“I’m going to get you to do the thing you should’ve done.

The thing you refused to do.

The thing you ran so quickly from.

I’m going to get you to Obey.”

🧴

Tom adjusted the comfort of his jaw, now that his mouth was free from the ball gag.

He stood before Andrew, ready and waiting, as Andrew delivered his next command.

Andrew perched on the stool, his once present anxiety now replaced with fierce confidence.

He spoke softly, as if handling something too special to drop.

“Take off your underwear.”

Tom blinked.

He felt a sharpness in his chest, a strange bubble boil within his stomach; there was a delightful giddy-ness to Andrew’s request, but there was also a severe sense of dread; Andrew had just asked him to become the thing that made him turn around and walk away a year ago - he had asked him to become naked in front of another man.

Andrew was, of course, acutely aware of the importance of his ask. He was also aware that Tom would be thinking back to May 2023, after his session with Andrew and Miller, where Miller explained the set up of Tom’s fourth session, a session that, unknown to both ticklers in that hotel room at the time, would never see the light of day …

“I’m not go, going to cum,” Tom scoffed, fully content with his own sexuality, completely aware of what he was attracted to, what he could and couldn’t control, “I’m not going to cum,” he repeated, “That’s bloody ridiculous—” he panted, Andrew still deep inside both of his underarms…

“If I’m right, and when it happens,” Miller ran the toothbrush over Tom’s balls, the boys hips and waist thrashing beneath his jaw, “Then you’ll have to agree to a fully naked session next time … Tied spread eagle to a bed, unclothed, soaked in baby oil, for two ticklers to have their way with you from head to toe …”

Andrew watched Tom search the floor for salvation; he could physically see the twenty seven year old wrestle with his limits, his desires, his reservations, his curiosity, his boundaries and his loyal commitment to a thank you he had promised his best friend back in October.

The flashback continues …

“We’ll take you by surprise,” Miller declared, “It’ll happen when you least expect it. It could be when you’re in the shower, or at the movies … You could be with your girlfriend, grocery shopping …” Miller watched Tom’s erection pulsate as the toothbrush buzzed over its tip, “… We’ll jump you, we’ll have you, we’ll record it, just like we’ve done today, just like we did last time, and the time before that …”

Tom inhaled quickly, shouting his exhale out into the ceiling.

“YOU PEOPLE ARE NUTS!” He cried, fully aware of the roll of pleasure taking place around his cock, a feeling he so wanted to repress, a feeling he so wanted to hold back, to fight, to contain, to withdraw …

Tom had never felt an orgasm like that in his life.

That is why he disappeared.

He had yet to feel an orgasm like that since.

That is why he stands here right now, a metre opposite you.

“You’re asking for the thing you lot never got,” Tom smirked, unable to hide the tremble in his voice, part of him content with the fact it had clung onto his words so adamantly, “What makes you think I’m gonna let something like that happen …” Tom’s eyelashes fluttered shut as he took a step back.

Andrew looks at you, the reader.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to fuck it up,” he reassures.

Andrew stood suddenly, causing Tom’s shoulders to jolt.

“Because you owe it to me …” Andrew pointed at Tom’s stomach, “ … ‘Have me however you want, whenever you want’, remember?” Andrew’s hand flattened from a strict point to a soothing press as he planted his palm over Tom’s face, his tone becoming soft, “… Remember?”

Tom looked at Andrew through the gaps of his fingers, Andrew’s hand reminding him of the mask that concealed his chasers identities.

He thought about excusing himself, about going into the ensuite bathroom behind him; he thought about locking the door and asking for a few moments to think, he thought about standing here completely nude, he thought about what might happen, what if Andrew tickles me in a way that makes me cu—

—He thought about how much he wanted it.

Tom looked Andrew sternly in the face; Tom’s eyes were filled with electricity, his smirk lifting into a testing sneer, his own hands holding onto Andrew’s hand, where he gently peeled it away from his face.

“—Do it for me—” he ordered, giving Andrew back his hand by shoving it into his chest.

An external viewer to the current exchange of power play would see Andrew as still; his tall height towered over Tom, his muscular frame appeared statuesque, his feet planted firmly over the floor.

However, under the vibration of Andrew’s skin was a cataclysmic explosion of exhilaration; Tom’s words may as well have been a hurricane - they blew Andrew against the wall, causing it to crack and crumble whilst the windows of the surrounding bedroom shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

Andrew cleared his throat.

“Say that again …” he tilted his head.

This time, it was Tom pointing at Andrew’s stomach.

“… Do it … For me …” he repeated slowly in an insistent growl, “… Take off my underwear.”

Andrew peered down to Tom’s point.

He felt his mouth shape out in readiness, to say the words, ‘I’m the one calling the shots’ …

Alternatively, he found himself lowering to a kneel.

Tom felt reassured he was making the right decision when the base of his cock began to thicken.

Andrew held onto Tom’s waist and applied some gentle pressure.

Now, when he told Tom what to do, the request did not arrive in an arrogant order, it instead landed as a polite and surprisingly vulnerable ask.

“T, turn around?”

With Andrew expertly repositioned to a fair level by Tom, Tom could relax and experience this extraordinary day without any doubt or dubiety.

He turned around so that his buttocks faced Andrew.

Tom watched the waves crash into the shore as he narrowed his eyes, his squint through the glass of the window and out into the grey of the afternoon informing him that if he were ever to return to this safe house, for whatever reason, the surrounding landscape, this very property and the bedroom he stood in would always remind him of this moment.

He felt Andrew peel his underwear down past both of his ass cheeks, where it sat snug around his balls.

Tom bit his lower lip as his arousal jumped free.

Andrew’s eyes watered at the sight of Tom’s buttocks; each cheek was plump, pertly round and juicy, the skin soft and smooth, the delve that made up the bottom of his spine the perfect example of a curve.

It took every fibre of Andrew’s being to not part each chunk.

In place of exploitation, he took Tom’s underwear down past his thighs, over his knees and around his ankles, allowing Tom to step out of them.

As Andrew stood, Tom turned around and placed his hands behind his back; he no longer hid, he no longer ran, he no longer dodged - here, here, here he stood, erect and unprotected by clothing or a team, no gadgets or gizmos, no car chases, private jets, duped identities, lies or manipulations …

“Just us,” Andrew whispered to himself.

Tom smiled, the need to be adventurous glimmering in the browns of his eyes, his generous stance asking Andrew eagerly, ‘what’s next?’

Andrew had to force his gaze away from Tom and back to the open gym bag of equipment.

“Pick out the restraints you think will best secure you,” he then takes his focus to you, the reader, “What are you looking at me like that for? If you were in front of a naked Tom Holland, do you think you’d be able to move? I gotta get him to do the work before I can focus again …”

Tom walked towards the gym back, his erection dropping into a realistic hang as an ordinary task replaced the arousing static of he and Andrew’s chemistry.

He reached inside, flapping away handcuffs that he could break out of and velcro straps his teeth would tear apart, where he then pulled out four individual lengths of rope, two leather ankle restraints and two leather mittens, their surfaces decorated in sharp metal studs.

“These look hardcore …” Tom admired.

Andrew nodded to the bed.

“Tie each length of rope to each corner of the bed,” Andrew watched Tom throw himself into action, “The rope can’t feel loose, I want you completely immobile …”

Tom nodded in understanding as he dropped to a crouch and started knotting rope to the wooden legs of the bed, huffing and poking out his tongue in concentration as he tied the ends of the rope to each leather restraint, laying out a completed restraint over the cornered surface of the bed once done, like a cat proudly laying out its catch.

Tom tidied up his hair as he looked back to Andrew for additional directive.

“You can only say ‘donu't’ three times,” Andrew explained, “Between now and the end of our session. Saying your safe word gives you a three minute break, then we continue,” he folded his arms and paced around Tom, reminding him of his inability to even think straight during the last time he was intensely tickled by Andrew and a now completely removed Miller, “You’ve forgotten your safe word before. Believe me, for what I have planned for you today, you don’t want that to happen again …”

Andrew arrived behind Tom, his chest pressing against Tom’s shoulders, his lips whispering into Tom’s left ear.

“Repeat after me…” Andrew purred, “… ‘My safe word is donut, my safe word is donut, my safe word is donut’ …”

Tom pressed his lips together, his determination causing his frown to flatten.

“My safe word is donut,” he declared, “My safe word is donut? My safe word is donut …”

Andrew patted Tom’s back, “Good,” he then paced around his ticklee till he stood opposite him once again, his own erection squashed beneath the confines of his briefs, “Now, I want you hysterical, straight away,” Andrew’s eyes travelled over Tom’s body, from the floppy chunks of his hair to the tips of his pale white toes, “I want you to tell me where to begin. I want you to verbalise the place to start, to get a reaction like that.”

Tom was aware that Andrew knew every single molecule on his body was radically ticklish - Tom put Andrew’s question down to Andrew just wanting him to say it out loud; as he looked at the tops of his feet and then trailed his eyes up and over his own body, in an attempt to locate an honest area that would immediately get him flustered when touched, he came to two conclusions; one, the spot in question and two, that he would not speak it, just to wind Andrew up.

Tom slowly lifted his left arm so his elbow bent.

He then curled the fingers of his right hand into a hovering stroke above the centre of his armpit, never for a second taking his eyes off Andrew.

He clenched his teeth, his fingertips making impact, only briefly, with the shaven skin … Such a gentle brush over such smooth flesh created an abundance of regret within Tom - it felt highly sensitive, more so than ever before, just like Andrew said it would.

Tom’s playful and cocky attempts to toy with him only aroused Andrew further; the confidence was remarkable! Even though Tom was the most ticklish lee Andrew had ever encountered, he was also the least seasoned - unlike the Timothée’s and the Joshua’s, who had endured session after session, moment after moment with their ticklers, Tom had only really partaken in four individual intense acts of submission, the latest being with Tobey and Jake. His lack of experience became apparent when Andrew witnessed Tom tease him - if Tom had any gained common sense, he would not play with fire, he would not risk poking the beast, he would not unwillingly put himself in a situation where he would be bound, naked, for Andrew to inflict his own form of jesting …

“Climb onto the bed,” Andrew picked up the gym bag and placed it on the stool, “Lay on your back. I’m going to restrain you.”

Tom turned to face the bed and lifted his right foot, ready to take a step forwards.

Much to his own surprise, he paused.

As Andrew began to unbuckle the leather restraints, Tom realised that, within this very moment, he would be giving himself entirely to Andrew, with a huge amount of trust contained within the very movements about to take place.

Four words echoed through Tom’s mind as he hesitated.

‘He could do anything …’

Once he lay bound and open, a gang of Masked Ticklers could arrive; Andrew could whip out a camera, film the entire thing, he could hold him to ransom.

He could say he tricked Tom all along, he could betray him within these four walls, he could ignore his safe word, his non stop begging …

In the eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours, the three hundred and sixty five days, the fifty two weeks and the twelve months that Tom had trusted Andrew in pretending to The House of White Feathers that he had no idea where Tom was, Andrew had not once shown that he could not be depended on.

Tom used this as evidence, to help move that foot forward, where it took a step closer to the bed.

Tom then started to climb onto the mattress, his moment of skepticism unseen by Andrew, who was now on his final cuff opening.

Tom lay on his back and positioned his body into a star fish as Andrew began to attach him to the bed; the low ceiling felt close - it made Tom sink deeper within the cushioned surface. The light from the window felt bright - it made Tom’s body feel just that much more bare. The leather cuffs around each ankle felt tight and thick, the rope taunt and stiff - they stretched Tom into a tight X shape, the insides of his thighs burning as his legs were pulled apart, his hairless armpits completely exposed as his arms were pinned to the upper corners of the bed, his sides splaying out, the bones of his ribcage visible, the thickness of the flesh covering them now appearing thinner …

His palms had already started to sweat within the warm confines of the leather mittens secured around each of his hands.

Tom’s abs naturally throbbed, his semi erect cock laying neatly over his navel, the toes of his left foot curling into a tight scrunch as Andrew finished tying his final knot.

“So, how is the big guy?” Tom asked, peering over his chest at Andrew.

Andrew pulled at the rope looped to the foot of the bed, testing its security, “Well, he’s as sadistic and ruthless as you’d remember,” he chuckled, “He’s also in a bad mood. John is messing with his mind at the moment, not letting him anywhere near Sub Zero …”

Tom rested his head over the pillow and tried tugging at his restraints, “—Mnn, what’s Sub Zero?” He could barely move an inch, he could hardly splay his fingers; such a sudden recognition of his circumstance made him want to express his alarm out loud, “Bloody hell, you’ve tied me tight …”

Andrew reached into the gym bag and picked back out the same bottle of lotion he had used to coat Tom’s soles twenty minutes ago, “It’s a level specifically designed for the most gruelling form of tickle torment. It’s where Adrian is now. Of course, Miller thinks he’s you, so the fact he can’t have what he wants is driving him bananas …” Andrew grinned in delight, mostly towards how much of a lashing he was about to give Tom, but also at the sight of Miller huffing into his chest like a disgruntled teenager after John had denied him Sub Zero access, just because he could.

Tom’s guilt towards Adrian’s rearranged prison sentence could not be indulged for more than a second, before Andrew started to tip and drizzle lotion all over Tom’s body, starting with the middle of his torso.

Tom tried to leap upwards, but his body could hardly lift a millimetre away from the bedsheets, due to how tightly he had been restrained apart, “It’s c, cold, Andrew!” Tom whined, giggles forced from his insides as Andrew persisted in overcompensating in the lotions application, soaking Tom’s body from chest to stomach, drenching his shoulders, armpits, biceps and cock, where he then started to lash him from the waist down, coating his thighs, knees, calves, tops of his feet, his curling toes and already lubricated soles, causing Tom to arch his back and naturally tug all four of his pulled apart limbs inwards, something he was unable to do, as he gasped for air with every droplet that landed over his tauntly tied frame …

Andrew capped the lotion and took Tom’s advice, for when scoring a ball through a net - always aim for the back - as if throwing a basketball, he effortlessly threw the bottle of lotion from the corner of the bed and into his gym bag, where it landed in a silent plop.

“Score!” Andrew punched the air.

Tom lay shining in oil, his body splayed out and completely unable to move, his want to celebrate with Andrew but was limited in how he could physically join in - feeling so stiffly denied the chance to even give Andrew the thumbs up, Tom had no choice but to verbalise his joy, “Back of the net!” He cheered.

Andrew bowed to his only audience member and then, without warning, as if he could not contain himself, he leapt onto the bed and landed over Tom’s waist.

“—Whoa!—” Tom’s eyes widened and his chin pressed against his chest, Andrew’s weight arriving over him in a heavy drop, “Alright, mate! You aren’t exactly light …”

Andrew cocked an eyebrow, “Are you calling me fat, Tom?”

Tom giggled, his mouth beaming out into an excited grin, “No, no!” He once again tried to tug on his restraints, but his bondage was stubborn, his X shape refusing to budge, “Jesus, this, this is a lot …” he knew Andrew would not play tame, when offering up his ticklishness ‘however you want, whenever you want’, but he did not expect this extreme level of tied apart exposure, “I, I can’t moooove!—” He tried to kick his feet - impossible.

Andrew reflected Tom’s grin and began to banter back, “You can’t moooooove? You can’t mooooove…?” He began Tom’s tickle torment by lightly brushing his fingertips across Tom’s sides, causing Tom to gasp and throw his head forwards, “What are you, Tom, a cow?” Andrew took his gentle touch towards Tom’s nipples, “Shall I milk you, Tom? Tweak these udders?” He lightly pinched both of Tom’s nipples with his index finger and thumb, causing Tom to wince, where he then started to faintly draw circles around both nipples at the same time, “Moo for me, Tom, come on, I wanna hear you moo!”

Tom giggled frantically, “Oi, stop!” He tried to thrash from side to side, but he simply could not - being so unable to react physically created an uncontrollable formula within Tom’s brain that made him express his anguish the only way his mind knew how - to verbally expel, “Grah! Ah! Ahahaha!—” he threw a flustered scowl down to his nipples as Andrew barely touched them with his thumb and index finger, pressing their tips with the very ends of his index fingers as if they were a button he teased to push, “Gahahah! Ah! Ahahaha! Ahahahah! Stop! Stop! Ahahaha! Grahahahaha! Grahaahaha!—”

“—Moo for me, Tom! And I’ll stop touching your nipples—”, Andrew was used to being thrown about, he was used to feeling like he rode a bucking bronco, when in this position with a ticklee, but Tom was tied so tightly in his starfish that he could barely arch his back.

Entirely naked and already breathless, Tom clamped his lips together in an attempt to shape out the start of the word ‘moo’, but his ability to predict what might happen next made him resist, “—Mnn!—”, he knew what Andrew meant by ‘I’ll stop touching your nipples’… All those words did was translate to ‘… I’ll touch somewhere else’, and by ‘somewhere else’ he would surely go to armpits, the spot Tom had initially and reluctantly suggested he start with.

Wanting to delay any focus towards his underarms, Tom held back, he shook his head and contained giggles behind a closed mouth as his floppy chunks of hair began to scatter across the top half of his face.

“Clever boy!” Andrew could read Tom’s mind, and whilst he was happy to praise his forward thinking, he was also keen to remind him that no matter how well Tom fought back or strategised, he could not control what Andrew would decide to do next, even if he did try to put it off, “Now, let’s see just how much you can’t mooooooove …”

Tom’s body stiffened up as Andrew extended his thumbs and took them away from Tom’s nipples, down past his stomach and over his waist, where he actioned a firm press.

“GUH!—”, Tom went to fold, but his restraints would not allow it, “Mnn!” He looked at Andrew’s thumbs as if they were the worst things in his life, “Grahah! Ah!” He needs to stop pressing. God my waist is ticklish! Stop, stop, stop! Thoughts scattered across Tom’s mind as he willed Andrew’s thumbs to lift, his nostrils opening wide, giving him enough breath to form a few more grunts, “Gruuh! Mnn! Grrr!—”, until Andrew slid his thumbs away and took his interest towards Tom’s open underarms.

“You can breathe out now, Tom,” Andrew allowed.

Tom blew such a hot chunk of air out through his mouth, Andrew could feel it hit his own stomach.

“… Completely immobile …” Andrew confirmed, his eyes landing over Tom’s armpits and the glossy-ness of his flesh, “… Your skin is so soft, Tom, it looks like you painted it on …”, Andrew licked his lips, choosing to use the last tickle tool Tom would have expected, “… I wonder how it tastes …”

Tom fiercely twisted his head down to his left underarm as he witnessed Andrew ever so gently move his face deep inside his pit, “No!—”, where he began to lightly suck, carefully slurp and delicately nibble the very centre of his hairless underarm with little to no force, “Stop! No, stop! Noahahaha! Noahahahah! Noahahahahah!—”, saturating it in dribble which he then slurped back up, his tongue nudging, gliding and sliding across silky smooth flesh, “Noahahahah! Noahahahah! Stop! Noahahaha! Noahahahaha! Noahahaha!—”, transforming Tom into a star shaped, laid out statue with a contrasting, fast moving head that thrashed from side to side, bounced over the pillow and screamed out worried glee in the form of uncontrollable laughter …

Tom’s hysterical abundance of giggling and shouts were dialled up a notch when Andrew decided to, ever so softly, comb his fingernails across the insides of Tom’s right underarm, whilst he continued to lick and taste the depths of his left.

“—NoooaaaAAAAAAHH—!”, Tom’s howl was grainy and coarse,”—AHAHA! AHAHAHA! GRAHAAHAH! NOAHAHAHA! NOAHAHAHA! NOAHAHAHAH! NOAHAHAHA! STOP! NOAHAHA! NOAHAHA! NOAHAHA! STOAHAHAHAHP, NOAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!—” it sounded like a constant cackle, his attempts to shout ‘no’ and ‘stop’ always leading to the thing Andrew made sure he would attain as soon as they started - hysteria.

Such a noise caused Andrew’s arousal to thicken.

Tom’s muscular torso flexed and budged, his taunt stomach heaving up and down, his knees bending just a little as he did his best to writhe within his spread eagle position, however the leather mittens and ankle cuffs pinning his limbs to each corner of the bed were too tightly bound.

“I love feeling you squirm beneath me …” Andrew’s lips just about brushed across Tom’s left armpit as he whispered, the very centre of it now gathering a puddle of Andrew’s saliva, “You’re too splayed apart, Tom … And you know what the worst part is?” Andrew’s free hand poked into Tom’s right armpit, just one unoffencive poke at a time over buttery, glossy skin, “… You tied the rope, you only have yourself to blame …” Andrew grinned.

“—OH! OOH! NOAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! NOAAAAAAHAHAHAHA! NOAAAAAAHAHAHAHAH! NOAAAAAHAHAHAHA!—” Tom’s head rolled around like a mad man’s, “—NOAHAHAHAHA! NOAAAAHAHAHA! NOOAAAHAHAHAHAHAH!—”, his neck thickening as his cheeks flushed pink, his shoulders unable to lift or drop, his chest heaving upward only to take in more air and shout out his laughter, “—GRAAHAHAHAHA! GRAAHAHAHAHA! GRAAAAHAHAHAHA! GRAAHAHAHAHA! GRAAHAHAHAHA! STOAHAHAHAHAHAP, STOAHAHAHAHAP!—”

Andrew chuckled into Tom’s left armpit and then removed his finger from his right, sitting back up over Tom’s waist, where he planted his palms carefully over Tom’s abs.

Tom closed his eyes and focused on catching his breath, giggling in disbelief as he lay huffing and panting, a sudden silence filling the room.

“It’s incredible … ” Andrew announced, “… Truly incredible …” the throbbing tip of his cock poked out of the waistband of his briefs, its shape outlined behind the cotton, “You’re like a machine,” Andrew poked Tom’s left hip, “Just lightly touching you simply produces lunacy …” Tom threw his head forwards as Andrew poked his right hip.

“No, stop!—” Tom had no choice but to bellow out the noises created by Andrews jabs, “—Grahaha! Ahaha! No, stop touching me! Just for a second!—”, before he huffed and dropped his head back over the pillow, as soon as Andrew took his hands away from his torso and up to his hair, where he started to tidy the brown curls into a central parting, “—Jesus,” Tom gulped, “That was …” his eyes shifted from left to right as he tried to think of a word to describe the last minute or so, “… Unbelievable …”

“Like I said this morning,” Andrew shuffled off of Tom’s waist and removed the pillow from behind his head, “I’m showing you the true meaning of tickle torment,” he watched Tom’s eyes widen in surprise as his head fell to the mattress.

Tom’s mouth stretched into an ‘O’ shape as Andrew climbed behind him, in a gap made larger thanks to the pillows removal, where he then sat down and stretched either of his legs out under each of Tom’s biceps and out across the mattress, where his feet rested beside each of Tom’s thighs.

“Isn’t this cosy?” Andrew allowed Tom to rest his head over his stomach, where he grunted and groaned, his arms now even more tightly pulled apart thanks to the additional presence of Andrew’s lap behind his shoulders.

Tom hurtled upward as if touched by electricity, Andrew’s ten fingers arriving in the depths of his underarms in the form of a sudden and unexpected brush, actioned with the type of pressure you would use to pet a cat, “—OH! OH PLEASE!—” Tom breathed in so quickly that his throat squeaked, five of Andrew’s fingernails combing through his right underarm, five combing through his left, not aggressively on intensely, just tenderly, politely, “—STOP, STOP!—”, he bucked and tugged, thrashing to the side, his body barely able to shift an inch, “—OH, STOP!—” Tom’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his grin pulled to the sides of his face by strings puppeteered by insanity, “—OHAHAHA! OH! UHHUHAHAHA! I, already, bloody—”, Tom jolted as Andrew’s oily fingers slid across his chest, one hand now remaining in a constant curl within his left armpit, the other dragging down his torso and towards his abs, “—wanna say donut!—” Tom admitted breathlessly, “—My armpits are way too sensitive!—”

“—Tom!” Andrew chortled in disbelief, “I explained this yesterday evening! Shaving them will make them far more ticklish than they originally were! I’m surprised you even took me up on the suggestion!” Andrew clawed onto Tom’s waist with the same level of ambush he would apply when clawing out a chunk of chips from a bowl, “Come on, Tom, chill, I’m just stroking you, touching you, you can’t seriously be unable to cope with just—”

—Tom threw his head over his chest, his face strained into a perplexed crease of feverish elation mixed with angered irritation, “It tickles!” He whined, “I can’t take it!” He declared, his teeth clenching into a tight sneer, “Stop—!”, his head tried to catch Andrew’s fingers as they left his underarm and delicately walked across the side of his neck, “Oh! Oh bloody hell!—”, Andrew’s dainty and graceful infliction of gentle tickling tormenting Tom in ways that felt different to the more aggressive style; this felt itchy and mind blowing, unbearably torturous yet overwhelming fun, it caused Tom to beg for it to end whilst internally testing himself to see how much more he could stand, “Oh god! My waist!—” Tom’s eyes swelled into two white bulges as Andrew drew floaty circles over Tom’s waist with his index fingers, their tips barely touching Tom, but when they did, it caused Tom to buck and gasp, his 5’8 frame pulling at his restraints with such strength that Andrew began to wonder if Tom’s hands would slip free from the leather mittens.

Andrew decided to test the mittens tightness by inflicting a sterner form of torment by blurring the lines of trust, friendship and respected connection by tickling Tom’s upper body with a determined, non stop and concentrated focus; his right hand now clawed into a constant tickle across Tom’s waist, stomach and hips, never staying in one spot for longer than five seconds, always jumping and rotating fairly, whilst his left hand hopped from one armpit to the next, tickling the oily and now rather sweaty depths of each underarm, exploiting Tom in a way someone like Tom, someone as ticklish as Tom, someone with limits set so low as Tom’s, could hardly take for more than a second.

In Andrew’s mind he had increased the pressure of his touch from fifteen percent to thirty, but in Tom’s mind it felt like two hundred.

Tom squawked like crow, his body no longer under his control, “—AGH!—”, he tried to jump from one side of the bed to the next, the lift of his jump levitating him mere inches above the mattress, his hands always contained within each leather mitten, his arms pulled behind him as he thrashed violently forward, “—No please stop, no please stop!—” Tom lost his breath, his body twisting into Andrew’s thigh in an attempt to conceal his underarm, “—No! Stop! Please! I, I can’t move!—” Tom whined and dropped his body into a flattened splay as Andrew’s aggressive attack relaxed into a flat, palm pressing sooth across his stomach, causing Tom to heave and repeat his question, “Ha, ha, how long are you doing this f … for …” baffled and bemused, Tom awaited a response to a question he, deep down, knew he would not get the answer to, as Andrew reached down past his stomach and started to curl his grip around Tom’s semi erect, always flapping from side to side cock.

Tom blushed as an intimate part of him was handled without asking; then again, he had consensually allowed himself to be tied naked to a bed, tickled by another man - bloody hell! - he thought, you even got him to take off your pants! Tom wheezed as Andrew’s rub slid away from his cock and fluttered back up his stomach, causing Tom to twist and bounce on the spot, “Blimey, mate!” His chest filled with dread as Andrew’s fingernails dragged past his nipples and towards his open underarms, “Christ, this tickles!” He admitted, his mind nudging him to shout out the word ‘donut’, “No, no! Please not my armpits, not again!—” he whined, his entire body erupting into a fierce convulse as Andrew expertly and gently slid one finger into Tom’s left underarm and one finger into his right.

“Oh? These armpits, Tom?” All Andrew had to do was draw light circles within the depths of Tom’s underarms to create a the cackled, high pitched laughter he loved to hear so much, “These vulnerable, open, completely exposed, shaved armpits, Tom?” Andrew watched Tom action most of his thrashes and writhes with the only part of his body that could action any form of movement; he lifted his waist and hips, twisted his torso in a furious stretch, bounced in one spot all the time whilst howling and shouting out growls of breathless giggles - This is driving him wild, Andrew thought, he’s never been tickled like this before, and I’m the one who gets to do it …

“—GRAHAHAHAHAAHHA! STOAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAP! STOAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP—”

“But I’m just drawing circles, Tom …” Andrew purred.

“—GRAHAHAHAHAAHHA! STOAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAP! STOAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP—”

“Shall I draw squares instead? Maybe that will tickle less …” Andrew teased.

“—GRAHAHAHAHAAHHA! STOAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAP! STOAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAP, STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP—”

Andrew, at times, barely drew anything at all - simply having his index fingers anywhere near Tom’s underarms was enough to create this level of lunacy - god, what a sound, Andrew looked down at Tom and acknowledged that look in his eye, that tormented scowl he had seen in dozens of ticklees in the past, but never as passionate as the look of burning from Tom’s eyes right now - I have to feel it, Andrew decided, I have to feel it … He slid five fingers into Tom’s left underarm, whilst using his free hand to clamp over Tom’s mouth.

“It’s okay, Tom, it’s okay!” Andrew could hear Tom scream the words, ‘it’s not okay!’ into his palm, his voice loud, his breath hot, it’s arrival wet against the inside of Andrew’s hand, “Maybe I should go full HOWF on you, Tom … Maybe I should tape two electric toothbrushes to an armpit each, see how you handle that?” Andrew’s palm was now entirely soaked with hysteria, “If you can’t take one index finger, how the fuck are you gonna take not one, but two electric toothbrushes whizzing into—” Andrew dug the fingers of his right hand into the very depths of Tom’s left underarm, “—This ticklish spot right here …”, as soon as he heard Tom nearly choke on his own lack of breath, as soon as he dug instead of stroked, Andrew lessened the pressure right away whilst Tom screamed the words ‘don’t do that!’ into Andrew’s palm.

And it continued, for a further thirty seconds, “Mppph! Mmpphhh! Mmppph!—”, Tom’s high pitched giggles and grainy chortles were muffled for now as Andrew continued to comb his fingers through armpit hair that was no longer there, “Mmmnph! Mnnphh! Mnmnnphhh!—”, his touch was wispy and light, enough to shape Tom into a startled and inundated heap who chaotically grappled with the fact he could barely move, “Mmmph! Mpnnnph! Mmmphh!—”, his laughter contained within his throat by Andrew, who continued to firmly place his palm over Tom’s mouth whilst tickling him, until he felt Tom’s teeth bite at the inside of his hand, causing Andrew to throw both of his hands into the air.

“Yowch!” Andrew hissed.

Tom giggled breathlessly, like a school boy who had been caught doing something naughty; he shot a playful look up at Andrew, “Take that, you little bitch!” where he beamed a sincere grin into his ticklers face, showcasing the very teeth that had just nipped at Andrew’s flesh.

“Right, you’re gonna regret that …” Andrew shuffled out from under Tom’s shoulders and slid off the mattress.

Tom’s troubled eyes followed Andrew as he made his way towards the open gym bag, “Oooh look at him go!” Tom teased, checking out Andrew’s butt as Andrew strolled to the stool, “Off to get one of his little toys!” Tom wiggled his hips and adjusted himself over the oil-stained mattress, “What you gonna do next, mate? I haven’t said my safe word, yet! You’re losing your touch!” Tom could feel the Tom of 2023 standing over him, grabbing his shoulders, shaking him in panic ,— ‘What are you doing, you bloody idiot! You’re asking for it!’ —, Tom ignored his past self and ran his tongue over his top row of teeth as Andrew rifled through the contents of the bag, turned around and then proudly presented a hairbrush, “—Oh balls,” Tom said flatly.

Andrew dropped to his knees and crawled towards Tom’s left foot as the grey clouds outside began to thicken with rain, the room now dimming in brightness, the windows now enduring the soft patter of rain drops.

“Oh, oh balls,” Tom repeated, his toes curling into a protective scrunch, “No, don’t do it!” He squealed, his legs tugging and pulling, “I can’t take that, I hate that, I won’t like that!” He babbled, as he watched Andrew curl as much of his arm as he possibly could, around Tom’s already tightly restrained ankle, where he held it firmly agains this pec, “An, Andrew, please—” Tom lunged forwards, as soon as he felt the plastic bristles of the brush simply press, ever so gently, against the sole of his left foot, “—Noo!—” he whined.

Andrew paused, allowing a deafening beat of quiet to fill the warm expanse of room as the waves continued their crash outside.

Tom panted, his eyes wide, his agitated scowl down at the bottom corner of the bed a perfect mix of worry and eagerness.

“What?” Andrew’s tone was saturated in sarcasm, as if he were belittling that naughty school boy Tom had pretended to be minutes ago, “What’s wrong, Tom?”

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Tom tugged his left leg, “—Come on, mate,” he moaned, “I, I don’t want you to do it …” his toes flexed, his foot trapped expertly within Andrew’s armlock, the brushes bristles now shifting upwards, hardly half an inch, barely making contact with the sleek and velvety soft sole of Tom’s left foot, “—No!—”, Tom giggled and clenched his teeth, lifting his head off the pillow, his foot angling in a dancer-like point towards the bedroom floor, “I, I won’t bite again, I promise!—” Tom giggled again, his entire body vibrating in an thrilling tingle as Andrew tormented him by teasing the possibility of the brushes eventual arrival.

“Why, Tom?” Once again, Andrew pressed the brush over Tom’s sole, this time his heel, “Why are you so keen for me not to do it?”

Every gentle press of the brush may as well of been a bee sting; it caused Tom’s body to thrash, to jolt into a stiffen, he winced and hissed, as if in pain, but the giggles and the hearty chortles that uncontrollably left his mouth proved he was not in pain at all, in fact the tool caused the total opposite; it made him feel so violently and deliriously overwhelmed with exhilarating pleasure and joyful peace that it felt too intense for his mind to handle, for his body to physically take - what do you do when you’re absurdly happy? You laugh, you cry, you smile - and if it’s forced on you by exploiting your corporal senses, if you’re restrained and you want it to stop, that is torment - and that, in itself, was the meaning of tickle torture, the core of what Andrew wanted to introduce Tom to in the first place.

Tom did not reply with ‘because it’s hell!’, or ‘because it’s the worst’!, he did not go down the road of overcomplicating his response with any additional details, all he needed to do, all he felt he could do, was allow his eyes to water as he looked into Andrew’s back, “… B, because it tickles …” he sniffed, a flash of lightning illuminating the room for a second.

“Oh, it does?” Andrew played dumb, the brush now swiping towards the base of Tom’s toes in fierce and individual scrub.

Tom hurtled upward, the bed creaking as he landed in a bounce - so far, it was the highest he had leapt, the most give his restraints had given.

“—YOU KNOW IT DOES!—” Tom shrieked.

Andrew hovered the hairbrush against Tom’s sole, as he watched his foot twist, point, stretch, flex and writhe against his chest; at this very moment, Andrew was not touching Tom, but Tom’s foot still moved as if it were being tickled - Andrew dribbled at the sight, knowing all to well that he had to take a more secure hold on this body part, because if he allowed Tom’s foot to squirm with this much vigour, the brushes implementation would not always be able to land over flesh - Andrew needed something tighter …

“No, no!” Tom whimpered, “No, what are you doing!” He watched Andrew stand and then take a seat over the bottom left corner of the bed, trapping Tom’s left foot between his thighs, “No, I can’t see!” Andrew’s back blocked everything taking place between Andrew’s thighs, “Oh, this isn’t fair!” Tom felt the highly ticklish sensation of Andrew’s fingers and thumbs curling around his big toe, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!—”, he felt Andrew’s thighs tighten around his foot in a firm clamp, “—We’re not friends!—”, Tom giggled with such force that disbelief had begun to splutter out of his nostrils, his eyebrows lifting into a raised crease, “—You’re not my friend!—”, he declared in a high pitched protest, his giggles transforming into laughter, his laughter deepening into a bellow as Andrew took hold of his big toe with one hand and began to action an extremely delicate, barely-touching side to side scrub of the brush with the other.

Tom used all of the energy in his body to hurtle and leap within his bondage, his muscular torso twisting from left to right as he panted and huffed, his spread apart legs bending at the knee once more - the brush forced Tom into a constant thrash, his mouth shaped into a fierce, wide grin, his cackles, shouts and laughter contained at the back of his throat because, if he propelled them out right now, right this second, there might not be any windows left; his eyes remained forever open and never blinking as he glared into the bottom corner of the bed, his attempt to expel the idiocy bulging within the centre of his brain arriving like some kind of exorcism, instead of the expected avalanche of hysterics.

Andrew looks at you, the reader.

“I’m hardly touching him…” his voice oozes with obsessive astonishment.

The bed rattled and shook, Tom’s foot did its very best to pull out of Andrews hold around his big toe, but it was too contained between Andrew’s thighs, too trapped; all it could do was fall victim to the brushes light graze, which slid from left to right, side to side, up and down - over his arch, his heel, the base of his sole, sometimes just hovering, other times landing in the faintest press, until the dozens and dozens of plastic bristles eventually arrived at the chunky flesh of the big toe held between Andrew’s index finger and thumb.

That, is when the laughter and the begging returned.

“No, no, no, Andrew, stop!—”, Tom’s X shaped body lifted up once more in a fierce buck and bounce as Andrew rubbed the bristles over the bottom of Tom’s left big toe, using hardly any force or muscular strength, “—What are you doing!—” Tom practically snarled like a cornered dog, his cackles overwhelming his ability to speak, “—What are you do, doo, do—”, he moaned, he gasped, he threw his face into the pillow and within that moment, he became the definition of why he had been chased, why he had been hunted, why one hundred and fifty million dollars had been stamped over the wanted posters that were once stuck over the walls of every single House across the world, “—Please, Andrew, it’s too ticklish! My, my toe!—” Andrew’s wrist did not strain, he did not break a sweat, “—My, my big toe!—”, he sometimes just left the bristles under Tom’s big toe and did not move them at all - still, it was enough for Tom’s foot to persist in it’s fiercely actioned twist and writhe, where often Tom would rub his own big toe over the brush himself, thanks to the almighty squirming, tickling himself without even meaning to, arriving at the realisation that so far, his big toe might be the most ticklish spot on his body, a severely solid chunk of knowledge that held his hand and led him to shout out the word, “—Donut, donut, donut!—”

Tom broke within less than a minute of the brush being slightly present over the bottom of his left foot, yelling out his safe word proudly and scornfully, quite happy to shed his pride, as long as Andrew stopped.

Andrew stood in silence as Tom’s breathless panting became the only noise within the room as rain hammered down outside of the beach house.

He turned around and laid his eyes over Tom, who sank his naked, oil soaked weight into bedsheets creased by the strength of his thrashes.

Andrew looks at you, the reader.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says …

“… You’re wishing you were me.”