands as they appeared around either of his sides; one hand at Zayn’s left side, another hand at Zayn’s right side …

Carefully, Harry planted his palms over Zayn’s rib cage and slowly smoothed his way up, inch by inch, towards Zayn’s underarms.

Zayn bit his upper lip, containing any form of vocalised reaction at the back of his throat, “—Mnn—” as he watched Harry’s touch near his pits, inch by inch, his soft palms travelling over dozens of Zayn’s tattoos until Harry’s fingers clawed into shape and ever so gently arrived around Zayn’s underarms, his fingers burying themselves deep within Zayn’s armpit hair, causing the thirty year old to twist on the spot, another “—Mnn!—” caught behind pressed-together-lips as Harry paused his attack, using the placement of his fingers as more of an introduction than a sudden invasion.

Zayn breathed out through flared nostrils as he felt Harry’s lips whisper into his left ear.

“You’re always so moody all the time,” Harry allowed the tip of his tongue to taste some of Zayn’s earlobe, causing his temporary ticklee to gasp, “Always so stern, so strict, so stringent …” Harry combed Zayn’s armpit hair slowly, carefully, ever so gently, “… Your songs are always so dark, they’re never fun …” Zayn arched his back and spun his body to the right, but Harry remained pressed against Zayn’s spine, all ten of his fingers still buried deep within both of Zayn’s pits, still not overly tickling them, still just brushing, stroking, his bright yellow nail varnish moving through the dark curls of Zayn’s underarm hair, “ … I want to see you smile, Zayn, I want to hear you laugh …” Harry whispered his words into the top of Zayn’s back as Zayn glared down at Harry’s hands, where he witnessed them press harder into the depths of his pits, the ends of his fingers now making impact with the very centre of each of his underarms, where he began to scratch at them, relentlessly, and without warning, “… I want to hear you scream …” Harry snarled.

Harry had tickled Zayn a few times before; a poke to the side, a finger wiggle across the waist, a quick index finger swipe up the foot …

He had always known Zayn was sensationally ticklish; but to have him like this, chained up this way, the entirety of his armpits and their hyper sensitive landscape completely exposed and open for Harry’s taking; every part of Zayn’s circumstance excited Harry in a way he could not quite describe, especially as he leant into discarding lighter objects such as the feather, embracing his strong hands and long fingers instead as they infiltrated the very depths of Zayn’s underarms, showing no mercy in the slightest …

Zayn’s immediate response was to escape; he twisted to the right as if dodging a hornet, and then spun to the left, as if having Harry’s fingers deep within his pits was the most unbearably horrendous sensation on earth, a feeling he had to avoid, at all costs, his teeth clenching hard, a vulnerable and muttered, “—wait—” caught between his throat, his toes bouncing him away from the floor as he kicked back at Harry, just once, his heels successfully making impact with his ticklers shins, causing Harry to stumble back and wince, his hands leaving Zayn’s pits quickly …

“OW!” Harry hissed.

Zayn, breathless and victorious in his attempt to get Harry off of him, twirled in his chains so that he faced Harry, who currently sat on the edge of his sofa, rubbing both of his shins.

“You could’ve broke my bloody legs, you wanker!” Harry spat.

Zayn’s eyebrows lifted.

“I’m, I’m sorry!” He could not sound any more genuinely concerned if he tried, “I, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Haz,” Zayn watched Harry endure the pain in both of his legs from such a fierce kick, “You went in hard, mate, it’s, it’s how I react to, to being tickled like that, I guess …” Zayn readied his mouth to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ once again, but he reminded himself that Harry had asked for it, and that Harry only had himself to blame, if he were to tickle in that sort of intense style …

Harry huffed, now rubbing one leg with one hand whilst he scratched the tip of his nose with the other.

“This … This isn’t how this is meant to go,” Harry mumbled to himself, “I didn’t think you’d kick so much … ” he wondered if he could ask Zayn to not kick, to keep his feet on the ground; he wondered if he should use some form of weight, attach it to his ankles, keeping his legs still for the rest of the session …

He then stopped wondering entirely, instead landing at a discomforting conclusion …

“… I thought I’d be better at this.”

Zayn felt his heart sink for Harry.

He stood there quietly, his arms still chained above his head, his cock’s stiffness dropping by the second.

“Maybe it’s …” Zayn stopped himself from speaking, shocked at the words that were about to leave his mouth …

Harry lifted his head and looked at Zayn.

“Maybe it’s what?”

Zayn lowered his head.

He so desperately wanted something to eat, to go home to Gigi, to take a nap, to quite simply not be chained up like this in a cottage living room, butt naked, his body paid to be tickled by someone he once toured the world with, a person who loved mayonnaise in the mornings, the weirdest thing about Harry, at least, so Zayn had thought, up until now …

But, he needed the money and, ultimately …

It’s just tickling …

“Maybe, maybe it’s how you’ve tied me,” Zayn continued reluctantly, “Maybe you, you need to stretch me out. Tie me tighter, so …” he lifted his head so that he faced Harry, “… So I don’t kick.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or ashamed that Zayn decided to help him out; he liked that Zayn showcased enthusiasm in making this work, for he and for himself, but he also felt a level of defeat, a sad and sorry reminder that Zayn offering to help in general meant that Harry’s theory was right … He was not very good at being dominant, being in charge, and above all else, he was not very good at being a tickler.

Harry got to his feet, walked towards the armchair, grabbed it and then placed it beside Zayn.

He climbed back onto it, reached towards the wooden beams and un-cuffed Zayn’s wrists.

Zayn’s arms fell to his sides, his body dropping a little so that he stood flat footed, no longer on tip toes.

Harry grabbed Zayn’s right hand and dragged him towards the couch.

Zayn, hopping along with Harry, his feet still tied with the dressing gown belt, was then pushed down onto the couch, where he landed over the squishy surface with a bounce.

“Al, alright, Haz, ‘ang on a minute—”

Harry spun on his heels and left the living room, leaving Zayn squashed on the couch in complete silence …

Some gentle thunder and more rainfall sounded on the other side of the window as Zayn rubbed away an itch over his left nipple, quietly waiting for Harry to return …

There were thuds, things opening and closing, Harry’s size tens causing the floorboards to creak as he stomped around upstairs, finally returning less than a minute later with two leather cuffs and two long lengths of rope.

Harry grabbed Zayn’s ankles and yanked them down to the corner of the couch.

Zayn bit his upper lip as his legs were stretched out.

Harry narrowed his eyes in focus as he untied Zayn’s ankles, freeing them of the dressing gown belt momentarily, where he then decided to attach a leather cuff to each of Zayn’s ankles, tying his feet to the bottom corner of the couch by tightly connecting rope to Zayn’s ankle cuffs and the couch’s footing.

“Kick your legs,” Harry ordered.

Zayn tried to pull his feet towards himself, but they were pinned tightly and rather successfully to the bottom end of the couch.

“I, I can’t …”

Harry grinned.

He then crawled over to Zayn’s arms, grabbed his wrists like he were a rag doll and then lifted them above his head, to the top corner of the couch.

Zayn’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as he felt his armpits expose themselves, once again.

Harry tied the second length of rope to Zayn’s wrist cuffs and then connected those to the couch’s footing.

Zayn was now stretched out horizontally across the couch in a long line, his hands above him, his feet together, both extensions of his torso unable to pull inward, no matter how hard he tugged.

Zayn glanced at each of his underarms, huffing in dread.

“Yeah, that uh, that should do it,” he chuckled.

Harry felt his erection throb as he climbed onto the arm of the couch closest to Zayn’s head.

For a quick moment, Harry felt like a child who had cheekily tied their friend to the couch during a sleep over, where said friend would have no idea that they were about to receive a hard core tickling …

Of course, Zayn was fully aware of the set up and what it would involve, however, Harry liked to think that Zayn was ignorant to the levels of intensity he was about to endure …

Harry shuffled himself into position, kneeling down over Zayn’s forearms where he used his knees and thighs to pin down Zayn’s biceps, Harry’s view now being Zayn’s face, upside down, and his two open armpits either side of his head.

Harry glanced out over Zayn’s taunt torso and his cock, a cock which began to grow in size after softening up during their moment of set-up-uncertainty …

“Hi… “ Harry poked Zayn’s nose.

Zayn scrunched up his face.

“Better?” He asked his tickler.

Harry smirked, planting both of his hands over Zayn’s torso where he slid them down towards his oiled up stomach, stroking his abs with his fingernails …

“You tell me …” Harry whispered.

Zayn kept in his giggles, pressing his lips shut as he threw his head forwards, his feet automatically trying to kick or pull, his ankles pinned into place down at the corner of the couch too tightly.

“—Mnn—” Zayn pressed his chin into his chest, “—Yeah, uh, be, better, much better!—” he spluttered, “—Fuck—” he hissed, “—I, I had no idea my stomach was that ticklish … ”

Harry felt a pinch of excitement in his chest; Zayn’s admittance reassuring him that for once, he was doing something right.

“We’re going to learn a lot about each other over the next few days, handsome, mark my words …” Harry spoke with a tone filled with promise, his fingernails dragging up to Zayn’s chest where they casually rested over his shoulders, “… Tell me, Zayn, on a scale of one to ten, how ticklish would you say you are?” Harry knew the answer, he just wanted to hear Zayn say it out loud.

Zayn’s eyes shifted from left to right as he glanced up at Harry, “Uhm, prob, probably an seven, seven and a half?”

Harry scoffed, “Oh Zayn, you’re far more ticklish than an seven and a half! How bloody wonderful that I get to make you realise that …”

For the first time since being strung up, Zayn started to feel genuinely worried …

Harry began to rub Zayn’s shoulders gently, “… Now tell me, where are you most ticklish?”

Another question, another chance for Zayn to slip up, to reveal, to expose various weaknesses …

Zayn gulped.

He peered over his torso, still shimmering in baby oil, where he begrudgingly acknowledged his feet, but, because he was so undeniably keen to keep all attention off of them for as long as he possibly could, he decided to lie, look up at Harry and confidently announce, “In between my thighs,” in a rather defiant, un-negotiating tone.

Harry smirked.

“Hmm …” Harry wondered if Zayn thought he might be stupid, after all, it was crystal clear that Zayn could not handle having his feet even breathed upon, let alone touched, even by the tip of a seagull feather, but he decided to allow him to think his lie had been successful; this way Zayn would be led into a realm of comfort and reassurance, where the last thing he would expect would be a focus on his feet, a focus that of course, would be taking place at some point, Harry would make sure of it, “How about your armpits?” Harry asked, purposefully not giving Zayn a chance to respond …

As Zayn opened his mouth to deliver his answer, which would have been, ‘of course, you twat, you’ve tickled them before’, Harry threw all ten fingers into each of Zayn’s underarms and actioned a ferocious tickle in the form of a deadly, repetitive scratch, where the brutal strength of five fingers in each underarm caused Zayn to quite literally explode; so far he had been astonishingly cheeky in his way, he had kicked and physically avoided Harry’s attacks, or he had pressed his lips tight together to prevent himself in giving Harry the giggles he so desperately wanted - he had also called Harry all of the names under the sun, he had made him feel small by suggesting other ways to be tied, belittling Harry’s skillset and intelligence regarding his kink, but now, oh now, Zayn was at the mercy of Harry, bound tightly, unable to escape, and with both of his armpits victim to Harry’s electric yellow fingernails …

Zayn’s eruption came in the form of uncontrollable, loud laughter; it did not start slow or ease in, in any shape or form, it simply arrived, without warning, forced from his very core, it bellowed out of him whether he wanted it to or not, it made him squeeze his eyes shut and scrunch up his nose, his mouth stretching open into a maddened grin as he moved the only part of him he could move - his body from the ankle up to his wrists - which he began to thrash from left to right, right to left, left to right, right to left across the couch, his breathless hysteria rolling out of him without pause …

Zayn felt suddenly surprised by two things; one, how quickly he had wanted this to stop and two, how much Harry was not stopping at all. Zayn thought that ten seconds of this sort of constant, brutal tickling would be enough to satisfy Harry, especially as Zayn was automatically and naturally providing such energy, such animalistic thrust, but no, Harry continued, he continued to scratch and scratch and scratch into the very depths of Zayn’s armpits with such vigour that it caused Zayn’s eyes to snap open, where he let out a panicked, “—GAHH!—” between the laughter, his verbalised alarm sharp and quick, his head throwing itself over his chest as he, without even intending to, willed his ankle straps to break free so he could swing his feet up to Harry’s face and kick the little fucker out of the way …

Zayn felt his mouth shape out the word ‘stop’, his tongue pressing against his teeth where he even started to ‘Sssssss …’, but he decided to instead continue to give into the overwhelming collapse of physical release, finding a hard hitting press of eye watering lunacy arrive at the forefront of his mind; enough of a distraction from his urgent need to beg Harry to stop, something he felt like he had to do, so very soon, even if it just meant that doing so would lead to a few seconds break, but he reminded himself amongst all of the delirium currently forced within the centre of his brain that this was just the start, it was only day one, and if he broke so soon then how the fuck would he be able to handle the remaining two days?

So, Zayn leant into the joy of the torture, his body still thrashing from left to right, his laughter now so steady in its release that it almost sounded like song; there were times it was deep in tone, other moments where it was high pitched, he even often shrieked, when Harry hit the very middle of his pits, my god, Zayn thought, this is unreal, he acknowledged, and even in the midst of this introductory chaos he still found a second or two to wonder what passers by might think, if they heard this sort of laughter from outside of the cottage, surely it was obvious this was not the sort of laughter you connect with someone having fun, or finding something funny, this was torturous, tickled senseless laughter that seemed to never stop, causing Zayn to feel confused and alarmed at his own body and its ability to produce noises like this as he lay there staggering for breath, the rain still hitting hard in such an ordinary way rain would do against the glass just a metre or so away from Zayn’s head, his acknowledgment of the simplicity of rainfall and ordinary thoughts compared to the frenzy of his own current circumstance challenging to comprehend in itself …

Sharp, deep heaves for a second in-between each expel of grainy giggling informed Harry that Zayn was struggling to breathe, his ticklee’s eyes now shooting down to each armpit as his chin creased over his collarbone, as if seeing the sight of Harry’s fingernails scraping over his armpit hair would help him understand the physicality of his reaction, the tear-inducing sensory overload that made him transform from calm, nervous and quiet to convulsive, erratic and bewildered, all within a minute or two …

To be thrown, no, to be hurled into the deep end with such an invasive, sudden and merciless attack on his underarms was overwhelming for Zayn to say the least; he began to laugh in disbelief as Harry continued - he no longer wondered when he would stop, it was now more a case of if - his eyebrows lifting in perplexity as Harry’s fingers continued their infiltration, Zayn’s hyper ticklish armpits now feeling rather sore from the constant brush of Harry’s fingernails, to the point where Zayn began to throw his eyes up to Harry as he continued to shout out his laughter, a look saturating Zayn’s face that asked ‘who are you?’

Much to Zayn’s relief, Harry acknowledged his expression and slowed down his scratch, taking his fingernails over Zayn’s chest and back down to his stomach, causing Zayn to jolt and arch his back as he tried to catch his breath, his hips bouncing from side to side as Harry tickled Zayn’s waist, drawing circles over the sensitive skin, where he finally arrived at Zayn’s navel, his index fingers circling around Zayn’s bellybutton torturously.

Zayn giggled as he huffed and wheezed, throwing his head back over his chest once again to take in the sight of what was happening around his stomach, his eyes now watering so hard that his vision had blurred, causing Zayn to finally give in and request that Harry take a pause on driving him so wild, so soon, so quickly, so early on in all of this …

“Haz, mate—” Zayn panted, licking his lips, “—You’re fffff—fucking ki, killing me—” he bucked over the couch, once, twice, three times, a few pillows leaving the sofa where they tumbled over the living room floor, “—geh, geh-me a ssss, sss—” Zayn’s giggles took over his throat and mouth, where he stumbled into more mindless hysteria, his eyelids falling shut as Harry began to tickle his stomach with all ten of his fingers, leaving Zayn in a state where he could barely formulate words, his mouth muttering out gibberish, his swollen lips now puffy and wet as he shook his head in shock, laughter consuming him entirely, his mind truly unable to come to terms with how ticklish he was, how intense Harry could be, how amazingly horrific this could feel, “—I’m deffo moh—” Zayn tried to speak, “—moh, more thah! Than a ssss, ssss, seven!—” he wheezed, his torso twisting to the left where he tried his best to press his stomach against the back of the couch, to hide its ticklishness, but Harry just reached further over Zayn’s body, still knelt over his arms, entirely able to proceed with his tickle over Zayn’s abs and navel, leaving Zayn distressed, his face full of anguished glee, his head now twisting and smacking down over Harry’s cock, his hard on feeling like a solid stick at the top of Zayn’s neck; with every twist of his head, Harry’s cock would be rubbed, further edging the pop star closer and closer to orgasm, hence why he had continued without giving Zayn a break, because he loved how Zayn’s physical responses were making him feel …

… The Masked Ticklers teachings echoed through Harry’s mind as he looked down at Zayn, who could now only gasp repeatedly as his stomach was devoured by Harry’s touch; … ‘Your need to cum is the fire fuelling your actions, reach orgasm too soon and you put that fire out’ …

Harry’s clawed hands flattened, his palms now slipping and sliding over Zayn’s baby oil soaked torso where they carefully made their way back to Zayn’s shoulders, concluding his first relentless tickle in Harry’s House …

“Shhh, shhh,” Harry urged, as Zayn coughed and hacked into his chest, his dry throat struggling to contain the heaves of air flooding back inside of him as his lungs focused on refilling their empty shape with oxygen, “Breathe, breathe, just breathe, Zayn … You were amazing, well done, well done, mate …” Harry squeezed Zayn’s shoulders, “… Do it like we used to do on tour, before we’d go on stage, yeah? In through the nose, out through the mouth …”

Zayn’s weight sank into the couch as he closed his eyes and focused on doing as Harry suggested; simply breathing, through his nose, out through his mouth, through his nose, out through his mouth, and so on …

Zayn peeled his eyes open, his flushed pink face blank with disbelief as he lay there glancing up at Harry, once again not needing to use any verbalised words to explain his current mind set, his fluttering eyelashes and wagging tongue communicating his concern, ‘Fuck, fucking hell, you, you really are into this, aren’t you?’ his expression said …

Harry smiled as his eyes took in Zayn’s pretty facial features, confirming where he would explore next, his own satisfied expression doing the talking for him, where it said back to Zayn,

‘You better believe it, handsome …’

🍆

As Harry placed one knee back over the arm of the sofa, readying himself to switch on the electric toothbrush in his right hand and sit back down over Zayn’s forearms, Zayn shot a flustered look up at Harry where he quickly asked,

“Wait! Can I have some water?”

Harry cocked an eyebrow and flattened his lips.

“I told you,” he warned, “No more distractions …”

Zayn kicked his feet, just once.

“Harry!” He whined, “I’m fucking thirsty, for christ’s sake! You just tickled the shit out of me, mate. I’m allowed some bloody water, surely …”

Harry chewed the inside of his mouth in thought.

He slid off the couch and then walked out of the living room, removing his vest as he did so.

Zayn twisted his head around so that he could watch Harry leave; he took in the sight of Harry’s long legs, his tanned, muscular back as the vest slid away from his skin, the jiggle in each ass cheek with every step he took towards the door, until he disappeared out of sight.

Harry, still erect and now wearing just a pair of white socks, grabbed a glass from the cupboard and twisted the kitchen sink tap to cold where he filled up Zayn’s glass whilst assessing the quality of the electric toothbrush The Masked Tickler had handed to him, like a wise knight passing on their respected and beloved weapon to a soldier in training.

This electric toothbrush was state of the art; it was black instead of white, its bristles sharp and vibrant green, its battery power guaranteed to last for weeks upon weeks …

Harry had to leave the glass half full; he felt far too excited to just stand here throbbing, the chilly draft from the many cracks and holes within the cottage toying with his balls, so he twisted off the tap, spun on his heels and danced his way back to the living room, arriving at the door with a pause …

Zayn lay there smiling at Harry.

Harry, for the first time since Zayn had arrived, decided to take in the sight before him; sure he had recognised how attractive Zayn was a dozen times since the masked henchmen had sat him down in his kitchen table, he had understood his beauty whilst chained to the ceiling, he had gathered how stunning the young man was, tied out in a straight line over his sofa …

But right here, in this moment, with the rain still tumbling down outside, the living room lit a faint grey, Zayn’s body, nude and exposed, bound and ready, simply there in all its glory, it made Harry’s cock twitch in a way he had not felt before, in a way that maybe Louis could not achieve with his own levels of ticklish, his own levels of attraction …

Zayn’s smile faded as he noticed the electric toothbrush in Harry’s hand.

“That’s meant for your teeth, Haz …” Zayn sniffed, “… Put that anywhere near me and I’m screaming the place down …”

There was that twitch once again.

Harry trembled as he took a socked step closer, his lower lip quivering as his erection continued to stand proud and tall, “What’s wrong, Zayn?” Harry asked, “You afraid of what something like this can do to someone as ticklish as you?”

Zayn turned his face away from Harry and frowned into the cottages ceiling, digging his heels into the gap at the end of the sofa, his feet a little chilly, the fire in the fireplace now completely out.

“No,” he tutted, “It’s just a toothbrush,” he muttered.

Zayn’s strop was suddenly transformed into alarm as Harry jumped onto the couch and dropped over Zayn’s waist, straddling his hips.

“Oof—” Zayne winced, throwing his head over his chest as he felt Harry land over his cock, its shape now squashed up around Harry’s ass, “Bloody hell, Haz, you’re heavy, for fucks sake …!” his eyes widened at the sight of Harry’s erection, now laid out over his stomach, “… It’s bloody massive! Fucking hell, mate! You been taking cock enhancer tables or somethin’, christ …”

Harry chuckled, shuffling a little further up Zayn’s torso, his cock bobbing from left to right as he did so.

Harry sat down over Zayn’s chest, his erection now more or less hovering over Zayn’s face, as Zayn’s eyes crossed in the middle, his pupils trying to take in the sight of Harry’s shape, the girth, the overwhelming size …

“Do you want it?” Harry asked quietly.

Zayn pursed his lips and turned his head to the left, breathing in slowly.

“That takes things to a different level, Harry …” Zayn’s tone was filled with reluctant hesitance.

Harry lifted his shoulders.

“I’m alright with that if you are?” He tapped Zayn’s jaw, so that Zayn would turn his head to face him.

As Zayn faced Harry, Harry angled the glass of water so that the rim landed against Zayn’s mouth.

He gently tipped in the water, where Zayn closed his eyes and focused on glugging down the contents, happy for any excess to spill around his chin and neck.

Hydrated and satisfied, Zayn lifted his jaw away from the glass as Harry carefully removed it from Zayn’s mouth and then placed it down on the living room floor.

Harry, with toothbrush still in hand, shuffled further up Zayn’s torso once again; he was now straddling his upper chest, either of his thighs tightening up around Zayn’s biceps, pushing them against either side of his head, squashing that perfect face between both of his elbows.

“—Mnn—” Zayn could barely move his head or arms at all, his armpits once again fixed into position, his face unable to twist to the left or to the right, “—I can’t, I can’t move, Haz—”

“—Well?” Harry pressed, his cock now so close to Zayn’s mouth Zayn could practically smell it, “Do you want it?” He repeated.

Zayn had started to develop his own arousal, since Harry had seated himself so closely, so intimately over him; from here, his view was Harry’s cock and balls directly over his nose, Harry’s toned, tattooed torso behind that and then his broad shoulders and attractive face, his floppy brown hair and white toothed grin …

Zayn had felt and seen Harry like this a dozen times before, many years ago, in the bunks of their tour bus or within a heated moment in a hotel room …

The feeling he felt now, as he took in this sight, was the same feeling he had felt during those moments way back when.

Zayn couldn’t help but smile as he nodded just the once.

Harry, already invasively close to Zayn’s face, didn’t need to shuffle too much further for Zayn to be able to take Harry’s arousal within his mouth; instead, Zayn widened his jaw and allowed Harry to gain entry, moving his head up and forwards as Harry’s erection made its way in thanks to a gentle nudge of Harry’s hips and a slight arch of his lower spine.

Zayn’s eyes widened as Harry’s cock slid past his lips, gagging him entirely.

He curled his tongue around Harry’s rock solid shaft and closed his eyes, a soft, “—Mnn…” leaving his nostrils as he began to bob his head and move his mouth up and down Harry’s cock, sucking on it the best he could, considering its mammoth size and eye watering structure.

Harry felt goosebumps explode around each of his ass cheeks as his skin started to feel static, the mere sight of Zayn doing something like this again making him feel all sorts of emotions all at once; there was relief, happiness, reassurance and a sense of superiority all bundled into one, whilst worry, guilt and anxiety followed in their own separate grouping seconds after.

Harry switched the electric toothbrush on.

Click — Bzzzzzz …

Zayn’s eyes snapped open at the sound of high pitched vibration …

Harry shoved his cock deeper into Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn’s cheeks filled with flesh, his eyes filling with tears as some dribble formed around his lower lip.

“—Gaghk!—”

Harry then took the whizz of the electric toothbrush and pressed it down over the very tip of Zayn’s right armpit, the spinning, buzzing, plastic bristles rotating at a speedy rate against the very ends of Zayn’s armpit hair.

“—Mnn!—” Zayn wanted to shake and twist his head, but he could not; his arms were pressed too tightly against either side of his head, his head itself was fixed too expertly against the surface of the sofa by the cock shoved inside his mouth, “—Mpphh!—” he wanted to giggle and beg, but he could not even talk, for quite obvious reasons …

Harry increased pressure and sent the electric toothbrush deeper into Zayn’s armpit, forcing the tool further into the sweaty cavern that made up his underarm, Zayn’s torso now wriggling under Harry as his laughter was contained behind Harry’s throbbing erection.

“—Mnnphh! Mnnphh! Mnn, mnn, mnnn! Mnnn! Mphhh! Mph! Mph!—” Zayn’s eyes bulged out of his head as he lay there struggling to handle the tickling, as well as the hard on wedged into the back of his throat, his eyes now glistening with strain as he dug his heels into the bottom of the couch, arched his back and lifted Harry up with all his strength, his own teeth now grazing against the flesh of Harry’s arousal …

“AGH!”— Harry yanked himself out of Zayn, a sudden alarm washing over him as soon as he felt Zayn bite down, just a tiny bit, over the most important part of his body, “—FUCK, you cheeky shit—” Harry held onto his cock and lifted it, as well as the electric toothbrush, away from Zayn, who lay there licking his lips, giggling breathlessly, his head still trapped in its fixed position.

“Do that again,” Zayn warned, “And I’ll bite it off,” he sucked up some dribble, swallowing down some of Harry’s pre cum, “I mean it, you sod …”

Harry winced, checking his erection for bite marks, but there of course were not any …

“You’ve got yourself into trouble, now,” Harry announced, taking the electric toothbrush back to Zayn’s armpits …

“Oh have I?” Zayn almost egged Harry on, “Aye? Is that so?” He watched the electric toothbrush aim for his left underarm, laughter and panicked huffs already heaving in and out of his mouth as the bristles whizzed closer second by second, “Oh! You’re a prick, Harry! Not my pits, not again, mate, tickle somewhere else, come on, you fucking wanker!” Zayn could no longer express his concern; as soon as the electric toothbrush arrived within his left underarm, he was transformed, almost immediately, into the senseless shambles he had been reduced to only ten minutes ago, his breath short, the laughter uncontrollable, the giggles strained and messy, only this time he could not move his head at all, it sat snug between Harry’s thighs, his armpits completely stuck, a ticklish canvas for Harry to paint over, not with a paintbrush, but an electric toothbrush instead, its whizz and buzz burrowing deep within Zayn’s left armpit to the point where Zayn’s face had started to blush a deep shade of beetroot, his back arching, lifting Harry up, only to drop once again when he realised he could not buck Harry off of him …

As Harry circulated the electric toothbrush within Zayn’s left pit, he used his right hand to dig and scratch into Zayn’s right armpit, combing his fingers aggressively through Zayn’s armpit hair, his fingernails brushing over sweaty, silky smooth underarm flesh, sending Zayn into a wild and frenzied state that consisted of some hardcore thrashing and wiggling beneath Harry’s waist, his hips, waist and torso twisting from side to side as he heaved out constant, relentless laughter with minimal breaths between, his face now swollen with hysteria, his body forcing out the madness in the form of a singular tear that popped out of Zayn’s right eye and trickled down the side of his head.

“… Wow … ” Harry had to verbalise his admiration, “… You really can’t stand this, can you?” Harry sent the electric toothbrush out of Zayn’s left armpit and up to his neck, where it whizzed over his jaw and collarbone, causing Zayn to try and twist his head away but, of course, it was trapped between his own arms, which were furthermore trapped between Harry’s muscular thighs, “I love how crazy you get, so quickly,” Harry commented, Zayn’s uncontrollable laughter now reaching high pitched levels, his screams and shrieks exploding out of his mouth the more Harry exploited two highly sensitive areas at once …

As Harry again showcased a persistent, never ending and determined style of tickling, Zayn found himself feeling surprised at how dedicated Harry could be in tormenting a specific spot without pausing, despite the huge amounts of laughter and physical squirming Zayn had no choice but to naturally provide; a quantity of reactions he assumed Harry would be happy with, and therefore would want to explore other areas to gain the same quality of hysteria, but no, Harry did not go for Zayn’s nipples or his ribcage, his forearms or his thighs, he kept going at his left pit and neck, leaving Zayn only able to splutter out his concern by giggling out the words, “—Oh! Oh! Oh, please, not again—” his torso thrashing from side to side, his back arching constantly, his body bucking Harry up and down, up and down, up and down, where Harry rode Zayn as if he were a out of control bull, Zayn now stating the obvious as the dire reality of his circumstance dawned on him hard and fast, one gasp, two gasps, three gasps leaving his mouth as his eyes widened and he huffed out, “—I’msofuckingticklish—” a deep breath pausing Zayn’s laughter for just a second before he howled out a long, steady howl that sounded like it came from the very depths of his stomach, its pitch low, then high, cackled then breathless, until he heaved in once again, only to expel the same astoundingly persistent bellow of laughter, a strained and whispered “—givemeabreakplease—” just about audible between the madness he presented.

Harry decided to take the electric toothbrush to Zayn’s face, where the overall idea would be to give Zayn a break by removing some attention off his underarms and neck, however journeying the tickle tool to this newly chosen area actually proved to be the wrong decision when it came to providing Zayn some slack; Zayn’s entire face creased up into a distorted and tortured expression, his cheeks now bright red, lines gathering around the sides of his head, his eyebrows burrowing into a deep frown, his lips swelling up, his eyes squeezing shut as Harry ever so gently dragged the electric toothbrush around Zayn’s mouth, over the tip of his nose, across his forehead, down the side of his face and over his chin, causing Zayn to splutter and giggle, shout and cry the loudest he had done yet …

Harry’s cock twitched so hard that he found himself close to orgasm without even touching himself, his erection still bobbing over Zayn’s manic expression as his ticklee continued to try and twist his head free from the clamps that were Harry’s thighs; however he was stuck, caught expertly between, his face victim to Harry’s electric toothbrush as it buzzed and whizzed over his rosey, sweat stained cheeks, leaving Zayn with no choice but to declare his predicament in the form of a grainy, breathless admittance, “—Ican’ttstanditanymore!—” he spat, just the once, as he buckled and bounced over the sofa, Harry confidently and calming remaining in his straddled position over Zayn’s upper chest, “—Ican’tstanditanymore!—” Zayn’s inability to cope was disregarded by Harry, who continued to run his electric toothbrush over Zayn’s face, Zayn gasping and panting as he threw his upper body around the best he could, his hips, stomach and waist now throbbing with a strained ache, the more he writhed and squirmed …

“You can’t stand it anymore?” Harry licked his lips as he dragged the electric toothbrush up and down Zayn’s nose, his cock twitching once again as he felt Zayn attempt to shake his head between his thighs, unable to say the word ‘no’, “Why? Why can’t you stand it anymore?” Harry pressed, Zayn now reaching feverishly agonising levels of ‘tickled till the point of breaking’ ticklishness, his laughter mixed with unapologetic cackles and breathless, uncontrollable giggles as he tried to shape his mouth out, so that he could formulate some kind of honest answer for Harry.

“—It’stheworstticklingI’veeverhad—” Zayn declared quickly, in one breath, before falling into more heaves and bellows of laughter.

“The worst tickling you’ve ever had?” Harry smirked, taking the compliment after such a wobbly start, “Is that so?” Harry used his spare hand to tickle Zayn’s right armpit as he continued to explore his face with the electric toothbrush …

Zayn arched his back with a grunt and then kept it there for a second or two, lifting Harry up, before dropping back down over the sofa with a bounce, his mindless, senseless laughter returning as his eyes began to fill with tears of exhaustion.

“—You’rekillingme!—” Zayn declared, now unable to follow up his announcements with any additional details, only able to provide his statements speedily and without taking a breath in between … “—You’rekillingme!—” he repeated.

Harry felt his orgasm arrive at the middle of his taint, his eyelids fluttering as the bubbling feeling gathered around the base of his cock, the more Zayn expressed how he felt whilst physically reacting with such strong thrashing and determined writhing, “Do you want it to stop, Zayn? Do you want it to stop?”

Harry felt Zayn nod between his thighs, the electric toothbrush now whizzing over Zayn’s upper lip as Harry tickled hard and fast into his underarms, “—It’stoomuch—” Zayn spluttered between his gasps of laughter, “—it’stoomuchforme—” he panted again, “—myface, myarmpits, they’retooticklish—” he groaned, hacking up laughter in the form of desperate shouts and heaves, Harry now discarding the electric toothbrush entirely where he shuffled back down to Zayn’s waist, therefore releasing Zayn’s head from between his thighs, where he threw both hands into each of Zayn’s armpits, actioning a severe and sudden attack on Zayn’s underarms with all ten of his fingernails, fingernails now grabbing and scratching into the very depths of one of Zayn’s most ticklish areas …

“It’s right there, huh?” Harry urged, watching Zayn’s head spin as if he were possessed, his body thrashing so hard Harry thought he might hurtle from the couch and into the ceiling, his laughter and shouting now so loud Harry’s ears had started to ring, Zayn’s eyes now so tightly squeezed shut they were just tiny creases in the top half of his face as Harry located a chunk of flesh within each underarm that, when tickled with the strength of five fingers at a time, simply transformed Zayn into a beckoning, back arching vessel of hysteria that had now been tickled so hard he had started to hyperventilate, his eyes crossing in the middle, his tongue poking out of his lunacy riddled grin, a sight of pure ‘tickled to oblivion’ state that was so erotic and so arousing for Harry to witness that it finally nudged the bubble of pleasure boiling within the base of his cock to shoot up his shaft and explode out of his glistening helm, his load of cum drenching Zayn’s ticked to hysteria face, his pits still being worked by Harry who could only gasp, twitch and moan, his fingers still wiggling inside Zayn’s underarms.

Zayn had his eyes squeezed shut anyway, so he dodged getting cum in his eye as it landed in heavy spews over his jaw, nose, mouth and forehead, some of it landing on his tongue due to his mouth being so wide open, his laughter still heaving out from his throat as Harry scratched and scratched and scratched at both underarms at once until he slowed down his tickling and slid his hands over Zayn’s chest, using one hand to rub his own cock free of intensity, whilst his other hand rubbed the cum into Zayn’s face, a face already saturated in perspiration …

Zayn lay there gasping, panting, huffing and puffing as Harry rolled off of him and lay nestled up at his side, between Zayn and the back of the sofa where he too struggled to catch his breath …

“Fuck … Fuck … Fuck …” Harry ran a cum-stained hand through his hair, “… That was fucking incredible …”

Zayn stared up at the living room ceiling with wide, watery eyes, —huff, huff, huff, huff—, still gasping, still panting, still huffing and puffing as he came to terms with just how tickled he had been, within those ten minutes, under Harry’s straddle, his mouth shaping out the words, “—oh my god—” as he lay there consumed with shock and disbelief, surprisingly, a moment of curiosity climbing its way through the war zone of incoherent thoughts within his mind, where he felt a ravenous need to ask a question he thought might provide the answer as to why Harry had just gone so mercilessly to town on him since he had been bound to this sofa …

“Would you …” Zayn blinked through blurred vision, his face still facing the ceiling “… Would you of done this to me if I, if I never left the ba, band?”

Harry shuffled onto his back, laying squashed beside Zayn as he too now lay staring at the ceiling, his socked feet gathered up by Zayn’s bound bare feet at the bottom of the couch.

“Would you of left the band,” Harry wiped some sweat from his upper lip, “If I hadn’t of chosen Louis?”

Both boys lay in silence, panting quietly, once again not needing to say out loud how much they wanted to avoid answering each others questions.

Zayn splashed his face with cold water, in an attempt to remove the constant itchiness he still felt around his nose, jaw and cheeks, as well as the unapologetic infliction of Harry’s cum.

As he lifted his head away from the sink, he caught sight of himself in the mirrored cabinet opposite him.

Tiny pink marks decorated his neck and collarbone; as he stepped away from his reflection, he lifted his right arm to reveal scratch marks around his armpit, as well as red lines down his sides and stomach, from Harry’s fingernails.

Zayn dropped both arms by his sides and let out a defeated sigh.

As he turned to leave his ensuite bathroom, he gasped, his eyes landing on Harry, who stood leaning against the door frame with his arms folded, his vest and underwear back on, his hair tied into a knot at the top of his head.

“How long you gonna nap for?” Harry asked.

Zayn, still naked, made a conscious effort to breeze past Harry where he headed to his neatly made large double bed.

“You said for as long as it takes,” Zayn peeled away bed sheets and removed excess pillows, “So, I’m napping … For as long as it takes …” he smirked.

When the main duvet had been opened up, both Zayn and Harry looked down at a leather cuff attached to some rope that had been nailed to the underneath of the bed.

Zayn turned towards Harry, pretending he had not noticed the strap before, where he cocked an eyebrow, his expression asking, ‘what the fuck is that’?

Harry huffed, a little embarrassed by what he was about to say.

“It’s … It’s a thing they do, sometimes … It’s so you don’t escape, in the night …” he unfolded his arms, “… It’s so you don’t change your mind …” he picked up the cuff and unbuckled it, nodding at Zayn’s right ankle, “… It’s so you don’t leave me,” he whispered.

Zayn hid his laughter with the back of his hand.

Harry blinked, not finding his moment of vulnerability funny in the slightest.

“Oh,” Zayn rubbed the back of his head, “You’re serious …”

Harry held the open cuff in his hands and tilted his head at Zayn.

Zayn sat in the cross legged position on the middle of the bed.

“If I let you do that, you’re … Not going to tickle me, on my f—” Zayn closed his eyes, he couldn’t even bring himself to say it, “—are you? You’re going to let me rest for a bit, right?”

Harry nodded slowly.

Zayn reluctantly handed Harry his right foot.

Harry attached the cuff to Zayn’s right ankle and then pressed down the silver clip that would keep it in place until he removed it.

“The clip is unlocked by remote. So, till I unlock it, you’re going nowhere anytime soon.”

Zayn laid down over the mattress, tugging his right leg against his temporary bondage, the rope attached to the cuff squeaking a little.

As Harry turned to walk out of the bed room, Zayn sat back up.

“Wait,” Zayn immediately made effort to hide the urgency in his voice, “What … What are you doing, for the rest of the day?”

Harry kept his back to his ticklee as he responded to him quietly, his need to tickle Zayn no longer resting at electric-levels, mostly due to the gravitas of his orgasm only fifteen minutes ago.

“You’ll be relieved to hear that this isn’t going to be me, tickling you, every minute of every hour during all three days … You’re a person, Zayn …” Harry slowly turned back around where he looked down at Zayn, who now lay on his side with his head resting over a pillow, his big brown eyes looking up at Harry, “… And, most of all, you’re my friend. One of my best friends … You’ll need to recharge, for the rest of the hell I’m going to put you through. And, besides … The thing you’re going to be tied to tomorrow? I have to build it …”

Zayn narrowed his eyes, the curiosity in him ready to ask a tonne of questions about his session tomorrow, but, to he and Harry’s surprise, a different kind of question left his lips instead.

“Do you need a hand?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

“The element of surprise is key, in all this. Or, so I’ve been told …” Harry walked slowly towards the side of the bed and knelt down, his right hand lifting to then land on Zayn’s head, where he smoothed his short head of hair with his palm, “… Thank you, though.”

Zayn smiled, closing his eyes, as if waiting for a kiss from Harry, but the moment never came.

“What happens tomorrow?” Zayn asked, his question filled with sub meanings; it grasped at more information on how he would be tickled, when, where and in what position, but it also tried to reach out for additional details on he and Harry as a couple, as friends, as this sub and dom dynamic, an overall ‘what happens next between you and I …’ after all, Harry had ejaculated all over Zayn’s face …

“I tickle you everywhere, from the waist down …” Harry whispered.

Zayn’s eyes opened quickly.

“Not my feet, though …”

Harry slid his palm away from Zayn’s head.

“Not your feet.”

Zayn sank into the bed, relief pulling him into a relaxed position.

“How has it been, so far?” Harry asked.

Zayn pursed his lips.

“Intense,” he answered quickly, the word landing in his head straight away, “I didn’t realise I could be this ticklish. I thought it would be some jabs to the side, a blind fold and a feather duster, I don’t know …” Zayn looked Harry directly in the eye, “… You go non stop, it’s fucking mad, mate. I couldn’t breathe during some of it. I’ve never been tickled like that before in my life …”

Harry felt his eyes water as he heard the words he had wanted to hear all day, after feeling insecure about some of his learnings and gained skillset.

“You could say I drove you inzayn …” Harry dropped his head and laughed into his chest, unable to look at Zayn after delivering such a horrendous joke.

Zayn chuckled, rolled his eyes and then shuffled under the bed covers, hiding from Harry, mumbling out the words, “Goodnight, you twat,” even if it was only late afternoon.

Harry stood and then made his way towards Zayn’s bedroom door, but before he could leave, Zayn addressed him with one last declaration, in the form of a muffle, due to him still being under heavy layers of duvet.

“You always wanted Louis, from the start …” he said, “… That’s why you broke it off with me.”

Harry clenched his teeth and swallowed down hard.

He turned his head, ready to engage with Zayn after his announcement, but instead he placed his fingers over the light switch and sank Zayn into darkness as the rain continued to fall outside of the cottage, like it had done all day.

___________________________________

Once Harry had built the contraption for tomorrow, he started to make himself a well deserved cup of tea in the kitchen, where he had left his iPhone since this morning.

As the kettle boiled, Harry picked up his phone and checked the screen.

Six missed calls from Louis, one text message …

Harry used his thumb to swipe up, his green eyes shifting from left to right as he read Louis message.

Lou: How’s it going lad 😊 xxx

Harry knew that to make the most out of his time with Zayn, he had to remove all element of distraction.

Harry twisted the tap and filled the sink with water.

As the kettle finished boiling, Harry made his cup of tea until the sink was entirely full.

He then dropped his phone into the sink and walked out of the kitchen, allowing the brightness of his iPhone’s screen and Louis text message to flicker out into nothing.

‘THREE DAYS AT HARRY’S HOUSE’ CONTINUES IN ‘DAY TWO’

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