THE RETURN TO REALITY
-
The door to Armie’s apartment opened inward.
Armie stepped in first, allowing a sigh of relief to leave his lips.
“It’s good to be home ...” he announced.
He dropped his shoulder bag and suitcase, standing aside, where he allowed Tim to follow.
Tim landed his luggage on a pile beside Armie’s.
It felt overwhelmingly satisfying to no longer be in Atlanta, to be miles and miles away from Miller and Tickle Fest, out of the hotel and back to walls he recognised, a kitchen he’d grown used to eating in, wooden floorboards and tall ceilings and windows that looked out over New York City.
“Amen,” Tim leant against the door frame, dropping his head in an exhausted hang.
Armie found his hand lifting, almost uncontrollably, where it planted gently on Tim’s shoulder.
Tim felt an sharp spark jolt through him, surprised by Armie’s touch, whilst at the same time, hoping he’d done it sooner.
Both young men looked at each other in silence.
Both unsure of what had really just happened to them, over the past few days.
Both uncertain as to what the next part of this Agreement would consist of, now that things had changed…
Now that ropes and feathers had been replaced with hand holding and longing gazes.
Armie decided to make the first move.
He closed his eyes and carefully leaned in towards Tim.
Tim smiled, as if in sync, closing his eyes also, where he stood on tip toes and angled his head so that his lips met Armie’s.
In silence, and framed by Armie’s open apartment door, two friends exchanged a delicate, quiet kiss.
A kiss that showcased such huge development.
A kiss that wouldn’t have taken place, in this doorway, three or four days ago.
A kiss that meant, whatever they did, during the first two weeks of signing that contract - whatever took place in this building - the sessions, the screaming, the incubator, the stocks, the edging, the basement, the straps, the baby oil and the safe words …
... That all existed as a time before this very kiss.
A gentle buzz in Tim’s back pocket created a pause in their exchange.
With their lips still clasped together, Armie mumbled his words into Tim’s mouth.
“That’s been going off since we landed ... You gonna answer it?”
Tim blew air through flared nostrils, opening closed eyes and then peeling his face away from Armie’s.
Bzzzzz - bzzzzz …
Armie leant back against the door frame.
Tim looked down at his unlaced Reeboks.
He took his iPhone out from his shorts pocket and actively stared at the screen with a blank expression, ghosting the caller right there and then.
“You got a secret lover you’ve not told me about?” Armie joked, unfolding his arms and shifting his hands into his trouser pockets, “Some cute young Hollywood starlet, some—“
“—It’s my Mom,” Tim announced.
Armie blinked.
“Oh.”
Despite all they’d been through during Tickle Fest, not to mention the overall events of the last two weeks, Armie had quite simply not thought about, or considered, all of the other things in Tim’s life.
And judging by the look of Tim’s face, neither had he.
“She, she’s probably just checking in,” Tim lifted his shoulders as his phone began to buzz again, “Damn, woman, you’re relentless...”
Armie squeezed Tim’s left arm.
“Speak to her. Take your time,” he pointed at the living room, “Feel free to go in there, or, anywhere you’d like. I’ll get us some beers.”
Tim nodded his head slowly, pressing his lips together in thinking, as Armie headed to the kitchen.
Armie pulled open the fridge and with a yawn, retrieved two bottles of Peroni from inside.
As he went to uncap them, he watched Tim place the phone by his ear and slide into the living room, where he closed the double doors behind him.
Armie could make out a ‘Hey Mom’, followed by some faded out mumbles ...
Tim spoke quietly, as if making sure Armie couldn’t hear him and his Mother’s conversation.
Armie uncapped one beer, frowning in thought as he did so.
Already, he could feel the paranoia setting in.
Will he tell her about me?
About this?
About us?
He uncapped the second bottle.
Is he even going to mention me at all?
Armie placed Tim’s beer down on the kitchen counter.
With his own in hand, he slipped off his plimsolls and took bare feet over cream coloured tiles, towards the living room’s closed double doors.
Armie placed an ear against their surface.
“... I’ll pay you back, Mom. I promise. And I really, really appreciate you helping me out ...”
Armie took a swig of his beer.
More muffled conversation.
Armie narrowed his eyes.
As if that’ll help you listen better.
“... Well, my place isn’t as big as Armie’s. Besides, we’re having fun together, it’s ... Nice, spending lockdown, with a friend ...”
A friend.
Armie didn’t want that to hurt, but it did.
Even though he knew deep down that Tim couldn’t suddenly explain to his mother, via the casual act of a phone call, that they were far more than just friends ...
He’d naively hoped for something more.
You’re being a dick.
Stop this.
You keep thinking this way, and you’ll ruin it.
The devil on Armie’s shoulder told him to stay put, to continue eavesdropping, to learn more about what appeared to be Tim’s financial problems and his mother’s ability to bail him out.
The angel perched on Armie’s other shoulder wanted Armie to turn away, to go order pizza, to start making some kind of dinner, to do anything but this.
“... I’m sorry I worried you. I’ll call you in a few days. And thanks again, Mom, for doing that. When I get back to work, when this is all over, you’ll be my plus one to all of the shows, all of the parties, believe me ...”
Armie smiled.
“... I love you ...”
Time to go.
Armie slid away from the doors and carefully crept back to the middle of the kitchen, where he quietly pulled open one of the drawers and then took out takeaway leaflets from it’s inside, scattering them out over the marble island in an attempt to make it look like he’d been busy making dinner decisions.
Armie casually leant over the leaflets whilst sipping on his beer, just as the living room doors opened, revealing a somewhat less distracted Tim.
“Mommy’s boy duties accomplished?” Armie asked, in pretence.
Tim rolled his eyes, pocketing his phone and making his way towards his beer.
He picked it up and took one, two, three deep glugs.
Armie stood up straight, his eyes widening at Tim’s thirst.
Tim wiped bubbles away from his top lip, hiding a burp with the back of his hand.
“She’s ... Had to cover my rent. For the second time, this year...” he spoke matter of factly, as if refusing to see the situation as a worry or concern, “... For an apartment I hardly even live in.”
Armie raised his eyebrows, unsure how to take the last part of Tim’s announcement.
“Well, we ... We could always stay at yours, and do this, if you’d prefer - the remainder of the Agreement doesn’t have to be here, if that’s—“
Tim shook his head, “—No, no, I, I didn’t mean it like that ... I just meant, if, if I knew there’d be a pandemic and, and my career would get fucked I...” Tim squeezed his eyes shut, taking another swig of beer to drown out the anxiety, “... I wouldn’t have a fifteen million dollar townhouse in the middle of Brooklyn,” he said, his deflated tone followed by another quiet burp.
Armie licked dry lips, pulling a stool away from the marble island.
Tim sat on it in a slump as Armie sat down on his own stool, opposite Tim.
They had sat here like this a few times now; at the start, when Armie offered Tim The Agreement, and secondly, over steak and a power cut, and now here, two weeks in, as two entirely different people compared to the people who sat here over sixteen days ago.
“Alright,” Armie pressed his index finger over the open top of his beer bottle, “Why don’t we use Miller’s check, for Tickle Fest, to either pay back your mom, or to pay for the next however many months on your apartment?”
Tim kept his glance off of Armie, shaking curls over his head as he groaned in disagreement.
“No, that money is for you. I did all that, for you.”
Armie chuckled, sitting forwards, so that his right hand lay out on the surface of the kitchen counter, his palm facing up.
Tim saw the offer.
Hesitantly, he placed his hand in Armie’s.
“We’re using it. End of story. My payment to you comes at the very end of this, in two weeks time. When that happens, you figure out what you want to do with it. But, right now, I need this problem solved. I need you less worried. I need you focused, on all the things I have planned...”
Armie curled his fingers around Tim’s wrist, “... On all the things I still want to do to you.”
Tim shot green eyes up, catching Armie’s gaze.
Armie smiled at Tim - a smile that felt seductive, dangerous ... A glimmer of the Armie before Tickle Fest, the kind that would shift from friend to tickler in a heartbeat, from ‘he who cooks breakfast’, to ‘he who ties the knots’.
But the delicate wrist hold, the offer to use Miller’s four million - it all resonated anything but threatening or sexual dominance...
It came across as kind.
“Okay,” Tim gave in, his face splaying into a no longer concerned grin, “Let’s do it.”
Armie let go of Tim’s hand, “Get your landlord’s bank details ready, you’ll make the payment tonight ...” he then slid off the stool, heading back towards the fridge for more beers, “... And then we’re ordering dinner.”
Tim pulled out his phone and began to ready the transfer.
As he did so, he paused, taking a moment to acknowledge Armie preparing beers, the suggestion of a pizza takeaway ...
The glow of his apartment, the knowing of just how much erotic intimacy had taken place in this very building ...
A building that, despite Tim still having to make payments on a previous property, had started to feel like home.
-
JUST LIKE OLD TIMES
-
Armie had lit only a side lamp within the living room, setting the space a warming yellow.
He switched the TV on but left it on a random channel with the volume down low.
As Friends played on in the background, Armie fell down onto the sofa next to Tim, who sat in a white basketball vest, socks and shorts, currently opening up a large pizza box on his lap.
He revealed the giant, sixteen inch circle of cheesy, pepperoni goodness.
“Holy shit,” Tim drawled, breathlessly, “I can’t believe I never discovered this place.”
Armie sat so close to Tim that their shoulders rubbed.
“Call yourself a New Yorker...” Armie jabbed, whilst taking a large slice from the box.
He sat back against some pillows and chomped into the drooping end, before the toppings had a chance to fall over his crisp Adidas tracksuit.
Tim eyed the pizza carefully.
“You always take so long to pick—” Armie swallowed down his food, “—All the slices are the same, Tim...”
Tim bit his lower lip.
“You couldn't be more wrong about that."
Finally, Tim peeled away a large slice where the pepperoni overpowered the thick layer of bubbling mozzarella covering the base.
“Ooft,” Armie held his pizza by his mouth in awe, “In all fairness - that does look like a good slice.”
Tim smiled at his choice hungrily, “Oh, I know.”
He slumped back into the sofa and began to chew away at the sides of his chosen piece.
On the TV screen, Ross declared his love for Rachel in the middle of the Central Perk coffee shop.
As if hypnotised, they fell into a pizza eating, Friends-watching-moment of simplicity and ordinary existence - an unknowingly much needed few minutes, where there were no wheels, or tickle parties, or bondage chairs or private jets ... No hair brushes or bloody noses.
Just them, New York’s best pizza and the world’s most famous TV show.
Tim took a swig of his beer, sighing heavily afterwards.
“I didn’t realise how much I ...”
He couldn’t finish his sentence, he felt too full, too satisfied.
Armie wiped tomato sauce away from his lower lip, patting his stomach soon afterwards.
“That was ... sensational.”
Besides the cheeseburger and a hot dog each at Tickle Fest, both Armie and Tim hadn’t eaten much, over the past forty eight hours.
Now, they rested, comfortable and content, as one episode of Friends ended and another started immediately after.
Armie decided that now would be the best time to apologise.
“Timothée...” he spoke into the coffee table in the middle of the room, his eyes refraining from blinking, his tone gentle and assured.
Tim stayed still, hardly moving, unsure as to what Armie would suddenly announce, after saying his name with such authority.
“I’m ... sorry, for, for leaving, on the nights that I did. For ... Letting Miller, keep such a hold over me. For letting him be such a bastard. That last session ... He, he put you through hell. He, he knew what to do, how to break you. And that, that’s all down to me.”
Tim moved the pizza box down to the floorboards and then sat with his side against the back of the couch, facing his ‘ler.
“Remember ... what we said, on the, on the plane, on the way to Atlanta...?” Asked Tim.
Armie didn’t have to think hard, to recall their mutual exchange.
“Of course. We decided after Tickle Fest is over, we'll go back to all this being just us, just us two.”
Tim tucked some hair behind each of his ears.
“So, let’s, let’s stick to that. Miller, Tickle Fest, what happened on that stage, in that hotel...” Tim used both hands to move all that he’d mentioned to the left, as if traveling it through thin air, where it got shifted into nothing, “It’s in the past...” he shuffled up closer to Armie, his eyes travelling over the thirty three year old's face, his lips, his neck, his jaw, “... It back to just us.”
Armie sat in comfortable pause, aware parts of him were under severe observation by Tim’s eyes.
Once again, they naturally fell into a moment of silent intimacy, where they exchanged a quiet kiss in the middle of Armie’s sofa.
Tim chuckled, breaking the kiss almost as soon as it had started.
“What?” Armie asked, unable to pull down his smile.
He thought Tim might say something along the lines of, ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this’,or, ‘I can’t believe this is how we turned out’,
or
‘I can’t believe I might be gay’...
But instead, Tim sat back down against oversized pillows, tucked his hands under his armpits and then mumbled out, “I can’t believe I turned down seven hundred and fifty million dollars.”
Armie brushed away the lingered feeling of Tim’s lips against his, with the ends of his fingers.
“You uh, you realise, when my payment lands in your account, it’ll be less than one percent of what John offered you?”
Tim reached over for his beer, picking it up, pressing the tip against his mouth.
“I think it’s kinda obvious it’s not all about the money, anymore,” Tim said, his voice echoing into the neck of the bottle.
Armie felt his cheeks flush red.
Is this really happening?
How ...
How has this happened?
Some applause and studio laughter from the TV filled the silence resting between Armie and Tim as they continued to unintentionally recap what appeared to be everything that had grown, or existed, or might happen next, between them, since this had all started.
Armie blinked, arriving at a deflating moment of dire realisation.
“We’re sixteen days in,” he declared.
Tim looked down at his beer.
He shot eyes from left to right as he counted down, mentally, through the rest of the month.
“That means we’ve got —“
“— Fourteen days left,” Armie confirmed.
Once again, a still and strange quiet filled the living room.
Only Monica and Chandler’s comedic dialogue occupied the space.
In the first sixteen days, Tim had been dominated by Armie in ways he never thought possible.
He had experienced things that, once this would be over, it’s likely he’d never experience again.
Armie had got to live out fantasies that until now had been simply that - dreams, ideas, scenarios he didn’t think he’d actually get to live out.
And then there was Miller, his proposal and Tickle Fest…
... All finished up in a meeting, with an elderly man, who offered Tim the biggest financial offering of his life.
Generations of ‘tickle community’ had sat in that room and witnessed John suggest that agreement, an agreement Tim had politely declined.
The young - Timothée, a ticklee in this world, only present due to financial gain and emotional security, from his ler.
The mature - Armie, ten years older than Tim, experienced as a ler, knowing in his wants, his needs, and how he’ll achieve them.
The old - Miller, someone who lived and breathed control, a person who had made Armie into who he was today, as a dominant figure. A person who had sculpted other young men and women into the relentless personalities they beheld today.
And then there was John, the elderly - the final part of a person’s life, a disturbing, sad example of how far someone will go to still tickle, to still touch, even if it’s the last thing they do.
So much had happened in those sixteen days.
And in fourteen days time, it would all be finished.
The Agreement would end.
Tim would receive ten million dollars.
And then he’d move back into his apartment.
That would be that.
Before Armie could move his mouth to speak, before he could acknowledge what might be next, or what the upcoming fourteen days might include, Tim spoke before him.
“So uh ...” Tim swallowed down normality, too aware that they sat in a returned, plain setting, too conscious of the fact that whatever happened next would be different, would feel different.
“... What do we do now?” He asked.
Armie gestured for the return of the pizza box, as he took another swig of his beer.
Tim picked it up and placed it between them both, on the couch.
Armie took a slice and, in thought, he took a large bite.
“Well,” Armie chewed on some spicy pepperoni, before swallowing down, “You made it quite clear that you’d like to be edged again.”
Tim flashed his eyebrows upward, surprised by Armie’s blunt delivery and sudden observation over something Tim had said, in the heat of the moment, in the middle of an Atlanta hotel shower.
“I uh ...” Tim scratched his chin, clambering around for his beer, for courage, for confidence, “... I, I did ...” he took a quick swig, allowing the contents to fill his stomach with false belief, “... I, I wouldn’t say I enjoyed the parts in between but, the uh, the ultimate result was ... “ Tim relaxed into the couch, smiling in content understanding of his own feelings, “... It felt amazing.”
Armie took another bite into his pizza.
“The parts in-between?” He asked, with his mouthful.
Tim glared at Armie, knowing him, at this stage in their Agreement, all too well.
“The tickling ...” Tim spoke carefully, “... I, I obviously didn’t like that.”
Armie finished off his slice, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after.
He went to pick up another, but paused as he searched over what next slice looked the best.
Tim narrowed his eyes as he witnessed Armie portray hypocritical behaviour.
“All the slices are the same, Armie ...”
Armie took Tim’s flirtatious, sarcastic tone in with a smile, enjoying the boy’s attempt to be ballsy.
“I ... I want you to understand, Tim, that ... Tickling will still be the main focus, over the next fourteen days ...” Armie decided on his slice, peeling it from the box, where he returned to the couch’s corner with a bounce, “... That is The Agreement’s binding theme, that is my ultimate interest and, therefore, that will be the most frequent element, no matter what we do, or how we do it.”
Tim sat in dominated defeat, bound by written word, paperwork and a once-best friends lusting want for feet, hairbrushes and hysteria, over anything else.
Armie acknowledged Tim’s quiet presence.
Before taking a bite out of his pizza, he shot eyes over at the twenty three year old.
“Understood?”
Tim caught Armie’s glance, holding it in place, despite feeling slightly uncomfortable at how quickly Armie could change from someone who shares pizza between kisses, to someone who sternly sets the rules.
“Yeah, man, under, understood,” said Tim, with reserved admittance.
He took a quiet sip of his beer and then joined Armie in decreasing the pizza’s circumference.
As he picked up a slice by the garlic butter brushed crust, he became slowly unsure of who he currently sat next to, of who he’d be dealing with, between now and fourteen days time.
He wondered if he could handle the character changes, the moments of generosity and giving, compared to the moments where he’d be pushed to his limits, restrained to a bed, bound in a naked, exposed position.
He wondered if, after Tickle Fest and The Wheel especially, he could even handle further more sessions ... Especially if Armie had the intention to make them harder, more difficult to endure, than he had previously done.
Tim felt like he could figure a lot of these answers out by himself.
After getting more than just a glimpse at this fetish, this world, this kink, it always seemed like the next thing, the next set up, the next session ...
... It always had to be bigger, better, more intense.
The next fourteen days were going to be an experience, Tim knew that for certain. But would they be ...
No.
No way.
Tim bit into his pizza, unable to even think the word.
He shook his head as he chewed on his food, forgetting entirely that Armie could clearly see his facial expressions.
Tim, wrapped up completely in his own thoughts, did anything he could but allow the word ‘romantic’ to slip through his mind, or worse, out of his mouth.
Armie broke Tim from his moment.
“You know, I can literally see you overthinking ...” he said, “... What’s wrong?”
Tim swallowed down his food slowly, as he stared down at the pepperoni glistening below him.
“I like this,” Tim announced, almost too confidently, “I like you, when you’re ... like this.”
Armie shifted up in his seated position, as if reacting to an alarm bell raised all out of a sudden.
Like this?
“I, I am me, Tim, even when we, even when we do ...” Armie struggled to structure his words, too afraid to lose Tim so soon after attaining him in such a way, “... Are you saying you don’t like me, when I’m—”
Tim frowned, shaking his head so hard that curls of hair dangled by the sides of his face.
“—No, no. I mean, sure I hate you, but, that’s because I’m being tickled, sometimes so hard that I piss myself...” Tim smirked, finally able to make light of that otherwise too-serious moment, “... I just more mean, I really like you, when we’re like this. And I ...” Tim laid his half eaten pizza slice down over the greasy surface of the box, as he took in a breath, “...And I guess I just wondered how much of ‘this’ there will be, in the time we’ve got left ...” he exhaled through his nose.
Armie took a moment to decipher Tim’s words.
The word ‘this’ had so much to it.
He decided to go in forcefully, to broach the idea and his own feelings unapologetically.
After all, they had promised each other to be nothing but honest.
“By this,” Armie began, “I assume you mean, what’s happened, between us, lately...”
Even though Armie didn’t ask Tim if that were the case, Tim still provided a gentle nod as a semi-reply.
Armie continued.
“Tim, I ... I think it’s important for us both to realise that we have no idea what ‘this’ is ...” he ran hands through blonde hair, widening his eyes, “... All I know is that I’m happy. In fact I, I can’t describe how happy I feel...”
Tim sat back against the pillows, as Armie’s words filled him with reassurance.
“... I don’t mind being confused, I don’t mind being uncertain, of, of where this will lead, day by day, night by night,” Armie dropped his hands into his lap, sitting upright, his attention fully on Tim, “I don’t mind not knowing, what mood you or I will be in tomorrow, or at the weekend, or when this is finished. I, I don’t care if we don’t know if this is romance, or, or lust ... I’m just—”
Tim finished Armie’s sentence with a playful sparkle over his face, using words that Armie had used again and again, in an effort to comfort Tim in this whole ordeal.
“— You’re just 'leaning into it'...?”
Armie grinned at Tim’s attempt at being cocky.
He shuffled over to his lee and snatched his left foot into a wrestled armlock.
“Agh!” Tim dropped his beer, spilling it over the rest of the pizza, staining some of the pillows.
Armie then sent his free hand into Tim’s left socked sole, scratching his arch and toes with his fingers, allowing Tim to writhe and squirm within his hold.
“The beer!” Tim cried, “The, the beer’s e-everywhere!”
Armie continued his tickle attack.
“You asked for it!”
Tim clenched his teeth and reached over Armie’s shoulder, flexing long hands and even longer fingers out around his own foot, as he tried to block Armie’s hand from running nails over socked cotton covered soles.
“Come on, stop, damnit!”
Armie broke the arm lock as Tim pulled his feet back towards himself, slumping into the corner of the sofa with a breathless cough.
Armie kept his eyes on Tim, as Tim tidied up his hair, hair too heavy fallen over a now flustered face.
Armie took his once aggressive fingers towards Tim’s jaw, where they manifested into a tender, delicate touch, a touch that gently lifted Tim’s head up, so that he faced Armie entirely.
He went in, unreservedly, with the attempt to get a clear, solid answer, a response that would lay out the road to the next fourteen days.
“Do you feel the same?” Armie asked.
Tim didn’t have to think about his reply.
Not only because he genuinely did feel the same, but because he felt happy to announce it.
“Yeah,” said Tim, with a Hollywood smile, “I uh, I feel the same.”
Armie grabbed Tim’s shoulders and pulled him inward.
As Tim slid forwards, his face landed against Armie’s, his lips pressing against his tickler’s, with force, passion and built up tension considered.
As the latest episode of Friends ended and another began, just like the last half hour and the one before that, Armie and Tim kissed in the depths of the couch, pillows and soggy pizza now falling down over the floorboards.
This couch had seen polite conversation, a foot job whilst the lights were out, and now it witnessed this moment of pure attraction between two people who used to just be colleagues.
The couch, once again, became a setting for increased, developed arousal to grow even deeper.
Armie sent his lips and tongue around Tim’s jaw, his chin, his neck.
Tim closed his eyes, air leaving his mouth in a small, contained gasp.
He then felt Armie’s warm palms pressing against his chest.
Armie’s strength pushed Tim on his back.
Tim landed softly, his eyes opening to the sight of Armie kneeling before him.
Jesus.
He’s so fast.
Armie took Tim’s left foot and, delicately, slowly, he began to peel away Tim’s beer-stained sock.
Tim bit his lower lip as he felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement overwhelm him.
Always so fast.
Once the sock had revealed the beauty of Tim’s sole and toes, Armie dropped it to the floor and then held Tim’s foot by the ankle.
He admired it’s structure, it’s scent, it’s shape - something he had done many times before, something he knew he’d do many times again, something he never got bored of doing.
Suck.
Kiss.
Just don’t fucking tic—
—Armie licked his lips, pursing them together, where he then blew gently over the bottom of Tim’s foot.
Holy fuck.
Tim clawed the edges of the sofa, grinning his teeth together tightly, his toes curling outwards.
That feels amazing.
“Damn,” Armie whispered, “Even air has the ability to —”
Tim bit his lower lip.
“—They’re sensitive,” he hissed, after enduring another soft blow, this time against the centre of his sole, “So fucking sensitive ...”
Armie smirked, kissing Tim’s heel, “You can say that,”
*kiss*
He then moved towards Tim’s toes, “Again,”
*kiss*
Agh!
... *kiss* ...
"Ffff-ttttt!"
*kiss*
Fuck.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” Tim asked.
He slid his hands down over his own thickening arousal, below his baggy Nike shorts.
He then, to Armie’s surprise, moved his right foot next to his left, offering Armie both at once.
Armie flashed a smile, taking each of Tim’s ankles in each of his hands.
“Practice ...” Armie replied.
He then bit on the toe of Tim’s right sock, pulling the long length of white cotton away from Tim’s foot with his mouth.
He opened his jaw, allowing the sock to fall lifelessly from his teeth.
“... Little did I know it would all lead to this,” Armie said.
Tim winced as Armie then sent a tongue over his now naked toes.
Come on.
Lick someplace else...
Jesus!
Tim squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the warmth of Armie’s tongue journeying across the silky expanse of each of his soles, drenching them in thick layers of saliva.
Armie's lips trailed across Tim’s ankles, up the sides of his feet, towards the centre of each arch.
God, oh God.
Don’t kick him.
Armie breathed in the smell, the skin, the pure sensitivity ...
What ...
Tim’s eyes peeled open as he felt Armie’s hands curl around his waist.
Armie pulled Tim towards him, in a sudden yank.
He then dropped Tim’s feet, so that they landed either side of him.
Armie moved in, taking each of Tim’s hands and moving them above his head.
Fuck.
Tim felt his armpits expose themselves, the opening of his vest not helping much in concealing them.
“Damn,” he spoke his thoughts out loud.
Breathlessly, he watched Armie, cautiously, ready for whatever he had in mind ... something he couldn’t figure out, when it took place as suddenly as this.
Armie used one hand to pin Tim’s hands in place, above him on the couch, whilst his other hand successfully relocated Tim’s right sock, laying behind them on a pillow.
He’s so fucking strong.
Armie picked it up and pressed it against Tim’s lips.
Too str—
—Tim’s eyes widened as he felt the sock invade his mouth, where it worked it’s way past his teeth and over his tongue.
“Mmphh!”
Armie tapped his fingertips over Tim’s new gag, whilst kissing the top of his head soon after.
“Just us ...” he reassured, “... I’m so, so glad, that it’s just us.”
Tim mumbled something into his sock as Armie kept his hands pinned above his head.
“What was that?” Armie asked, with a cheeky grin.
Tim flattened his eyebrows in a frustrated frown.
Do I get a safe word?
Listen to me, let me speak ...
Armie gave into Tim’s high pitched muffles and pulled the sock out, momentarily.
Tim licked lips made sand-dry by white cotton.
“Do I ... Do I get a safe word?”
Armie shook his head as he straddled Tim’s waist.
“You won’t need one,” he explained.
Tim watched the sock travel through the air, in Armie’s grasp, his eyes joining at the middle as it neared his lips.
“Wait, wait, what, what If I—“ in it goes, “—Mmphh!”
Bastard.
Armie shoved it in harder, further than it had rested only a few seconds ago.
Tim felt it at the back of his throat.
He tried to arch his back, but Armie’s weight sat on him too heavily.
He knew what would be next.
He understood this position, the look in Armie’s eye, what had been intentionally pulled into an exposed display.
I’ll fucking scream if he dares—
—Tim kicked bare feet, over at the other end of the couch.
Untied, they were able to flail about as Armie began to send his fingertips across the hairs of each of Tim’s armpits.
No.
Tim shot panicked looks down at his left armpit, then down to his right, the more Armie tickled, the further in he went.
Holy fuck, the mother fu—
“—Mphhh, mphhh!”
Armie chuckled, enjoying the sight of a squirming, surprised Tim below him.
“Fourteen days, and this really is just the beginning ...” Armie declared, “... You thought you knew, but ... You’ve got no idea...”
Tim squeezed his eyes shut as Armie penetrated the depths of Tim’s pits, combing through their fleshy, sweaty delves.
What does he me—
—He kicked his feet so hard that they began to smack against the lower arm of the couch.
Fuck!
“Mphh! — Mmphhuckkk!”
Armie heard the stomping behind, a noise that informed him he should be taking care of his lee, after such a brutal few days away.
He made out the hysteric moans beneath the sock, stuffed into Tim’s mouth.
Should he be doing this, so soon, after getting back from Tickle Fest?
An event where Tim had been more than just pushed, over the edge, at least three times over?
Armie took his time to consider his decision as he let his fingers press gently into the sides of Tim’s neck.
“Mmmphhh! Nomphh!”
That’s fucking insane!
Tim’s head twisted from side to side.
No, Armie thought.
Bring him back.
Let him loose, another time.
The neck attacks left the salacious, fleshy gap under Tim’s jaw, where Armie’s fingers instead danced over his sides, back up a heaving chest and directly towards the sock, now drenched in dribble, squashed in a ball shape, within Tim’s mouth.
Armie popped it out, allowing it to roll over Tim’s shoulder, where it landed with a bounce on the floor.
Tim gasped in air, coughing and spluttering as Armie released his hold from his wrists.
“What, what do you mean,” Tim wiped his mouth, sitting up as Armie lifted himself off of his waist, “What, what do you m-mean, ‘you’ve got no idea’...?”
Armie wanted to unbutton his tracksuit bottoms, he wanted to take Tim, right there and then.
He wanted to spin him on his front, pull his feet down to the arm of the couch, where he had laid them only some weeks ago.
He wanted to neatly position his soles together, face up. He wanted to straddle them between his thighs.
He wanted to drench them in baby oil, tickle them until the neighbours became so concerned by Tim’s screaming that they’d call the police.
He wanted to ejaculate, all over Tim’s toes, heels ...
Just as the cops burst in.
But this ...
This new development, this level up in their friendship, in their relationship...
It meant Armie had to be patient, to be even more respectful, above and beyond any way he had attempted to be before.
It’s got you this far.
So he slid off Tim entirely and stood at the side of the couch.
He then held out his hand.
Tim shot a reserved gaze at Armie’s palm before acknowledging the look in Armie’s eyes.
An expression that appeared hungry, strict, controlling ... And not towards Tim himself, but towards Armie.
Almost as if he were forcefully pushing down something, burying a far stronger, far more powerful essence vibrating beneath Armie’s skin.
It looked like it took effort.
Tim felt worried that Armie might explode.
He took Armie’s hand, grabbing it in a clapping clasp.
Armie pulled Tim off the couch, into a standing position.
Armie stared Tim in the eye, placing both hands on his hips.
“There’s so much I want to do to you...”
Tim felt his heart lift in his chest.
It beat so hard that he could feel it in the back of his head.
Armie travelled downward, where he landed in a knelt position.
Tim peered below, to the top of Armie’s blonde tufts of hair.
Armie held onto the waistband of Tim’s Nike shorts and, without hesitation, he yanked them down to Tim’s ankles, swiftly, expertly.
Tim’s mouth fell open as he felt the cool brush of air hit his thighs.
“Holy shh—"
“—So much I want to use, on you ...” Armie whispered.
Armie pressed his face against Tim’s hardened bulge, squashed beneath his Calvin Klein briefs.
He then curled his fingers around Tim’s underwear, clawing onto the material so tightly that Tim could feel Armie’s fingernails against his skin, beneath the cotton.
I hate not knowing what he’s going to do next.
I love not knowing what he’s g—
—Tim winced as Armie tore the underwear away from Tim’s body, like some possessed, desperate, starving animal.
The remains fell to the floor, unneeded and unnecessary in Armie’s plan.
Tim’s erection sprung outward, where it stood tall and hard against Armie’s nose.
Do it.
Wrap your mother fucking mouth around my c—
—Just when Tim thought Armie would return the favour, after Tim’s act just a night ago, Armie instead spun Tim around, so that Tim’s behind faced Armie.
Okay.
“So much I want to discover...” Armie now spoke in a lusting, soaked drool.
Tim had, only twice, had this part of his body explored by Armie.
Once, strapped to a wooden X, in the candle lit heat of Armie’s basement ...
And the second time, tied to Armie’s bed, naked, with a feather brushing repeatedly against his taint.
Now, Armie knelt, cupping his palms under either of Tim’s cheeks.
Armie wanted to spread them, to devour the innocent, untouched, unviolated essence between...
A space within Tim that had only allowed entry to one thing in Tim’s twenty three years of living; Armie’s index finger.
Tim closed his eyes, his back now decorated in goosebumps, his toes scrunching in anticipation, over the floorboards.
Armie admired Tim’s plump, smooth, peachy derrière ... A round, full section of Tim that he knew, sooner rather than later, he’d see jiggle in movement, as Tim squirmed and writhed in upcoming bondage.
Armie felt almost faint with excitement.
He took his fingers around Tim’s cheeks, drawing circles over the skin, his thumbs brushing over the flesh, ever so gently parting the betweens so he could catch a glimpse of Tim’s tiny, hairless h —
“—You having fun, back there?” Tim asked, in a deep voiced, grainy chuckle.
Armie smirked, his warm laughter brushing into the very bottom of Tim’s back.
“Fun would be an understatement, Timothée ...”
Armie lifted the bottom of Tim’s vest up to his shoulder blades, exposing his long spine, his angular hips, his slim waist ...
Armie sent his tongue over the small delve, just above Tim’s behind.
He kissed it, taking in it’s taste, it’s texture, it’s overwhelmingly perfect expanse of flawless skin.
“Here, from the waist down ...” Armie whispered, “... I want to be the first, the only, to have it ...”
Tim, staring at the double wooden doors opposite him, swallowed down nerves as he felt Armie’s tongue and lips travel over the backs of his waist.
“To h-have it...?”
Armie pressed his mouth against Tim’s hip, then moved it down to Tim’s right cheek, where his teeth clamped down over a chunk of the juicy flesh.
The biting.
He’s gotta stop with the—
—Tim squeezed his eyes shut, standing on tiptoes.
“I want you, Timothée. Bound, naked, this part of you, mine, to devour.”
Holy shit.
Tim felt his erection stiffen further.
With his back facing Armie, Tim saw no harm in touching himself.
It’s been so long ...
And with Armie speaking the way he currently spoke.
How can I not?
“Are we ... Are we gonna ... F...”
Tim couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
He felt too intimidated by the idea of it happening.
Too aroused, by the moment taking place under his ass.
Tim began to stroke his own excitement.
Armie continued to kiss Tim’s behind.
“Amongst other things...” Armie’s hand slid between Tim’s thighs, under his balls and around Tim’s hand, a hand currently groping his own shaking muscle.
Tim allowed Armie to curl his fingers around the thickened length of Tim’s shaft, whilst he continued to plant pecks over each of his cheeks, against the bottom of his back.
In this very moment, Tim felt adored.
Obsessed over.
Admired, and cherished.
He couldn’t help but smile to himself, as further strokes were implemented, along his aching manhood.
Armie slowly got to his feet.
He took Tim’s vest up with him, sliding it over the boys head, where it fell over pizza slice littered floorboards seconds after.
Tim stepped out of his shorts, shorts that had been sitting around his ankles.
He now stood, entirely naked, with curls of brown hanging over his face, whilst Armie stood behind, fully clothed.
Armie slowly prowled around Tim, where he ended up facing him, just inches opposite.
Tim looked into Armie’s chest, then took nervous eyes up to his face.
His mouth squeezed shut as Armie slid his fingertips over the length of Tim’s arousal.
“You want release, don’t you, Timothée?”
Tim nodded, just the once, his mouth peeling open, his jaw hanging low.
Armie curled his fingers around the muscle, using it to pull Tim close towards him.
Tim stumbled into Armie, his cock now entirely in Armie’s tight, strengthened hold.
“Say it,” Armie ordered.
Tim felt his balls swell up, the firmer Armie’s grip became.
“I ... I want release ...” Tim gulped, speaking timidly, “ … I want to come.”
Armie leant into Tim, kissing his neck, his collarbone, his left shoulder.
“You have no idea what I’m going to do with you, Tim...”
Tim felt himself evolve, on that very spot.
After everything they had experienced, after the transactions and the spinning, the throwing up, the pissing and the crying ... After every wrist bound, after every toe tied, after every drop of baby oil ... Tim found himself narrowing his eyes and looking his Tickler directly in the face.
“Show me,” Tim spoke with an unexpected demand in his voice.
A demand that made Armie pause all delicate touches.
Slowly, Armie lifted his head, where he took a curious gaze down to Tim’s lips, then up to his nose, then over to his green eyes, eyes that stared right back at him.
Finally.
This would be it.
This would be the moment.
The moment where Armie introduced Tim to everything under the tip of the iceberg.
-
SUB ZERO
-
The right fingers of Armie’s hand slid between the fingers of Tim’s left.
He then took Tim away from beer-soaked pepperoni slices, the greasy takeaway boxes and the empty Peroni bottles...
He walked his naked form through the kitchen, down the modern stairs and towards the basement, a basement Tim had been strapped up in a few times before.
Tim took careful steps over wooden panels, his bare feet sensitive to the upturned splinters and jagged edges the basement stairs presented.
Once in the basement, Armie walked Tim through complete and utter darkness.
Whereas before their sessions down here had been lit by candle light, now they travelled over loose rope and through jet black, with Tim’s hand tightly holding onto Armie’s for guidance.
Once again, that throat-stiffening heartbeat returned to the centre of Tim’s neck.
Why did you ask, you stupid sonova—
—Where the fuck is he ...
Wait, is there another ...
A clank, and then the twist of a metal lock.
Tim stood behind Armie, his eyes not getting used to his inability to see anything.
A switch, flicked by Armie’s index finger, the same index finger that had slid into Tim, in this very basement, some weeks ago, during his first edging session...
Click!
This light lit up the centre of an old elevator.
Armie pulled apart the metal gates, stepping inside, allowing Tim to enter the lift first.
Tim stepped into the elevator, feeling it shift downwards just a little, at both of their weights, as Armie followed in after.
“How... How old is this thing?” Tim asked, whilst looking up at the blinking, dusty bulb dangling above him.
“I told you, kid,” Armie slammed the gated door shut, pressing a circular button on the rusty panel nailed to the elevator’s inside, “This building was made in the 1920’s. It has its secrets...” the elevator began its descent, “... And so do I ...”
Tim swallowed down regret as he travelled, beside Armie, below the basement, towards a level that seemed to be located further underground than Tim thought possible.
A bump and shift announced that the elevator had arrived at its destination.
Armie pulled open the gate, their rickety steel structure squeaking and crunching until they had been fully parted.
Tim, now more than ever aware of his complete naked-ness beside a fully clothed Armie, took careful treads into another room full of darkness.
His bare soles landed on a cold, flat surface.
A surface free of grooves, marks, dust, dirt, stones ...
Marble?
Plastic ...?
Armie’s hand slid away from Tim’s.
Beep, beep, boo-boo-beep...
He typed in a code, his fingertips pressing against small, chunky buttons laid out over an expensive looking alarm system attached to the room’s wall.
Tim’s breath, puffing out of his lips nervously, was the only other sound both young men could hear, until Armie had finished entering the password.
Suddenly, bright ceiling lights flashed on.
Their ignition started above Tim, and then they lit the middle of the room, and then the very far end, almost thirty feet across.
Tim slowly turned around, his nude form facing out to a wide expanse of white-lit marble flooring and seven foot high white, windowless walls.
Inside the room, laid out as if on display, were several large individual contraptions, all with enough space around them for Tim and Armie to move past and between.
Tim’s jaw dropped at the sight of the wooden X, the incubator ... bondage devices he himself had been strapped to, or contained in, since signing Armie’s Agreement.
As well as those, there sat a red leather set of stocks, attached to a chair like device - another appliance Tim recognised.
Armie stood still as Tim took curious steps forward, his bare feet making no noise at all over the shiny, ultra clean, reflective floor.
His eyes travelled past the mechanisms he’d been strapped to, over to structures he had yet to experience ...
A black leather, singular bed-shaped device, on wheels, with straps attached to its corners and either side of its middle ...
A small cage, its size suggesting that it could contain a six foot, slim young man, if he were to sit in a crouched position ...
One device seemed hidden by a white blanket, covering the entirety of its square-like shape ...
And then in the middle, lit by a special spotlight and hung by wire - a leather bondage device dressed on a flesh coloured mannequin ...
The device contained many straps, attached to the mannequin’s neck, waist, and spine, the restraints attaching the mannequin’s arms by the elbows and wrists, connecting them entirely to the bottom of the mannequin’s back.
Tim went to touch it, his fingers nearing the surface of the leather, but something deep within him told him to be careful.
He dropped his hand, turning his head towards Armie, who stood at the other end of the brightly lit, aesthetically clinical room.
Tim’s face looked stern, serious, as if his next question might be the most important one he’d ever ask.
“Armie ... Are you, kinky?”
Armie held a remote control in his hand, entertaining Tim’s echoed sarcasm with a gentle smile as he pressed one of the remotes buttons.
Tim held his hands behind his back, containing laughter, at his own joke, behind tightly pursed together lips.
He then snapped his head to the left as his attention became drawn to the entirety of the side wall, now lifting upwards in a softly sounding mechanical whizz.
It revealed a huge, open display of tools, their quantity filling the full thirty foot length of the room’s wall.
Armie casually approached the start of the wall, as Tim carefully joined his side.
“Holy shhh...”
Tim’s eyes landed on a section fully dedicated to feathers...
Long feathers, small feathers, fluffy feathers, sharp feathers, white feathers, black feathers, coloured feathers ...
Even a black leather glove, with feathers attached to each finger's end...
Tim, once again, found his fingers nearing the selection, the want to touch, to learn, almost too difficult to control.
He looked towards Armie, his raised eyebrows and open mouth asking for permission.
Armie nodded gently.
Tim turned back to the wall, his fingers pinching the nib of a bright yellow, thirty centimetre long feather.
He twirled it in the air, his gaze rolling over its edges and its tip, its power to look so useless, whilst at the same time, so effective, so deadly ...
Tim kept the feather in his fingers as he continued to take slow steps along the wall.
He and Armie passed leather mouth-muffs, dozens of differently shaped and sculpted ball gags, blindfolds, metal cuffs, clean chains, thick rope, red rope, thin rope, blue rope, knotted black rope …
All neatly laid out, as if Tim were walking, butt-naked through some kind of modern fetish museum.
Tim gulped down a dry bubble as they arrived at a different assortment of hairbrushes, varying in shape, size and bristle quantity.
“These ...” Tim flicked some curls away from his face, “... These all belong to you?”
Armie nodded once again.
Since arriving down here, he had remained surprisingly quiet, despite his verbal declarations two floors above.
Tim continued to step along.
He passed diversely designed electric toothbrushes, handcuffs, thumb cuffs, toe cuffs...
His eyes widened at leather dog collars, some spiked, some made of plastic, some made of pure steel, some with padlocks connected to the centre ...
He stopped at a hung set of headphones.
“What’s this for?” Tim asked.
He felt Armie’s hand press against his back, urging him onward.
“You’ll find out ...” he said.
They continued to pass the wall’s contents.
At the very end of the length, displayed over red velvet, lay dozens of more intimate toys.
Vibrators, anal plugs and dildos of all shapes and sizes ...
And cock rings, just like the one Armie had asked Tim to wear, prior to his edging session.
Tim stood in paused reflection, as Armie reached forward and picked up a silver, shining, bullet shaped vibrator.
Tim eyed it cautiously as the bright white ceiling lights reflected off it’s surface.
“Would you ever let me use something like this, on you, Timothée?” Armie asked.
Tim rolled his tongue over the roof of his mouth as his imagination got the better of him.
He cleared his throat, anxiety creeping up his neck far quicker than he would’ve liked.
“Uh ...”
He pictured himself in a position, where Armie would use something, like that, of that size, ‘on him’, as he described.
That looks like it’ll hurt.
Maybe ... Maybe it’ll feel good.
I don’t know if I’d enjoy it. I’ll only know if I —
“—Yeah,” Tim nodded, folding one arm around his chest, whilst his other hand stroked tiny flecks of facial hair protruding from his chin, “Yeah, because, because it’s you. So, so yeah.”
Armie kept that familiar excitement beneath his skin; that monster, that dribbling, demonic creature that wanted to shove Tim into one of the contraptions behind him, right now, and use that bullet - this very second ...
Armie took in a long, heavy breath.
The want to smile, the want to cheer, the want to begin it all, contained beneath him, for now.
He carefully laid the vibrator back down in its position.
“Do all of these tools, all of this equipment ...” Armie turned, nodding to the devices standing on display, throughout the centre of the room, “... Do they worry you?”
Tim joined Armie in facing away from the wall.
As he eyed the room’s contents, he felt a sense of security, of understanding, towards Armie’s fetish, his interest, his obsession.
He would be living here for another fourteen days. He would see ten million arrive in his bank account.
To ensure that happened, like The Agreement states, he would have to get involved with as much as Armie wanted, when he wanted, where he wanted.
Tim didn’t feel scared.
Sure, he felt nervous, apprehensive, unsure.
But this no longer filled him with fear.
It filled him with a sense of captured and controlled delirium.
Submissively, in the brightly lit room full of tickle torture tools, instruments, apparatus and gadgets, Tim turned towards Armie, his dom, his tickler and, with confidence in his voice he simply said the words,
“Bring it on.”
TCTLR continues in Chapter Twenty Six - ‘The Box’ …