In the early hours of Day Two’s morning, Harry found himself standing quietly in Zayn’s bedroom doorway, entirely naked, with a singular length of rope connected to a strap dangling from his right hand.
Lightning lit the frame of his body momentarily as thunder rumbled in the distance, its gentle boom not waking Zayn in the slightest …
Zayn lay on his front, also entirely naked; he had kicked away some of the bed sheets in the night and they now lay gathered up over the bottoms of his legs, concealing his calves, ankles and feet.
The moonlight from Zayn’s open window shone down over Zayn’s body; it illuminated the shapes of his back, the details of his many tattoos, the sharpness of his shoulder blades, the long length of his spine, each peachy ass cheek that stared back at Harry …
Zayn was so still, so quiet, his eyelids peacefully shut, his breathing slow and steady as a heavy onslaught of rain continued to pound the cottage and its roof just like it had done since yesterday morning.
Admiring Zayn’s body in such a way caused Harry’s cock to stiffen into a gradual lift.
Carefully, he placed one foot in front of the other and creeped towards Zayn’s bed, where he soon lowered himself into a gradual crawl …
As his knee pressed against a floorboard, an unexpected creak threatened to ruin his prowl …
Zayn sniffed, shuffling just a little, his head nestling deeper into the pillow …
“Mnn—”
Harry remained on his knees and palms, allowing a few seconds of rain and its patting against the window to fill the void of quiet as he waited for his confidence to return …
Once satisfied with his levels of cheekiness and audacity, Harry continued in his hunt until he finally made his way to the foot of the bed.
He sat in the cross legged position and pinched the ends of the duvet, ever so slowly lifting it up to reveal Zayn’s perfect size nine and half’s, their silky smooth bottoms greeting Harry from within the darkness of this moonlit bedroom, his toes aimed at the floor.
Harry gently folded the duvet over Zayn’s ankles.
He stroked his jaw and opened his mouth, his eyes unblinking as he took in the details of Zayn’s feet.
His soles were ultra soft, mark-less and moist looking, no patches of dry, no cuts or blisters; just sleek, glossy, velvety skin from the tips of his toes to the ends of his heels …
No wonder he hates having them touched, Harry thought.
Harry felt his cock twitch at the idea of Zayn being driven to the same amounts of hysteria as he had been taken to yesterday, but this time not because of invasive fingers infiltrating each of his armpits, or an electric toothbrush buzzing and whizzing over his neck, but because of a hairbrush gliding repeatedly over the soles he currently looked at, from side to side, up and down, for hours on end …
Zayn could barely handle them being looked at, so to have them tickle tortured would surely be something akin to what The Masked Tickler had described to Harry as ‘lightning in a bottle’ …
Harry looked down at the strap and rope in his lap.
The horniness in the depths of his own bed had tricked him into thinking that this was a good idea, that this would work; that he would be able to attach a secondary ankle strap to Zayn’s left ankle, therefore successfully pinning both of Zayn’s feet over the bottom of the bed, his right ankle already secured to an ankle strap that Harry had connected to him before he went to sleep.
Harry bit his lower lip as he thought about physically attaching the cuff to Zayn’s ankle as he slept; surely such an action would wake his contractual ticklee?
Harry carefully placed the strap and rope on the floor, discarding the idea for good, deciding to play it safe as he narrowed his eyes at Zayn’s right sole.
Harry went to shuffle closer, but Zayn stirred in his slumber and moved within the bed, stretching out his right leg where his foot slid off the end of the mattress and then hooked over the bottom, his sole now perfectly positioned for Harry, his toes curling into a relaxed point towards the floor.
Harry grinned, this is ideal! As if the Tickle Gods above had nudged fate into making Zayn move in such a way, just for Harry to act out his desires …
Harry closed his eyes and carefully pressed his nose against the sole of Zayn’s right foot.
He breathed in the clammy scent, taking in the smell of Zayn’s sole; musky but not stinky, fragrant but not too overwhelming, all of it the exemplary balance to make Harry’s mouth water.
All it took was for Harry to move his nose half a centimetre up Zayn’s sole, where his stubble must have grazed for too long over the exceptionally ticklish expanse of skin, for Zayn to snap his eyes open in panic and kick out, just once, into the hyper sensitive itchy sensation taking place at the bottom of his right foot.
Harry felt his nose crunch as Zayn’s foot smacked him in the face, sending him hurtling onto the floor in a fierce thud, a loud, “—SHIT—” leaving his mouth as Zayn shot up and twisted his body around where he peered down to the end of his bed.
“Harry! What the fuck, mate? What are you—” Zayn could only of kicked so far, thanks to the strap around his ankle, but he kicked hard and far enough for his foot to make a great enough impact against the middle of Harry’s face, a face attached to a naked rookie tickler now curled up in a ball with both hands cupped around his nose, pained moans caught behind his palms, '“Were you, were you trying it on with my feet?” Zayn tutted and threw a frustrated look into the ceiling, “I told you! You’re not allowed to touch them—”, he scribbled on imagery paper work in his lap, “—The shit I signed agreed they would be off lim—”, Zayn’s eyes widened as Harry removed his hands, presenting a rather bloody nose, gushes of red forming beneath his nostrils and around his upper lip, “—Oh fuck, shit, Haz, I’m, I’m so sorry, ahhhh you stupid knob …”
Harry staggered to his feet, containing the blood with cupped hands as he stumbled out of Zayn’s bedroom, where Zayn could do nothing but watch a naked and ashamed Harry leave, his hands shooting down to his ankle strap as he tried to pull it off.
“Harry! Harry! Let me out, you, you need to put ice on—” click!
—Zayn watched his ankle cuff pop open.
Zayn kicked it away from his foot and then slid off the mattress, where he jogged towards Harry’s bedroom, his now fully awake eyes landing on Harry who sat slumped against the side of his bed with the ankle strap remote in his right hand, his thumb over the release button.
Once again, Harry’s dominant, in control and ‘skilled tickler’ persona was jeopardised by another mistake, another thing that hadn’t gone quite right, another injury, like the bruise on his shins from Zayn’s kicks just yesterday; and to make it worse, Harry asked for something he hadn’t asked for, for a long, long time, an ask that really exposed his vulnerability and above all else, the emotions he still couldn’t put aside when The Masked Tickler had told him to be emotionless, when dealing with a session as important as this one …
Harry asked for help.
Zayn clawed out some chunks of ice from the top drawer of Harry’s freezer, where he gathered them in a watermelon print tea towel and made his way back over to Harry, who sat on the kitchen floor with his legs wide apart; his back against the washing machine, his head tilted so that he glared up at the kitchen ceiling, his right hand cupping his bloody nose …
In his haste, Harry hadn’t had the chance to cover his nudity in any clothing, so he sat nude and tanned, glistening in the morning sunrise whilst Zayn knelt beside him in a pair of tight black briefs and thick, white, protective socks.
“It’s not broken, is it?” Zayn handed Harry the tea towel, “I didn’t kick out that hard …”
Harry took the tea towel full of ice and pressed it against his nose, his mouth hanging open as he shot a frustrated look at Zayn.
“You shouldn’t of kicked me at all,” he mumbled.
Zayn stood up and made his way back to the refrigerator, “Yeah, well, you should’ve kept your hands off my feet,” he said, pulling the refrigerator door open, “I won’t tell you again, Haz, they’re off limits, mate …”
Harry rolled his eyes as he pressed the tea towel harder against the bridge of his nose.
“Where’s my apology?” Harry hid his devilish smile behind the tea towel.
Zayn continued to look through the inside of the refrigerator, his eyes darting over cold butter on a dish, some leftover pizza in plastic tupperware, an out of date carton of orange juice, a packet of bacon, two bottles of white wine that were clearly Harrys, three cans of Stella that were clearly Louis’ …
“It’s literally the first thing I said,” Zayn smirked, “You just want me to show you I’m sorry,” Zayn picked out the packet of bacon, “I know you, Styles. You don’t have to lay out any hints …”
Harry slowly took the tea towel away from his nose as the blood around his nostrils started to dry.
“No way. Are you …?” He asked.
Zayn nodded, dropping the bacon down over at the kitchen side where he started to pull open cupboard doors with one hand, his other hand scratching his left ass cheek as he searched around for, “Bread,” he sniffed, “Where’s your bread?”
Harry shook his fists, “Yes! The Malik Bacon Sandwich … You must really be sorry, if you’re making something as special as that …” he remained seated on the kitchen tiles as he pointed towards the microwave, “… Oh, and the bread is in that unusual place you would never usually find bread …” Harry provided a dramatic gasp, “ … The bread bin! …” his devilish smile stretched out into a cheeky grin.
Zayn took a butter knife from one of the drawers and aimed it at Harry with a menacing glare, “I’m warning you …” he then walked towards the bread bin, removed the lid and picked out six slices of bread.
“Pans in the bottom drawer, by your legs,” Harry advised, closing his eyes as the sting in his nose began to subside, “And I’ll have—”
“—Mayo,” Zayn pulled a face filled with grimace, “You little weirdo,” his left arm reaching into the refrigerator whilst his right hand started to lay out the slices of bread.
“The ‘breakfast octopus’ … ” Harry chuckled, “… That’s what we used to call you. Your hands and arms and legs work all at once … You never just did one thing at a time …”
Harry watched Zayn take butter out of the refrigerator whilst the toes of his right foot pulled the handle of the lower drawer, with enough tug that it slid open, allowing his right hand to reach down and pick out a pan, his left hand placing the butter down, his left foot kicking up to shut the refrigerator door, both hands now buttering the bed as Zayn smiled at a nickname he had forgotten about, a nickname he hadn’t been called in almost ten years …
“I am sorry, mate,” Zayn kept his eyes off Harry, focusing on the butters spread across the thick, fluffy slices beneath his fingertips, “I mean it. I, I just … I literally hate having my fe …” Zayn huffed, “… You know how much I ha …” Zayn reached to his right and twisted the knob that controls the hobs heat, “… It was just an automatic reaction, that’s all …” Zayn pressed a button above the oven, igniting the hob as a circle of blue flame arrived, ready for Zayn’s pan.
Harry sighed as he glanced down at the blood stained tea towel.
“It’s alright. It’s my fault. I should’ve … Controlled myself …” he looked up at Zayn with a face filled with hope, “… I am trying, I promise.”
Zayn placed the pan over the flames and then fingered a chunk of butter onto its surface.
“Your… Kink, it’s …” Zayn carefully picked out several streaks of bacon from the packet and laid them out over the pan, “… It’s something you have to control?”
The bacon started its sizzle.
Harry pulled his knees towards his chest as the ice began to melt within the tea towel.
“It’s not a kink,” Harry snapped, “It’s a fetish. It has a name … Knismolagnia …”
Zayn held up his hands, “Alright, alright, christ…” he then started his search for sauces, repeating himself somewhat, this time using the correct term, “ … Is your knisma … logmia something you have to control?"
Harry pointed to the cupboard above the toaster.
“Shouldn’t all sexual desires be controlled?”
Zayn walked towards the toaster and opened the cupboard above it, picking out a bottle of ketchup and a jar of mayonnaise, the kitchen now filling with the scent of fried bacon.
“There’s horny, Haz, and then there’s creeping into someones room whilst they’re asleep and …” Zayn placed the sauces by the buttered slices of bread, picking up the pan and giving it a shake as the butter began to melt, its golden shine coating bacon that had started to crisp, “… I’ve never done that to a girl before. I’ve never felt the need to do something like that …”
Harry shuffled himself into the cross legged position.
“What are you trying to say? You calling me a pervert?”
Zayn almost laughed as loud as he had done yesterday afternoon, whilst tied to Harry’s couch, Harry’s ten fingers deep within the confines of his underarms.
“Yes! One hundred percent!” Zayn shook the bottle of ketchup and patted the bottom with the palm of his left hand, “You’re a total pervert! You’ve been checking out my feet since I got here! You’re checking them out right now …” Zayn squirted ketchup over two slices of bread, “… You shoved your cock in my mouth yesterday, jizzed all over my face, crawled into my room this morning and, and tried to sniff my f … Yeah, total perv vibes,” Zayn placed the bottle of ketchup to the side and then held onto the jar of mayonnaise, where he began to try and remove the lid, “Mnn—”
Harry raised both eyebrows as he allowed himself to be truthful and honest, nodding slowly into his lap as he peeled his eyes away from Zayn’s bright white socked nine and a half’s, “I’m … Not even sure how I let it get like this …” he said, wincing a little as he got to his feet, his naked form now walking towards Zayn, “… I, I want to enjoy it, I, I love having it as part of me, but sometimes …” Harry reached out and curled both hands around the jar of mayonnaise in Zayn’s hands, his palms covering Zayn’s knuckles, “… Sometimes it gets pretty consuming … “
Zayn felt a pang of electricity shoot up his shoulder blades as Harry’s hands curled around the jar of mayo; he found himself blinking down at the jar, its glass, cylindrical shape connecting he and Harry together for five, ten, fifteen seconds, with only the sizzle of bacon as their company whilst both boys stood in silence.
Zayn couldn’t move his hands due to them being pinned around the jar by Harry’s palms; all he could do was stand there quietly, his cock stiffening beneath his briefs, his mouth watering at the scent of bacon, amongst other things …
Harry took the jar away from Zayn and effortlessly twisted off the lid, handing the jar back to Zayn with a kittenish smile across his lips.
Zayn blushed, stepping away from Harry as he took out a generous scoop of mayonnaise from the jar with a nearby spoon, lathering it over the next two slices of bread.
“You’ve always been like it,” Zayn’s words arrived as a statement, “Now I know this about you, I look back at times when we were younger, back in the band, and you’d always have that look in your eye, the look you have right now …” Zayn used the fork to pick the bacon out from the pan, “… I’d think, why is he looking at my feet again? or, christ, he’s the most hands on guy I know …” Zayn laid the bacon out over the slices of bread, making sure each sandwich had at least two streaks, “… I just thought you were playful. You’d search out moments to poke me or wiggle your fingers into my pit, literally whenever I had my arms raised or my back turned …” Zayn took the remaining two slices of bread and placed them on the pan, where they began to toast along with the bubbles of butter and all the grease from the bacon, “… Fuck! Come to think of it, you, you used to do it every week, and not just to me, but to Liam, Niall, Lou—” Zayn pressed his lips shut, now overly conscious of the framed photo of Harry and Louis just inches away from his face, on the shelf filled with Grammy awards and plant pots, “Yeah,” he huffed, shaking his head, placing the sandwiches into position, “All that’s happened since then is, you’ve levelled up.”
Zayn removed the slices of bread from the pan and added one slice to the middle of each sandwich, securing the signature ‘Malik Bacon Sandwich’ and its style; bottom slice, bacon, toasted slice saturated in bacon fat as the centre, another layer of bacon, top slice …
Zayn picked up the mayo filled bacon sandwich and handed it to Harry, “Boom,” he said.
Harry acknowledged all of Zayn’s words, recognising his behaviour from over ten years ago entirely; he felt proud of his fetish, he did not want it to change, he did not feel ashamed that Zayn had sussed him out, all he wanted to say in this moment in time was …
“… You’re not giving me a plate?”
Zayn chuckled, “You’re bollock naked, Haz, you’ve got blood on your cock, and you’re worried about crumbs?” Zayn picked up his sandwich and took a large bite out of the middle, “Av a laugh,” he said, speaking with his mouthful, taking a seat around the small wooden kitchen table.
Harry held the sandwich in a tilt, close towards his chest, to stop any grease or mayonnaise from seeping out of the sides, something Zayn thought to be strange considering how much cum and baby oil currently stained the living room.
As Harry sat opposite Zayn, Zayn took another bite out of his bacon sandwich, chewing down hard and swallowing this time before speaking.
“So what’s next?” He asked, “After you’re done with me, you gonna act out all your tickle fantasies with Louis? Or have you done that already?” He placed the sandwich back by his mouth, speaking into the bacon before taking another bite, “Gonna choose someone else? Liam? Niall? Some random?”
Zayn chomped down over the sandwich and watched Harry with narrowed eyes as Harry quietly bit into the corner of his own sandwich; Harry closed his eyes and smiled, the taste reminding him of all of the many Malik Bacon Sandwiches Zayn had made he and the band whilst they were on tour, or on vacation, or simply hanging out at each others homes for the weekend, “Mnn,” he took another bite, this one larger, “Fuck, Zayn, sho good,” he chewed, and then he swallowed, “Uhm,” he wiped his mouth clear of grease, “There’s actually a thing going on, in Sweden, like, a tickle thing. I’m uh, I’m hoping to get an invite, if this weekend goes well enough.”
Zayn held the small remaining corner of his sandwich between his thumb and index finger, “What so, this, us … It’s like, practise?”
Harry immediately regretted his wording.
“No, mate, it’s … You, you know it’s more than th—”
“—Nah, it’s alright,” Zayn threw the corner into his mouth and then stood away from the kitchen table, “I’m happy to help. Your paying me, after all, just …” he paused, leaning into Harry before passing him by, “… No touching these …” he pointed down at his own socked feet, patted Harry’s shoulder and then walked to the sink, twisting on the tap, washing his hands clear of excess ketchup, “… So what’s going on in in Sweden? Like, some kind of convention, some kind of perv-fest?” As Zayn turned around, he jolted on the spot, Harry now standing inches away from him, “Fuck, Harry! What’s with the creepin—”
—Harry pushed his chest into Zayn’s torso and cupped his right palm around Zayn’s mouth.
“—Mnnph—” Zayn’s eyes widened as he felt the bottom of his spine press against the edge of the sink, the hot water still filling the basin …
Harry curled his left hand around Zayn’s right wrist and lifted it carefully above his head, gradually exposing Zayn’s right underarm as he did so.
Zayn shot a panicked look down at his armpit, it's furry depth now revealed to Harry as Harry shuffled in closer, pinning Zayn against the edge of the sink, the water now filling the basin so much that it had started to spill out onto the kitchen floor, the warm gushes landing over both boys feet.
“Mnn!” Zayn wriggled in Harry’s grasp as he acknowledged how much the sink was overfilling, the large puddle growing in size across the kitchen floor tiles, the intense stare in Harry’s eyes as Harry looked into Zayn’s face and then down at his open underarm …
“I’m more than just a pervert,” Harry growled, his free hand lifting to arrive at Zayn’s underarm, where all fiver fingers began to comb through Zayn’s armpit hair, “This, what we’re doing, it’s more than just perverse …” He felt his cock thicken as Zayn stomped his feet and twisted within his pinned-to-the-sink position, his right arm tugging downward, but Harry kept it lifted above his head, “… Got it?”
Zayn nodded quickly into Harry’s palm.
Harry released Zayn, stepping away from him, letting go of his wrist.
Zayn shuffled away from the sink and tip toed over the puddle, the bottom of his back, the cotton of his socks and the ass section of his briefs now soaked in warm water.
He opened his mouth, ready to say something, but it was right there, right then, where he realised he was utterly speechless.
Zayn closed his mouth and eyed the sink as the basin continued to gush excess spillage.
Harry reached across and twisted off the tap, his back facing Zayn, his juicy butt and its round shape perfectly outlined by the shining sun rising through the tiny kitchen windows.
“Meet me in the living room in fifteen minutes, Malik,” Harry ordered, his voice deep and stern, where he slowly nudged himself away from the sink and turned to face Zayn, an excited, sinister smile lifting his lips, “… Today is going to be far more intense than yesterday …”
When Zayn arrived at the living room, he arrived to a closed door.
He politely placed his hands behind his back and wondered what to do next, after all, it had been fifteen minutes exactly …
He glanced up at the cottage hallway ceiling, at the cracks and cobwebs gathered in the corners; he acknowledged his stiff nipples thanks to the constant chilly draft blowing through Harry’s house, a rather normal thought landing in his head as he awaited the reveal of an exceptionally abnormal situation: at least it’s not raining anymore.
Zayn’s patient musings were interrupted when the living room door clicked and then creaked open inward.
Zayn lifted his head, his eyes meeting Harry, who stood in nothing but a pearl necklace with a small piece of tissue stuffed up his left nostril, his cock standing proudly erect.
Zayn’s eyes widened at Harry’s size; even though he had felt it press against the back of his throat less than twenty four hours ago, its shape and girth still intimidated him, no matter how many times Harry greeted him with it since he got here, no matter how many times Harry would greet him with it before he left.
“Are you serious?” Harry asked as he pointed down to Zayn’s feet.
Zayn folded his arms across his chest defensively.
“Oh yeah, I’m serious …” he confirmed, glancing down at his feet, feet he had intentionally protected by dressing them in a new pair of thick white socks and a pair of tightly laced Nike Air Max 90 trainers, “ … I’m not risking anything, I’m bloody telling you,” he said determinedly, his arms dropping by his sides as his fists curled into balls, “… Wipe that smirk off your face, Haz, you little—”
“—You know you’re going to be tied up again, right?” Harry interrupted, his naked form blocking the set up in the living room, his hands stretching up where they curled around the top half of the living room door frame, his own armpits exposing themselves in all their hairy, muscular glory, “If I really want them, I’ll just take your trainers off, there will be nothing you can do about it …”
Zayn tutted, taking a step back, the rubber of his his Nike trainer soles squeaking over the floorboards.
“I’m hoping, as mates, as, as best mates, you respect what I signed …” Zayn felt his heart race as Harry’s hands slid away from the door frame, his body moving closer towards Zayn, Harry’s hands curling around both of Zayn’s wrists, causing Zayn to mutter his desperation into a mumbled whisper, “ … Wh, what I specifically requested you, you stay away from …” his lips slowed down in movement, his head dropped down to his chest as he felt Harry’s grip around his wrists tighten …
“We’re not best friends, Zayn,” Harry announced that fact with a content smile, once again his expressions doing the talking; the soft look in his face and the flutter of his eyelashes as he looked down at Zayn’s tattooed hands simply saying, ‘we’re more than that, and you know it’ …
Zayn closed his eyes and nodded slowly in agreement, allowing Harry to gently lead him into the living room as his cock began to stiffen beneath his tight, black underwear …
“Holy shit …” Zayn’s hands fell away from Harry’s as Harry let him go, where he then stood aside and let Zayn have a moment or two to take in how he would next be bound …
Positioned in the middle of the living room was a piece of furniture built by Harry and loaned by The House of White Feathers …
“… Zayn, meet The Bench …” Harry introduced, his voice a little bunged up thanks to the ball of tissue holding back any excess blood that might trickle out, if he were to get too excited.
The Bench stood on four tall, black aluminium legs; attached to each leg was a leather padded extension that worked as a level for each limb, and attached to each pad were two velcro straps …
The central pad, made for the ticklee’s torso, had two velcro straps attached to it also; Zayn reached his hand out to The Bench, where he gently pressed his fingertips over a circular pad built for the head, extending out the front of the device …
Zayn rested his palm over The Bench’s central pad as he turned to look at Harry, who stood there stroking his cock quietly, clearly very aroused at the sight of Zayn observing the unique and sturdy piece of bondage furniture.
Once again, Zayn found himself lost for words; this wasn’t chains and cuffs dangling from the ceiling, this wasn’t casually tied to the sofa or made to squirm during an interview back in 2013 because Harry couldn’t help but snuck his fingernails into Zayn’s underarm …
“… This is real,” Zayn said his thoughts out loud, “Isn’t it … ”
Harry took his hand away from his cock and sheepishly held both of his hands in front of himself, nodding quietly at Zayn, as if he himself had also just arrived at the realisation that yes, this is fucking real, I do want to do this, forever, all the time, every single fucking day …
Zayn turned his attention back to The Bench, his trainers squeaking over the floorboards once again as he did so.
“And, you’re, you’re just tickling me from my waist, down to my ankles, like you said you would …” Zayn adjusted his balls within his underwear, “ … So, my thighs, my legs …” Zayn looked over at Harry for a serious answer, one that wasn’t concealed with mystery or sass, an answer that would give Zayn clarity, enough to calm his nerves at least, “… No where else?”
Harry took his index finger to his lips, where he gave Zayn exactly the thing Zayn didn’t want, an answer in the form of a, “—Shhh …”
Zayn clenched his teeth in frustration as he watched Harry slowly approach him.
Zayn found himself stepping back, daunted by Harry’s height and menacing glare, his butt arriving at the side of The Bench, informing him that he could not step back any further …
Zayn felt a small breath of air leave his lips as he looked down to his waist, Harry’s ten fingers curling around the waist band of his underwear where he began to gradually shuffle them down, revealing the base of Zayn’s cock, their bodies now inches apart.
Harry let go of Zayn’s briefs, his lips moving towards the side of Zayn’s face, where he whispered, “Remove them. Now …”
Zayn found himself nodding quickly, as if hypnotised by Harry’s tone, the delicacy of his touch, the calm exterior he presented; all opposites to the growl in his voice yesterday, the aggressiveness of his manhandling, the manic exterior he presented as a merciless tickler …
Zayn finished off what Harry started; he grabbed his underwear and pulled it down to his knees, his growing erection springing free, his briefs now gathered around his socked ankles.
Zayn stepped out of his underwear and then kicked it away, his right hand curling around his own cock as he began to stroke it from semi erect to full, the sight of a tanned, naked, dominant Harry before him arousing him in ways he had not felt since they used to—
“—Climb on …” Harry nodded at The Bench.
Zayn cupped his own balls as he felt them swell, turning away from Harry, where he approached The Bench from behind, lifting his right leg onto the right pad, his left leg lifting onto the left pad, until he was knelt over both pads, his rubber Nike soles now facing Harry as Harry circled around The Bench, standing now just a metre away from Zayn …
Carefully, Zayn planted his torso over the central pad, his tattooed chest and stomach laying against the leather surface, his ass cheeks naturally spreading apart as his tiny, pink, hairless hole presented itself to Harry …
Zayn’s cock hooked over the edge of the central pad, it’s long length and throbbing shape neatly positioned between Zayn’s thighs.
Zayn rested his right elbow over the right arm pad and then he rested his left elbow over the left arm pad, his head finally laying itself down to the side over the circular pad beneath his face.
The Bench and its intention was to position Zayn so that almost all areas of his body were fixed in such a way that they could be explored without Zayn having much to do about it; His Nike-protected soles faced the fireplace, his ass was on full display, his back and sides were laid out for the taking, his armpits open just enough for ten invasive fingers to reach their way in …
The only part of Zayn, besides his feet, that was guarded in some way, was his stomach and chest; they lay flat against the surface of the central pad and could only be touched if Harry forced his way in between the tiny gap between the sides of Zayn’s torso and the surface of The Bench’s middle pad.
Harry felt his throat tighten as he struggled to believe his eyes; this was really happening, he had Zayn this way, and it looked and felt so utterly incredible that Harry wondered if his trembling hands would even be able to connect the first strap.
Harry blinked himself out of his daze, cleared his throat and knelt down by Zayn’s right leg.
“You shaved,” Harry noted, as he strapped Zayn’s right ankle to the pad.
Zayn placed his face through the circular hole in the middle of the head pad, his eyes taking in the details of the floorboards as he felt Harry connect a strap over his right calf.
“You always preferred me smooth,” Zayn curled his toes within the confines of his socks and trainers, “Does it look alright?”
Harry shuffled over to Zayn’s right leg.
“Alright? You looking bloody amazing,” Harry chuckled, now strapping velcro straps over Zayn’s left ankle and his left calf.
Zayn felt his eyes water; staring down so much filled his face with blood, so he lifted his head and laid it back on its side, his sight now the sofa he had laid tied to yesterday.
“Uh, Haz, c, can you pull my dick over the edge a bit more?” Zayn grunted, wiggling his hips a little, “It feels a bit squashed …”
Harry fastened up Zayn’s left leg to the left pad and then reached up to the middle of the bench, where he curled his right hand around Zayn’s cock and carefully positioned it so that it now hung fully hooked over the edge of the pad, its rigid shape forced into a straight line.
Zayn relaxed his hips, a movement that informed Harry he had succeeded in fulfilling Zayn’s request.
Harry then began to strap down Zayn’s arms, starting with his left wrist.
“So, what did you think, when I text you?” Harry asked, securing Zayn’s wrist in place.
Zayn felt his dread return the more his body was pinned against The Bench.
“What did you think when I stopped replying?” Zayn watched Harry secure his left forearm, his attempt at answering Harry’s question with a question simply a way at trying to regain some form of control, within a moment in time where Zayn felt entirely out of control …
Harry widened his jaw as he lifted his eyebrows, making his way to the right arm pad, “I’m talking about the text I sent about the three days, not the text I sent after you left the b—”
“—I know,” Zayn’s right wrist was strapped in place, “Don’t worry, I haven’t lost count at all the times I’ve ghosted you …” and then his right arm was strapped in place, “… Fuck, I’m, I’m proper stuck to this thing, aye …”
Harry felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he stepped back, where his eyes assessed each strap, ensuring they had been connected around Zayn’s limbs tightly and securely, “You’re thick as bricks, bringing up the ghosting stuff just before I’m going to let loose on you …” Harry didn’t have to search through his tool box to make his start, his fingers and his fingers alone would work their magic during this session, “… I was going to go easy, now, I’ll just go hard … “ he circled Zayn like a panther ready to pounce on its prey, “ … I was going to keep you in this for just a few hours, now, I’m thinking I keep you in it till the three days are over …” Harry teased.
Zayn squirmed within The Bench, twisting his head from side to side as Harry removed himself from sight, now standing quietly behind Zayn.
“I was only joking,” Zayn huffed, “You, you can’t just keep me in this, Haz, I’ll, I’ll need to eat, I’ll need to sleep, an, and stuff …”
Harry reached forwards and curled the fingers of his right hand around Zayn’s hard on, his sudden touch causing Zayn to jolt within The Bench.
“… And stuff? …” Harry’s enquiry suggested that Zayn’s need to sort out his arousal was something Zayn saw as just as important as eating or sleeping, “… Like I said yesterday, I’m in charge of when you eat, when you sleep, when we address the stuff you so desperately want addressed …”
Zayn felt his cheeks boil pink as he arched his back and bit his lower lip, an uncontrollable “—Mnn—” held at the back of his throat as Harry started to stroke his cock with the super soft tips of his fingers, “—I’m, I’m not des, desperate …” Zayn corrected, “ … You’re the one who paid me to—”
“—I’m the one who came all over your face…” Harry interrupted, his stroke speeding up, Zayn’s already fully erect cock stiffening into a thicker, larger shape, so suddenly that it caused Zayn’s vision to blur, “ … You’re the one who hasn’t jizzed at all, not yet, anyway … Maybe that will happen, maybe I’ll let it …” Harry’s touch slid away from Zayn’s cock, where he left it hooked and hard over the edge of the central pad, its girth twitching once, twice, three times, “ … Maybe I won’t …”
Zayn twisted his head around his right shoulder and then his left, in an attempt to try and physically see Harry, but the tremble taking place around his balls and down the shaft of his erection distracted him from his search.
“I, I can’t, I can’t see you,” Zayn could not even hear Harry’s feet as he walked over the floorboards, “I, I don’t know what you’re up to,” Zayn unintentionally exposed a weakness, his discomfort in not locating Harry getting the better of him, “Come here, you wank …” calling Harry names once again helped Zayn feel like he was in some kind of control, like he had some sort of power, “… Oi, you bell end, where, where are you, what are you—”
—Zayn’s entire upper body leaped to the left as Harry’s fingertips fluttered across his right side, The Bench creaking under his writhe.
“I told you yesterday,” Harry warned, “Calling me names will only make things worse for you …” Harry stood beside Zayn’s right side and took all ten of his fingers into a harder flutter, their tips stroking Zayn’s selection of ribs in a constant pinch, grab and poke, causing Zayn to wriggle his hips and waist, his fists curling into balls, his head burying itself into the circular hole within the head pad, “… What’s wrong, Zayn? Your sides a little ticklish?” Harry grinned.
Zayn expelled laughter through the hole, The Bench squeaking and wobbling beneath his weight as he squirmed under Harry’s touch, grunts and groans leaving his lips the harder Harry tickled, his mouth shaping out the start of the word ‘please’, where it instead decided to shape out the start of the word ‘yes’, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in air, his tone high pitched and almost squeal-ish in its delivery, “Yes! Yes they’re ticklish, you knob!” Zayn had clearly not taken Harry’s warning seriously, labelling him a ‘knob’ confidently and unapologetically as Harry took his fingers up Zayn’s right side and towards his right armpit …
“—No,” Zayn tried to pull his biceps into his sides, his voice demanding, almost ordering, “—No,” but the bondage around each of his wrists and his forearms restricted him in doing so, “No, n, not my armpits, you did those yesterday—” he winced, breathless giggles tumbling out of his throat as he widened his jaw and panted into the floorboards, Harry’s right hand digging into Zayn’s right underarm, Harry’s left hand reaching over Zayn’s back where it dug into his left underarm, his fingers and their wiggling strength forcing their way deep inside Zayn’s pits, past the thick, darl curls of armpit hair and into the sweaty caverns that made up his hyper ticklish underarms, “No!” Zayn cried, “Not my, not my pits, not, not again! You did those yesterday!—” he repeated, “—You did those yesterday! Come on! Come on? That’s, that’s not fair, tickle somewhere else, go somewhere else!” Zayn’s request arrived in the form of grainy, try-hard whines, whines that seemed to have paid off, considering how quickly Harry’s fingers left his underarms …
Harry spoke in a mesmerised, aroused murmur, his own erection throbbing so hard that it stood tall and mighty, protruding out from the bottom of his stomach, not needing Harry’s hand to keep it upright, “Alright, alright. Where shall I tickle next?” Harry asked, “I’ll let you decide …”
Zayn licked his lips as he adjusted himself over The Bench, his own hard on rubbing against the edge of the central pad as he did so.
“Mnn!—” Zayn twisted his head to the left as he felt Harry’s fingertips arrive at the bottom of his spine, “—You, you said you were just gonna do me from the waist down, so, so—” Zayn gasped as he felt Harry’s fingertips stroke down to his balls, “—do, do, do somewhere down there, like, my, my arse, my arse!—” Zayn jolted forwards as he felt Harry’s fingertips flutter up to his right ass cheek, “—TICKLE MY ARSE!—” Zayn yelped.
He wiggled his hips and thrusted his waist as Harry began to tickle Zayn’s butt, his fingernails scritching and scratching over each of Zayn’s ass cheeks, causing Zayn to giggle and moan as he closed his eyes and allowed his mouth to stretch out into a satisfied grin, the ass tickling actually feeling more delightful than torturous, the kind of sensation similar to when someone tickled his back or behind his ear, or around the expanse of his chest; it felt sensual, almost irritating but not irritating enough to be torment, but above all else, it worked as a brief break from having his armpits so mercilessly toyed with, something Zayn could not quite take a second more of, especially after yesterdays mind blowing session …
Harry knew Zayn’s request was purely a distraction; he also knew that deep down, he himself wanted to, no, had to, catch that ‘moment’ of complete hysteria, that nano second where the ticklee screams with such force it suggests they are about to explode, where they beg so hard, so breathlessly that the possibility of passing out inches closer to an actual circumstance …
Harry wanted to see the same look in Zayn’s eyes that he had seen yesterday, where his arms were pinned above his head and to the couch, his mouth stuffed full with Harry’s cock, his armpits tickled non stop, the madness in Zayn’s throat muffled and held back from release thanks to the solid girth forced between his lips …
Harry took his tickling fingers towards Zayn’s recently shaved hole, where he stroked his index finger over Zayn’s taint and tickled the silky smooth space of flesh between his balls and ass, transforming Zayn’s comfortable giggles into heavy bellows of laughter, his cackling and shouting now lifting in volume, as if he were some kind of musical instrument …
Harry had intentionally started off slow, jabbing at Zayn’s ribs like they were piano keys, to create some yelps and gasps, where he had then journeyed into Zayn’s underarms, a spot that created begging produced with such passion that it suggested a level of dire seriousness within Zayn’s reactions …
Like strumming a guitar, Harry dropped Zayn’s pleading down to playful chortles as Harry tickled his ass, chortles that now went back up a notch to hard and steady laughter when Harry decided to focus on Zayn’s taint.
Country music transformed into Rock n’ Roll as Zayn’s eyes widened, his legs thrashing within their bondage, his eyebrows lifting as steady screams of laughter erupted out of his throat, his butt jiggling with every writhe and squirm as Harry scribbled all ten fingernails over his taint, non stop, relentlessly and without pause.
“—Okayokayokayokayokayokayokayokayokay—” Zayn spluttered senselessly, “—Stopstopstopstopstopstopstop—” he spat, “—pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseharry—” Zayn heaved, his high pitched giggling strained and lacking in energy as his lungs emptied the lunacy created by simply scratching over a small chunk of flesh between his hole and balls, a thin layer of sweat now developing over the bottom of Zayn’s spine, a sight that made Harry’s cock twitch within the air it stood in, “—Stop—” Zayn repeated, dropping the word in between the laughter, “—Sssstop!—” He muttered, his head rolling from side to side as he curled his fists into balls and wriggled his torso over the central pad of The Bench, “—I need a breather I need a breather!—” He declared, his throat dry, his entire chest genuinely and so desperately out of breath …
The visceral truth within Zayn’s declaration was enough to satisfy Harry; he stopping tickling Zayn’s taint and instead fluttered his fingertips back over Zayn’s ass, where he gently stroked Zayn’s left side, allowing his ticklee the chance to catch his breath, even if Harry’s less intense touch caused Zayn to still jolt and squirm away from his fingertips …
Harry sat at the front of The Bench, on the floor, in the cross legged position; from here he had the perfect few of Zayn’s head and face as Zayn rested his chin on the circular pad, now facing Harry directly.
“Do I, d, do I get a safe word today, or …?” Zayn asked, sniffing up some emotion through moist nostrils filled with his hysterias expel, “… I, I think I’m gonna need one if you do me there again …”
Harry felt his cock flex. Hearing Zayn describe his level of ticklishness without intending for it to sound arousing turned Harry on in ways he could not quite describe; just hearing Zayn ask if he were allowed to be given the chance of a break was mind blowing in itself, further proving to Harry that, unlike yesterday, he was doing a great job at cementing each of their roles; Harry, in control, dominant, the one who called the shots … Zayn, submissive, uncertain, unknowing in what he would be given, what relief he would be permitted …
Harry shook his head slowly.
He reached up to Zayn’s armpits and began to stroke at their insides once again, a large grin spreading across his face.
“No, no safe words today, my cheeky Bradford bad boy,” Harry announced, “Just questions,” he declared, “Do you want me to stop?”
Zayn began to flap his arms the best his elbow bondage would allow, his shoulders lifting and dropping as he became breathless almost immediately, his flingers stretching out in panic as he squeezed his eyes shut, wriggled within The Bench and heaved in and out, a whiney, “—Please!—” leaving his lips as he gasped and panted, his armpits once again falling victim to Harry’s strong, wiggling fingers, “—Please, please, please!—” Zayn begged, his face flushing red, his cheeks swelling up, all developments in Zayn’s expressions that made Harry’s cock remain thick, hard and pulsating, “—Pleasepleasepleaseplease!—” Zayn wheezed.
“Do you hate having your armpits tickled?” Harry asked, his fingers now wiggling into the very depths of each of Zayn’s underarms, their tips rubbing in the gathering sweat produced from Zayn’s hysteria …
Zayn nodded as he pulled a face of grimace, his eyes still squeezed shut, his throat still expelling high volumes of grainy, uncontrollable laughter.
“—Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes!—” He cried, his shoulders now wriggling so hard his back had started to ache, “Please, stop, stop, stop, stop—” he panted.
“Stop?” Harry asked, “Do you want to beg me to stop?”
Zayn growled, his eyes snapping open where he glared directly into Harry’s face, his torso writhing with such strength to its squirm that The Bench had started to wobble from side to side, its joints creaking beneath Zayn’s weight as Zayn breathed in through his nose, producing enough air to giggle out the words, “—yesIwantto—” he breathed in once again, giggling out, “—I’mbeggingyouplease!—” and then he would breathe in yet again, giggling out, “—comeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeon!—”
“Do you hate that I said I’d only tickle from your waist to your ankles,” Harry taunted, “When really, my favourite spot is up here?”
Zayn was now giggling so hard that his face had become permanently creased with gut wrenching hysteria, his throat thick with laughter, the veins at the sides of his head pulsating and filled with pleasured anguish, his voice unable to produce words, his answer to Harry’s question arriving in the form of a manic, fast paced nod.
“Will you let me tickle your feet, if I stop?” Harry asked.
Without hesitation, Zayn shook his head from left to right, fiercely denying access to his most ticklish area, an area he was afraid of people looking at, let alone touching …
Harry persisted within Zayn’s underarms, his drive to sometime soon tickle Zayn’s feet now reaching obsessive levels; the fact that Zayn would rather Harry continue to tickle his pits in this relentless, mind numbing way instead of allowing him a chance at toying with his toes only proved now more than ever to Harry that Zayn’s feet really were off limits, to say the least …
“Okay, alright,” Harry pressed one index finger over his left nostril, sniffing out the tissue, which shot away from his nose and landed on the floor, “Where shall I tickle next?” Harry asked his final question as he watched Zayn writhe and squirm so strongly within The Bench that The Bench itself almost toppled over to the left, causing Harry to use one hand to grab the side of the device, keeping it on all fours …
Zayn heaved in, “—mylegsmylegsmylegsmylegsmylegs—” he expelled breathlessly, breathing in sharply again, “—My legs, my legs, tickle my fucking legs!—” he spluttered, his face now almost unrecognisable, after having his armpits tickled so much, so unexpectedly, after being informed this session would only focus on him from the waist to the ankle, his head snapping upward, his face inches away from Harry’s, both of their expressions polar opposites; Harry’s was calm and focused, glowing with joy and excitement, Zayn’s was saturated in perspiration and euphoric agony, his mouth so wide open Harry could almost fit his fist through it, Zayn now producing a long, high pitched almost soundless length of laughter that existed just in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously, no noise making its way past his lips, just a long expel of borderline crazy that made Harry wonder if he would even come up for air, a sight that gave Harry his second ‘moment’, that nano second of evidence that Zayn had reached his absolute limit.
Finally, Harry stopped tickling Zayn’s underarms, taking his fingers around Zayn’s face where he stroked his jaw and brushed away beads of sweat with his thumbs.
“Shhh, shhh … That was a lot, mate, wasn’t it?” Harry used his right hand to stroke his own cock as his other hand soothed Zayn out of his hysteria and into a more calmed state, “… You ever said ‘please’ that much before? You ever felt that breathless, that done in?”
Zayn shook his head quickly, a deep and grainy, “—Guggghhhhh …” leaving his throat as he embraced an overwhelming moment of relief, his entire body weight resting over The Bench, his palms clammy, his eyes watering, his lips dry and cracked, “… You sss, said you, you were just, doing me from, from the waist, to, to my … You, you wank, you cum, cum stain … tha, tha, that was har, harddcore, Haz,” Zayn announced, “Tha, that was, unlike anything I … Fuck, give me a sec, I can’t even talk right n, now …”
Harry smirked in satisfaction, getting to his feet, where he walked around The Bench and made his way towards Zayn’s legs …
“… Music to my ears,” he said.
Zayn chugged a bottle of water placed at his lips by Harry.
Liquid spilled down his jaw and past his chin as he closed his eyes and quenched his thirst, the coolness of the water soothing his dry throat and burning lungs.
Harry tipped the bottle away and screwed the plastic lid back over the top, hurling the bottle across the living room where it gently landed in a bounce over the couch.
Zayn licked his lips and rolled his neck, a few clicks releasing some tension from his shoulder blades, his eyes once again taking in the size of Harry’s cock as it swayed from side to side with every step he took around The Bench.
“You enjoying yourself, Haz?” Zayn adjusted his torso over the central pad of The Bench, his sweaty skin sliding in a gentle rub over the leather, “Making the most of every penny spent, aye?”
Harry made his way back behind Zayn, his right arm extending so that just his fingertips made impact with the very tip of Zayn’s erection, an erection till hooked over the edge of the middle pad.
Zayn jumped, a laugh of surprise leaving his lips as his head twisted round to the left and then to the right.
“Seems I’m not the only one …” Harry curled his hand around Zayn’s cock and held it as if it were a swords handle, “… You’re rock solid …”
Zayn bit his lower lip as he felt Harry tighten his grip around his hard on, “It’s the rubbing,” he explained, almost too quickly, “Every time I move, it rubs against the leather, it’s … It’s …” Zayn huffed, mumbling out his circumstance stubbornly, “… It’s driving me mad.”
Harry’s hold slid down and away from Zayn’s arousal, “Is it torment?” Harry smirked, “Is it hard to deal with?” His fingertips fluttered down Zayn’s right thigh where they then hopped over to his left, “Shall I make you cum so hard you almost pass out?”
Zayn wiggled his butt as his legs jerked under Harry’s fingers, his lip biting transforming into a joyous grin, “Wouldn’t be the first time!” He yelped, the behinds of his knees now tickled by Harry’s fingertips as they stroked the silky flesh at the tops of his calves, “Agh! Haha! Hahah!” Zayn’s laughter sounded shocked, as if he had become all too suddenly perplexed by a new area on his body that he had no idea was ticklish, an area newly discovered by Harry and Harry only, thanks to his strange request to hire Zayn as his tickle slave for three days and three days only, “Ooft, fuck, that’s sensitive—” Zayn hissed, as Harry’s fingertips persisted in their brush around now both of Zayn’s calves, his left hand over Zayn’s left calf, his right hand over Zayn’s right calf, “—You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you, mate? You shit head!—”
Zayn’s impassioned words of realisation once again filled Harry with reassurance. Hearing his ticklee aggressively confess that he was so undeniably under Harry’s control made Harry feel like he was doing a great job, after yesterdays fuck ups and frequent fumbles.
Harry smiled, “You don’t know what I had to go through, to learn how to touch, to understand what makes people get to a level of breathless madness similar to the state you were just in yourself,” Harry’s fingers fluttered down Zayn’s twitching calves, calves neatly contained under velcro straps, where they unexpectedly held onto the heels of Zayn’s Nike Air Max 90’s, “I’ve been there, mate. I’ve felt what you’ve felt, and then some. That’s how I know …”
Zayn’s entire body stiffened as he hugged The Bench beneath him in a rigid embrace, “Harry! Don’t you fucking dare …” he warned, all ten of his toes scrunching within the warm confines of his footwear, “… I mean it …” he winced, his spine arching as he threw his head over his right shoulder, at the horrendous feeling of his left Nike being tugged away from his left foot, “… Harry! No! Oi, mate, seriously, don’t you fucking dare—” he repeated, his body thrashing over The Bench, “—Don’t you fucking dare!—”
Harry grinned mischievously as he ever so gently tugged at the Nike trainer once, twice, three times, the fourth tug pulling the footwear away from Zayn’s left socked foot, much to Zayn’s despair, “You sound pretty pissed off, Zayn,” Harry began to tug at the right trainer, “Is it because I’m doing the one thing you so desperately don’t want to happen? A thing far worse than me tickling your pits or your taint? Man, I can’t believe you actually paid lawyers to include this in the contract! As if I was going to abide by some bloody paper work,” a second tug, “As if I was actually going to leave your feet alone …” a third tug, “… As if I was actually going to let some legal team stop me …”
Zayn had now started to make a conscious effort to throw The Bench over. He no longer gave Harry the satisfaction, by responding to him verbally. Engaging in any form of communication was no longer important. All that mattered to Zayn was flipping the piece of furniture he lay strapped to, onto the floor, so he could at least attempt some form of escape, away from Harry’s attempt at simply touching his feet.
Harry chuckled in genuine amusement as he watched Zayn grunt, huff, thrash and jerk, the thirty year old clearly using all of his mite, all of his strength to try and rock The Bench over to its side, however Harry’s hold over The Bench’s right leg ensured that The Bench would be going nowhere; what would be going somewhere, was Zayn’s right Nike Air Max 90, its rubber structure and tightly laced shape now sliding effortlessly away from Zayn’s right foot, exposing a perfectly smooth size nine and a half, restrained, socked sole.
Once Zayn realised his efforts were useless, he gave up on trying to thrust his weight to the left and instead allowed his body to stiffen up as he twisted his head over his right shoulder, in an attempt to scowl down at Harry, the delivery of his words sharp, blunt and threatening.
“Touch my feet, and I’ll never speak to you again.”
Harry blinked.
Those ten words encapsulated a humungous level of urgency that Zayn seemed utterly determined for Harry to understand.
Harry understood entirely, but his need to exploit Zayn in his bound and helpless position was far greater than his intention to play by the rules.
Harry started to pull away Zayn’s right sock; he began by tugging the material from under the velcro ankle strap, where he eventually hooked it over Zayn’s right heel, revealing an exceptionally buttery and soft chunk of flesh.
Zayn shook his head.
“Nah,” he spat, “Nah, no way,” he shifted his weight to the right, “You’re a piss taker!” He shifted his weight to the left, “Mate, you’re taking the piss!” He shifted his weight to the right once again, the feeling of the thick white cotton rolling back, down the bottom of his right foot, causing him to shake his arms and legs within the straps that made up The Bench he lay over, the device creaking and wobbling under his weight, a split second of relief taking hold of his panic as he felt Harry’s pinch over his sock leave his sock completely.
Zayn remained still and stiff, his squirming keeping his erection hard, thanks to how much he rubbed across the leather with every writhe.
Harry giggled quietly into the back of his hand as he allowed Zayn to wonder what would happen next; the living room fell silent, with only Zayn’s heavy breathing in the background, his right sock pulled halfway his sole.
Despite the levels of alarm jittering under Zayn’s skin, he too found himself giggling, mostly in utter disbelief; Harry was actively betraying him, going against his word, disregarding the legal documents he had signed, documents that clearly stated: ‘Mr. Malik’s feet must remain untouched throughout all three days …’
“Haz! Mate! I’m fucking serious!” He was now giggling so hard he had started to pant, “Ha, ha, Haz! Don’t fucking do this, come on, mate, seriously!—” He jolted across The Bench, his cock nudging over the edge of the central pad, once again rubbing against his arousal, as Harry took his index finger and thumb and began to tug Zayn’s left sock out from under the velcro ankle strap, where his dedicated pull revealed the beauty of Zayn’s left heel, “—I, I mean it, mate, MATE, I’m never fucking speaking to you a-fuckin-gain if you fucking do this!—” Zayn head butted the pad beneath his face, as if banging his head against a wall; he did it once, twice, three times, four times, growling out his anger as he felt Harry take his left sock to the same place as his right, leaving both socks hanging off the ends of his toes so that the majority of the white cotton dangled loosely, “—Fuck, Harry, you’re such a dick …” He sighed, his toes curling within the layer of protection still concealing their soon to be bare presentation.
Harry sat cross legged as he stared at Zayn’s soles; he took in the bottom half which was un-socked, silky to admire, a landscape of skin that would send Zayn absolutely wild if Harry were to simply press his index finger over Zayn’s heel. Harry then took in the top half, a perfect shape of ten toes hidden beneath the socks, their lengths and round ends visible as a form of definition under the white cotton.
“You always had the nicest feet, out of all of us,” Harry decided, his right hand pinching the toes of Zayn’s left foot, his left hand pinching the toes of Zayn’s right foot, his temporary ticklee leaping so forcefully within his straps that Harry thought The Bench might hurtle through the living room wall, “Yet, they’re never really discussed, there isn’t any Zayn’s feet Instagram pages, the content on your WikiFeet page is minimal …”
Zayn bit into the leather of the pad beneath his face as he felt Harry continue to remove his socks, this time not slowly, this time without any teasing to his method, “I never get them out!” Zayn spoke with the leather between his teeth as he felt his feet be forced bare, the socks now whipped away from his toes, toes that tried to clench and catch at the material before their swift departure, leaving Zayn defeated and only able to exist in his worst case scenario, “Oh fuck, fuck this,” Zayn shook his head once again, “You’re winding me up,” he tried to turn his head to the left, “You’re winding me up!” He tried to turn his head to the right, “Harry, fucking touch them and you’ll fucking regret it, I’ll make your life a living hell once I’m out of this, you absolute wank …” Zayn curled his toes into a fiercely protective scrunch, his silky smooth soles now entirely vulnerable, on show and within reaching distance, strapped down and unable to move, unlike earlier this morning or yesterday, where he could kick out and defend himself.
Harry pursed his lips and blew over Zayn’s left sole; the lightness of the air landing against his skin being enough for Zayn’s left foot to twitch and writhe, The Bench jolting beneath his panicked reaction.
“You know what people who are more than just best friends do to each other, Zayn?” Harry asked, this time blowing over Zayn’s right sole.
Zayn squeezed his eyes shut and flexed out the toes of his right foot, their curled stretch scrunching back up tightly as he kicked both legs.
“They’re kind to one another,” Harry revealed, standing up and away from Zayn’s feet, where he reached down between Zayn’s thighs and curled his right hand around Zayn’s cock, rubbing it gently, “Would you prefer I did something more like this?”
Zayn raised both eyebrows as he felt all attention leave his feet, something he so madly wished for, something he so frantically longed for, something that had now actually happened, much to his unexpected comfort.
“Uh …” Harry had once again reduced Zayn to a speechless version of his once begging and pleading self, “… Yeah, al, alright …” he rested his head over the pad beneath his face and closed his eyes, “… Cheers …” his thanks left his lips in the form of a typically British, Bradford-esque mumble.
Harry smiled as he carefully stroked Zayn’s erection, holding it once again as if it were the handle of a weapon, massaging its thick shape and long length with all four of his soft fingers, his thumb applying pressure to the base with every rub.
Zayn felt his body relax; no longer was he on high alert, no longer was he struggling to think as Harry invaded his underarms, no longer was he repeating the word ‘please’ or begging for the tickling to stop. Instead, his weight sank over The Bench, all of his bound limbs rested over the pads, the eyeballs behind his eyelids felt warm and wet as he breathed in slowly, calmly, Harry’s stroke around his cock causing his stomach to tingle and his hips to endure a frightfully pleasurable ache.
Having his soles stripped bare was an unbearable circumstance to deal with, and as much as he would have preferred for his socks and Nike’s to be covering his feet like they were only five minutes ago, he still found solace and peace within his current predicament as Harry edged him closer to climax, his cock now twitching and throbbing within Harry’s palm as Harry continued to rub and caress Zayn’s hard on, only the polite tweet of bird song outside the cottage window filling the beat of quiet that filled a living room vibrating with a young mans want and need to experience pure, visceral pleasure.
“I’m close …” Zayn’s announcement arrived in a husky whisper.
Harry’s smile widened as Zayn’s declaration reminded him of the many times they had explored each other beneath the sheets of the tour bus beds; they always told each other when they were close, so that they could attempt to keep their mouths shut when the orgasm eventually came. Zayn always struggled to contain a gasp or moan, a reaction that often led to Harry having to cup his hand across Zayn’s mouth as Zayn arched his back and shot out his pleasure against Harry’s stomach … Tsk, Harry would think, it’s always the quiet ones …
Unlike ten years ago and in this very moment in time, there would be no one to hide from. The only person who they did not want to be part of these three days had been expertly removed, leaving Harry and Zayn by themselves, in their own privacy, no noises to hush or movements to action quietly, just the two of them; one bound with watering eyes, his arousal in the hand of the other, a tall standing, in control commander that would be responsible for allowing his sub the chance to feel the goosebumps, to almost pass out from the exhilaration …
Harry sped up his stroke as he watched Zayn arch his back, his plump ass cheeks expanding as his balls swelled up and his fists curled into a tight clench.
“I’m c, close,” Zayn repeated breathlessly.
Harry watched Zayn’s toes curl, he watched those extraordinarily ticklish feet flex from side to side, he watched his thighs part, he watched his head roll to the left and then to the right as Zayn grunted hard, his cock now throbbing under Harry’s touch, his helm glistening and shimmering …
Harry let go of Zayn’s erection and took two firm steps away from The Bench.
Zayn shuddered a denied gasp as he felt hot air leave flared nostrils, his eyes shifting from side to side in disbelief as his cock twitched and twitched and twitched until it twitched no longer …
Harry folded his arms as he continued his watch; unbeknownst to Zayn, this was Harry observing, this was Harry trying something out, understanding a process, learning his methods, seeing if edging someone that close to orgasm would actually work, just like The Masked Tickler taught him.
Harry watched Zayn’s slowly writhe over The Bench, like a jellyfish squirming over sand, fresh off the shore; he was uncertain, unable to talk, his movements unplanned and controlled by his inability to understand the gravitas of the mental and physical feelings that came with trying to handle almost experiencing an orgasm, only to have that experience taken away quickly and without prior discussion.
Only Zayn’s limbs rubbing against the leather pads was the sound that filled the living room, as Harry continued to observe; at one point, he could have swore he saw Zayn try to repeatedly press his erection against the edge of the central pad, as a way to rub himself closer to release, but in his bound position, such an act was too challenging to keep up, reducing Zayn into a huffy, frustrated shambles that could only express his disappointment in the form of a disgruntled whine, “… But, I was so close …”
Harry provided Zayn with no verbal response.
Instead, he made his way around The Bench and knelt back down in front of Zayn’s face; seeing his expression confirmed to Harry that Harry was doing a fantastic job in his dominant role. Zayn looked exhausted, confused, bewildered and let down, whilst at the same time he looked excited, hopeful and eager to continue, a strange blend of emotions that boiled down to one singular word leaving Zayn’s lips, a word that summed it all up for Zayn entirely.
“… Please …”
Please what? Harry thought.
Please stop, please carry on, please don’t tickle me, please wank me off, please leave me alone, please don’t touch my feet, please take me, all of me, every single inch like you used to, please, please, please, please …
Harry positioned both of his hands under each of Zayn’s underarms.
Zayn jolted in shock, his panic snapping himself out of his dazed state.
Harry began to stroke each of Zayn’s underarms with his fingers, his fingertips repeatedly combing and curling through Zayn’s armpit hair, his eyes watching Zayn’s face as it began to crumble from peaceful and disorientated to chaotic and troubled.
“Ha, ha, Harry—” Zayn wriggled his shoulders and flapped his hands, the elbow, wrist and body straps keeping him secured to The Bench despite his fierce struggle, “—Listen, mate, I, I can’t take this, not my pits, please, please, come on—” Zayn threw a worried look to Harry’s right hand, where he then threw a worried look to his left hand, acknowledging both hands now fiercely invading both pits in the form of a determined and aggressive scratch, right in the centre of each pit, “—Haz, mate! No, please, come on, please! Please? Please! You did them yesterday, you, you did them earlier!—” he did not want to sound so pathetic, he did not want to express this level of concern, he did not want to reveal this weakness, but having his underarms tickled in such a way gave him no choice in releasing such vulnerabilities in the form of breathless, giggle-ish whines, “I, I can’t stand it there!—” he admitted, “—It’s too much, al, alright? It’s too much!—” Zayn thought that revealing such an insecurity would make Harry stop, after all, they were more than best friends, kindness had been presented only moments ago, however, Harry not only continued, but he actually stood up and shuffled over to Zayn’s right shoulder where he positioned all ten of his fingers inside Zayn’s right underarm, tickling its hairy, sweaty depths relentlessly, Harry’s hard cock hit repeatedly by Zayn’s thrashing head as he giggled breathlessly into the leather, “—Oh, oh, mate! I, I can’t stand it! Not there, not my pits, please—” he whined, “—pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!—”
“—Allow me to tickle your feet,” Harry demanded, “And then I’ll stop …”
Zayn shook his head defiantly, once again showcasing the fact he would rather endure a hell he currently begged to end, instead of enduring Harry’s touch against his feet, a mind blowing concept for Harry to compartmentalise.
Suddenly, Zayn’s right hand slid free from the velcro strap around his wrist. He grabbed hold of Harry’s cock, as if it were a cobra ready to pounce, the tip of Harry’s erection an inch or two away from Zayn’s face.
Zayn squeeze it so hard that Harry’s balls expanded in size, his eyes widening, his fingers leaving Zayn’s underarm immediately.
“—Zayn—” Harry spoke with urgency in his voice, “—Fuck, Zayn!—” he stood on tip toes, both of his hands reactively grabbing Zayn’s now free wrist, “—MALIK—” Harry yelped, wincing in sharply as Zayn tightened his grip.
“Let me go,” Zayn’s threat came through gritted teeth, “Or I tear it off …”
Harry clawed onto Zayn’s back, his entire head trembling with such strength that the tips of his hair wobbled and his vision began to blur.
Reluctantly, Harry reached down to Zayn’s left wrist and tore open the velcro strap containing his left hand, where he then tore open the velcro strap containing his left forearm.
With his left arm free, Zayn was able to reach back and unstrap his left leg and ankle, whilst still keeping a tight grip around Harry’s cock; his grasp was so firm and assertive that it not only worked as a way to keep Harry pinned to the spot, but it also worked as a form of punishment, a reminder that no matter how much Harry thought he was in charge, the rebellious aspect of Zayn would somehow always succeed in fighting back, like he had done yesterday.
Harry’s feet planted themselves flatly over the floorboards as he dropped his weight, once Zayn had let go of his erection; he gasped out a defeated, shuddered sigh and then stumbled away from The Bench as Zayn continued to quickly free himself.
Once all straps had been torn open, Zayn crawled off and away from The Bench, his naked and aroused form now standing in front of the fireplace as he looked at Harry with an expression that said, ‘I’m sorry, you gave me no choice …’
Harry found himself acknowledging a lack of skill for the third, fourth, fifth time since Zayn had stepped foot inside his home. The fact that he had started to lose count only added fuel to the fire, when understanding such a dire amount of self reflective disappointment; such a sinking feeling made Harry charge towards Zayn in resentment, his vexation something he so passionately wanted to inflict onto Zayn, not in the form of stroking fingers or taunting hands, but in the form of punches, kicks and aggressive shouts.
“You prick!” Harry shouted, “You fucking prick!” He threw his fists into Zayn, who successfully caught both of Harry’s wrists before his knuckles had the chance to make impact with his face, “You fucking prick! What have you done?!” Harry cried, his pain expressing itself in the form of pink cheeks, tear filled eyes and dribble foaming at each corner of his mouth, “I hate you, I fucking hate you!”
Zayn grappled with Harry for almost half a minute, containing his physical wrath by pulling Harry’s hands down to his waist. He endured Harry’s kicks against his shins, he endured Harrys attempts to pull his hands free from the same clutch that had just grasped Harry’s cock, he endured the name calling and the spit landing against his jaw, his neck, his forehead until he used his own body strength to force Harry across the living room floorboards, where the twenty nine year old’s shoulders slammed against the wall in an almighty thud, Zayn’s face now just millimetres away from Harry’s.
The Bench watched on quietly as the sudden impact made Harry button up his lips and blink into Zayn’s mouth, his wrists still held by Zayn, his anger still bubbling, its boil reducing second by second.
Zayn eyed Harry from the nose down as both boys breathlessly engaged in their palpable altercation; their intense glances darted from chin to ear, from ear to eyebrow, from eyebrow to neck, until, at exactly the same time, Harry kissed Zayn and Zayn kissed Harry.
Their embrace was like an explosion, a volcanic eruption of built up tension, exasperation and bitterness; Harry tried to touch Zayn, but his wrists were still clamped at his waist, until Zayn let him go, allowing Harry’s palms to arrive over his ass as Zayn used his own hands to press against either side of Harry’s head, their feet stumbling out of the living room and towards the staircase where they tripped, giggled and fumbled their way up to Harry’s bedroom, the kissing never once taking a moment to pause.
Once through the bedroom door, Harry grabbed Zayn and spun him around, throwing him on the bed, where he landed on his back with a bounce. Before Zayn’s heels could even land over the mattress, Harry grabbed each of Zayn’s ankles and pushed them over Zayn’s head, causing Zayn to inhale quickly, his knees now pressing against his chest.
Zayn could feel the most delicate and personal part of his body stretch open as Harry shuffled forwards, kneeling before Zayn, where he looked Zayn directly in the eye with an important, narrow eyed gaze that said, ‘if we don’t do this now, it’ll never happen again’ …
Zayn nodded quickly, breathlessly, urgently … he reached both hands up towards Harry and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him in closer, allowing Harry to move in further, giving Harry no choice but to glance down to his manhood where he made sure its throbbing structure was in just the right position, his solid tip pressing against the silky smooth space between Zayn’s balls and the very bottom of his spine.
Harry lifted his head. He wanted to watch Zayn’s face when it happened.
Harry arched his back gently, his erect strength nudging against Zayn, where he eventually pushed his way in, ever so slowly at first, to then exit out, just for a few seconds, to allow Zayn a chance to ready himself, to understand, to catch his breath …
Zayn’s lips parted into an ‘O’ shape, his brow furrowed and confused, his eyes watching Harry’s mouth the entire time as Harry slid inside of him.
Zayn gasped a gasp that suggested Harry’s size would be harder to take then he remembered. The smile that followed suggested that Zayn would be happy to take the challenge, just like he used to.
Harry started to move inside Zayn, his gentle thrusts becoming firmer after each roll of his hips; the bed began to knock against the wall, its wooden construction creaking as Zayn found himself unable to close his mouth, his eyebrows now lifting, his hands clawing over Harry’s back as Harry moved in closer, deeper, their bodies squashed against each other in one fleshy, tangled, intimate formation.
Harry, still holding onto both of Zayn’s ankles, expertly moved both of Zayn’s feet so they were side by side; Harry’s view was perfect, from where he knelt he could look at Zayn’s soles, soles mere inches from his face, and behind those he could see Zayn’s bewildered look as he lay on his back with his knees pressed against his chest. Harry could tell that Zayn hated how vulnerable Harry had made his feet. Harry could tell that Zayn was too aroused, too flustered, too out of control to care. Harry could tell that Zayn really did not want Harry to do what he was just about to do, but Harry did it anyway.
Delicately, Harry began to kiss Zayn’s feet.
Zayn closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, his right foot twisting over his left in an attempt to block the sole currently victim to Harry’s pecks. It was a touch so infuriating to handle that Zayn had no choice but to take his own hands away from Harry’s waist and throw them up to his own feet, where he tried to use his fingers to hide the sensitive bottoms of the one body spot he did not want touched.
Seeing Harry so desperate to explore his feet infuriated Zayn, but it also turned him on - it was evidential that Harry could not help himself. The fact that he had become so obsessed with the idea of exploiting such an off limit area informed Zayn that Harry was madly attracted to him, to them, a thought in itself that made Zayn want to rub his own cock, hard and fast …
“Tomorrow, these ….” Harry kissed the toes of Zayn’s right foot, “ … Are mine …” he then kissed the toes of his left.
As both boys neared orgasm, all Zayn could do was frantically nod.
‘THREE DAYS AT HARRY’S HOUSE’ CONCLUDES IN ‘DAY THREE’