‘… I’m extremely ticklish. So when it gets to under my arms and onto my feet … It’s gonna be pretty interesting …”
- Tom Daley, via YouTube
_______________________________________
The Subject knelt on all fours, inside a small box cage on wheels.
He wore a black thong and a bowtie; a blindfold was strapped around his face and a ball gag wedged deep within his mouth.
The Subject could see nothing, but could hear the loudness of gathered conversation and he could smell fine champagne on ice.
He had politely agreed to this part, even if the details of being locked up and paraded around an extravagant dining area were not visible in the contract he had signed.
The scent of cigar smoke invaded his nostrils as the cage was wheeled from table to table, the guests offering enthusiastic comments every time he arrived beside a new group.
“ … His body looks even better in person … ”
“ … What I’d pay to suck one of those toes … “
“ … I wish they’d take off the hood so we can see his pretty face … “
The Subject twitched to the right as a hand reached through the steel bars and brushed across his side.
He grunted into the gag, another hand reaching in to stroke his hair …
The fine lines of this agreement had most certainly been blurred.
The Subject felt frustrated with himself, for positioning his body in such an exposed, restricted position.
More hands reached into the cage, where they would pat his derrière and toy with the thin, elastic cotton covering its shape and size.
The Subject cursed behind his gag, a line of drool seeping out from behind the large ball of plastic, where it drooped down over his hands.
The cage gently wobbled from side to side as The Masked Man wheeling it around the dining area decided it was time to transport The Subject to a more private area …
… An area in which the real fun would begin …
The Subject stood in the middle of a giant blacked out room, one singular beam of light shining down over his defined, muscular body.
The spotlight made him glow, perfectly illuminating his structured abs; his bulging triceps, his broad chest, his round butt and large bulge - still both neatly contained within a tiny black elastic thong.
The blindfold and gag had been removed as soon as he had been positioned.
Suddenly, a deep, booming voice echoed throughout the room, spoken through a microphone.
“… Subject … Give us your name …”
The Subject cleared his throat as his hands dangled calmly at his sides.
“My name is Tom Daley.”
From the darkness a man in a white shirt and braces, smart trousers and expensive shoes stepped into the light …
… Covering his face was a plain oval mask.
In his hands …
… Leather restraints.
The voice from nowhere asked its next set of questions.
“What is your age,
What is your job,
Why are you here …”
Another smartly dressed masked man appeared from the depths of black.
He held onto a metal fold up chair, which he opened up and placed in front of The Subject.
Tom glanced down at the chair before answering his question.
“I’m twenty nine years old, I’m an Olympic diver and I’m … I’m here for financial gain …”
A beat of silence filled the room as a third smartly dressed masked man appeared from behind Tom, where he placed his hands gently on the athletes shoulders, nudging him into a seated position on the chair in front of him.
Tom’s butt landed over the metal with a bounce.
The same demanding voice presented itself as the three masked men surrounding Tom became Four Masked Men, with another stepping into the spotlight as Tom shuffled in his seat.
“What is your shoe size,
Your height,
Your sexuality …”
Tom frowned, unsure as to why he had to answer these questions after signing a contract where he agreed to simply be gently manhandled by four paying strangers …
… Then again, he had already been blindfolded, gagged and wheeled in a cage, groped by god knows how many people …
… So to say this wasn’t really what he had in mind would be an understatement.
“I, I’m size eleven, I’m five foot eight and uh, I’m gay …”
Another beat of silence … This one felt like it was planned to last longer.
The masked man with the leather cuffs held onto Tom’s hands and began to gently pull them behind his back, but Tom moved them to his front.
“I um, I don’t remember seeing anything about being tied up …” Tom planted his feet firmly on the marble flooring, “… That’s going to cost another ten grand.”
Tom surprised himself with how quickly and how confidently he had presented such a wildly unrealistic offer.
Some whispers gathered from the depths of the darkness …
Tom shifted his big brown eyes from left to right as he awaited a response.
“… Done.”
Tom smirked, however his expression of achievement faded quickly when the reality of his situation began to dawn on him …
Tied, mostly naked, in front of a tonne of strangers …
As the masked man took his hands and placed them behind Tom’s back, Tom aligned his anxiety with one single reassuring thought.
It’s less than half an hour.
The masked man cuffed Tom’s hands behind his back with the leather restraints, his arms now snug tightly around the chair he sat on.
Tom naturally spread his legs, readying himself for the attention as The Four Masked Men began to gather themselves around him.
The voice returned.
“Welcome to The House of White Feathers, Mr. Daley,
Your commitment to The House is twenty paid minutes of caressing and general intimacy,
Each commissioner has paid ten thousand dollars for your service, a service in which you are not allowed to say the word ‘no’ …
You now have an additional ten thousand, seeing as you have agreed to be restrained,
Totalling at fifty thousand dollars,
Members of the audience are not allowed to step in, but they can stay and watch,
Mr. Daley, the bag of cash will be literally handed to you as soon as you step foot out of this building …”
Tom narrowed his eyes in focus as he stared out into the dark, trying to make out this ‘audience’, however the room was too blacked out to locate any people or crowds.
“… Do you understand?”
Tom blinked, nodding quickly, opening his mouth, producing the words, “I, I understand,” before pressing his lips shut, his heart now racing deep within his chest.
Suddenly, a beeping noise came from the ceiling.
Beeeeeep …
Beeeeeep …
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
Tom tried to sit still as Masked Man No. 1 began to rub his palm gently over Tom’s left nipple.
Masked Man No. 2 started to comb his fingers through Tom’s brown head of hair, unapologetically messing up the slicked back style whilst Masked Man No. 3 knelt down before Tom and lifted his mask a little above his mouth, where he began to gently kiss the muscular shape of Tom’s left thigh …
“Oh,” Tom couldn’t help but grin, “We’re starting already? Right now? Oh, okay …”
Masked Man No. 4 took his index finger and thumb and began to gently pinch Tom’s right nipple.
Tom sat, hands cuffed behind his back, with no choice but to endure the strangers touch …
To his surprise, he began to enjoy himself …
He found the touch relaxing, the hands soft and caressing, the entire thing rather complimentary.
They had chosen Tom because, according to The House of White Feathers, his body was the perfect example of ‘the quintessential figure’.
Not too tall, not too short …
Not too bulky, not too skinny …
Muscular, but not beefy, handsome but not beautiful …
An ideal specimen, hence his nickname, ‘The Subject’.
The Subject opened his eyes when Masked Man No. 2 began to stroke his navel.
Tom hunched his shoulders and glanced down to his stomach, some giggles leaving his lips.
When Masked Man No. 2 didn’t stop playing with his belly button, Tom had to lift his right thigh in an attempt to block away the stranger’s touch.
“Hey, that, that tic—” Tom didn’t want to say the word out loud.
Instead, he wriggled on the seat as Masked Man No. 2 continued to stroke his navel, taking his index finger around his abs in a torturous circle, causing the twenty nine year old to twist around and attempt to stand.
All Four Masked Men pushed Tom back down.
Tom grunted, his eyes shifting from left to right as he was forced back into position.
Thankfully, Masked Man No. 2 got the hint and decided to leave Tom’s belly button alone …
Tom licked his lips and closed his eyes once again, allowing his body weight to sink into the seat as he curled his fingers around the restraints connecting his wrists behind the chair.
He sighed, relaxing as The Four Masked Men continued to worship areas of his body.
Masked Man No. 3 began to stroke both of Tom’s nipples at the same time, his index finger and thumb brushing over them gently.
Tom’s eyes opened once again as he glanced down to his chest, taking in the sight of his nipples, nipples that were once squishy and soft, nipples that were now pin hard and rock solid.
“Oh, oh,” he shuddered, the feeling of being so adored and so touched now causing the girth squashed into his thong to grow in size.
Tom’s nostrils flared as his lower lip began to swell, his eyes shifting from left to right the more Masked Man No. 3 continued to play with his nipples.
“Are you having a nice time, Tom?” The booming voice enquired.
Tom nodded quickly, unable to produce a verbal answer, instead finding his attention taken swiftly away from his nipples to a sensation behind him, the feeling of a warm tongue around his wrists.
“Uh, my hands? Seriously—” Tom raised his eyebrows as Masked Man No. 1 knelt down behind Tom and began to lick his hands and palms, his long, warm tongue trailing around his knuckles and thumb where it eventually started to consume his fingers one by one.
“They’re obsessed with you, Tom. They plan on exploring all of you, my handsome Subject …
… From your head …
Tom gasped as Masked Man No. 2 and Masked Man No. 4 crouched down by each of Tom’s feet.
… All the way down to your toes …”
Tom hooked his teeth over his upper lip as both masked men curled their hands around Tom’s ankles and lifted his feet from the floor.
They then neatly secured each of Tom’s ankles in an armlock, so that Tom’s right foot sat snug within Masked Man No. 2’s armlock and his left foot sat snug within Masked Man No. 4’s armlock.
Tom was used to having attention on his feet; he was often barefoot in front of thousands of people, standing on tip toes at the edge of a diving board, swimming through the pool with his feet in full motion, often caught on camera …
But right here? Right now? His feet held in such a position …?
This was a different kind of attention …
Tom squeezed his eyes shut as both masked men at his feet lifted their masks above their noses and used their mouths to produce thick lengths of saliva.
Tom endured the feeling of a tongue around his fingers, his hands still secured behind the chair, whilst Masked Man No.2 and Masked Man No. 4 drooped dribble down over the tops of Tom’s size elevens, saturating them in saliva.
They then began to kiss Tom’s feet, their delicate pecks purposefully pressing in the dribble so that it smeared across the tanned skin that made up the tops of Tom’s feet.
Tom sat there with his legs lifted and apart, his feet blocked out of view by both masked men’s backs.
Once Masked Man No. 3 was happy with how erect Tom’s nipples were, he then decided to take his attention to an area Tom didn’t expect …
… His ears.
Tom twitched his head to the right as Masked Man No. 3 began to stroke his right ear lobe, a tongue still at his fingers, lips still applying kisses to his feet …
Tom twitched his head to the left as Masked Man No. 3 reached over and began to stroke his left ear lobe, Tom’s senses now exploited in three different ways, all at once, each area providing a sensation that caused him to chuckle into his chest.
“Is something funny, Mr. Daley?” The booming voice asked, “Are you finding this funny?”
“—N, no,” Tom pressed the back of his head against the top of his spine as Masked Man No. 3 began to stroke his neck, “It just, it—” once again, Tom couldn’t bring himself to say the word, his eyes now scowling at the two men at his feet who had decided to take each of his big toes within their mouths.
“—It, it, it … Finish your sentence, Mr. Daley,” The voice echoed through the room as more dribble landed over Tom’s feet, “We want to hear you say it …”
Tom squeezed his eyes shut and stretched his jaw open, shaking his head fiercely, refusing to reveal a weakness he had no idea these people were already aware of.
“Stubborn …”
Tom hadn’t expected it to feel this way, but with his hands cuffed behind his back and with his legs held into position, he didn’t have much choice but to endure the worship, even if was taking place over areas of his body he didn’t expect would gain such focused attention.
“—It tickles,” Tom admitted, as a way of gaining a sense of control, “The toe sucking—” Tom’s legs jerked back and fourth, “— it really, really, tickles —” he growled, “—can they stop?”
Both Masked Men continued to suck on Tom’s big toes until they were told to—
“—Stop, boys …” The voice bellowed.
Tom huffed out relief as Masked Man No. 2 and No.4 took their tongues, lips and mouths away from his big toes.
He then watched both masked men return to his torso, where they dropped his feet back to the floor and crawled their way towards his abs and sides.
Masked Man No. 1 began to stroke Tom’s bulge whilst Masked Man No. 2 started to massage his hips.
Masked Man No. 3 rubbed Tom’s shoulders whilst Masked Man No. 4 played with Tom’s nipples.
Tom’s head fell over his chest as he allowed the strangers to feel him up, his erection growing harder with every rub of Masked Man No. 1’s palm …
Tom wanted to ask how long was left, not because he wanted it to be over but simply because he was a control freak and now more than ever, he needed to know.
Instead he chose to keep his mouth shut, keen to play the role of worshipped sub, his brain working out all of the things he could buy with fifty thousand dollars …
“Can I ask you something, Mr. Daley?” The hidden voice asked.
Tom nodded with a wince as Masked Man No. 4 pinched his left nipple.
“You don’t like being tickled, do you?”
Tom cocked an eyebrow as he watched The Four Masked Men surrounding him continue to touch, stroke and grope his upper body.
“Does anyone?” Tom scoffed.
Tom squirmed on his seat as he watched The Four Masked Men shuffle away from his torso, where they instead gathered around his legs.
“Well, it seems to make you laugh. And laughter would suggest you’re enjoying yourself …”
Masked Man No. 1 grabbed Tom’s left leg and secured it into an ankle lock.
“No,” Tom kicked …
Masked Man No. 2 began to stroke the sole of Tom’s left foot, unapologetically and without warning.
“Hang on …”
Masked Man No. 3 grabbed Tom’s right leg and secured it into an ankle lock.
“Wait a minute …”
Masked Man No. 4 began to stroke the sole of Tom’s right foot, unapologetically and without warning.
Tom’s legs thrusted forwards and backwards.
“Come on,” he panted, disbelief saturating his face, saying the word he was contractually not allowed to say, “No tickling —” his soles were attacked from various different angles, the masked men’s back concealing the activity taking place from the calf down, “—I can do anything but tickling—”
“—You really thought, with a body like that, we weren’t going to include some sensory play amongst the touching?”
Tom’s testing smirk splayed out into a big toothy grin the more The Four Masked Men stroked the soles of his feet, their gentle touches transforming into aggressive scratches over time …
“Wait, wait, wait, so, this, this a, tickling thing?” Tom kicked his strong legs frantically as all Four Masked Men struggled to contain his thrusts, “You’re not going to do anything else?” He huffed, his cries high pitched and filled with alarm, “Please just do something else!”
“Mr. Daley,” the booming voice declared, “From this moment on, you belong to us …”
Tom was now officially ‘captured’.
He sat hands bound behind the chair with four strong men holding onto his legs and ankles, where they tickled the soles of his feet non stop, relentlessly and without mercy.
Tom wanted to question the change in circumstance further, to suggest more money to endure such an ordeal, to maybe even give the money up for this to stop, but uncontrollable laughter left his mouth instead.
He squeezed his eyes shut and kicked his legs madly, cackling out loud bellows of breathless giggling as his butt began to slip away from the seat.
He squirmed so hard and so fast then he came away from the chair, his hands still bound behind it, his butt now landing on the marble flooring.
The Four Masked Men struggled to contain Tom’s feet and legs as he continued to squirm, his feet twisting and thrashing in their armlocks, his muscular legs forcing themselves in and out in a desperate thrust as he howled out into the spotlight.
The chair had now slid from its standing position, falling to the side with a loud clank, Tom’s arms leaving the back of it, his hands still tied around the bottom of his spine.
Like a fish out of water, Tom kicked and squirmed as he rolled about on the floor, all Four Masked Men grunting and huffing as they focused on keeping Tom’s legs in their armlocks, all forty of their fingers scratching away at the silky smooth landscape of Tom’s size elevens.
Tom had never been tickled like this before, so suddenly, so unexpectedly, over such a sensitive area of his body.
“This, this isn’t what I—” Tom heaved, his face drenched in panic as he tried to speak between grainy laughter, “—This isn’t what I signed up for!”
Finally, Tom managed to free one leg.
With his other still in an aggressive arm lock, he was able to use his free leg to kick out at his captors, his heel swiping at one of their masks with such strength that he almost knocked it off.
The spotlight flickered as all Four Masked Men attempted to contain Tom, their arms reaching out to grab hold of his kicking free leg, a leg now thrusting forwards and backwards as a way to keep his ticklers away from him.
“Alright, alright …” the voice spoke over the scuffle, “… Calm down, Mr. Daley … Calm down …”
All Four Masked Men let Tom go and then stumbled away from him, freeing his leg where his foot dropped to the floor.
Tom lay on his back panting and giggling as Masked Man No. 1 picked the chair back up and placed it back into position.
“Take a seat again, Tom … And listen …” the voice ordered.
Tom, hands still cuffed behind his back, used his legs to lift himself to a wobbled stand.
He then stepped carefully towards the chair, his eyes narrowing at The Four Masked Men, a line of sweat developing over his upper lip.
He sat down, breathing hard, glaring out into the darkness.
“That was a little intense … Wasn’t it?”
Tom nodded quickly.
“I don’t like being tickled,” Tom announced, “If I’d known this was a, a tickling thing, I would never of signed up…”
Tom had no idea, but words like that only excited the hidden speaker, as well as The Four Masked Men and the blacked out, concealed audience.
“Not even for an additional ten thousand…?”
Tom turned over his shoulder, keen to find out where this random voice was coming from.
“No,” he shook his head, “I’m not doing it. I can’t stand it. You’ll have to find someone el—”
“—Then why did you tell us about it, Tom?”
Tom looked over his other shoulder as The Four Masked Men began to slowly stepped towards him.
“I, I didn’t—” Tom pressed his weight deeper into the chair and readied his legs for more kicking, the closer The Four Masked Men approached, “—I, I haven’t told anyone about—”
“—Oh … Yes you have …”
As all Four Masked Men stood gathered around Tom, a small TV set within the darkness of the room switched on.
It’s square, bright screen mostly consisted of static at first, and as the static fizzled away Tom could make out himself, seated in a studio, being painted by a woman to look like a shark …
“Ok, I’m done now, time to go—” Tom whispered out his bewilderment as he watched himself talk.
“… The thing about it is—,” TV Tom said, “—Is that I’m extremely ticklish. So when it gets to under my arms and onto my feet, it’s gonna be pretty interesting …”
As soon as Tom finished saying the word ‘interesting’, the clip cut and then replayed …
“… The thing about it is, is that I’m extremely ticklish. So when it gets to under my arms and onto my feet, it’s gonna be pretty interesting …”
“… The thing about it is, is that I’m extremely ticklish. So when it gets to under my arms and onto my feet, it’s gonna be pretty interesting …”
“… The thing about it is, is that I’m extremely ticklish. So when it gets to under my arms and onto my feet, it’s gonna be pretty int— ”
“—Thank you, Tom, for providing the evidence we required to set something like this up …”
Tom went to stand, to run, to attempt an escape but all Four Masked Men took their hands and held his arms and shoulders, forcing him to remain in his seat.
“O, okay,” Tom watched himself continue to verbally reveal his ticklishness as the clip replayed and replayed and replayed, “You can switch that off now,” he chuckled in disbelief, “You, you can let me go and you, you can switch that off—”
“—What was the main rule …” The voice reminded Tom of his agreed circumstance.
Tom looked down and sighed heavily into his lap as the TV set continued to replay the clip …
“… The thing about it is, is that I’m extremely ticklish. So when it gets to under my arms and onto my feet, it’s gonna be pretty — ”
“—I can’t say no,” Tom mumbled.
The voice became louder.
“Say it again, for the people at the back!”
Tom straightened his spine and shouted out into the darkness,
“—I CAN’T SAY NO … !”
His voice echoed out into the expanse of black as the TV switched itself off.
“… The thing about it is, is that I’m extremely ticklish. So when it gets to under my arms and onto my fe— >Bttzzz<
A beat of silence and the soft sound of static followed until Tom’s attention was drawn to the spotlight above.
He looked up, squinting into the beam of white as four lengths of rope rolled down from a ceiling they remained tied to.
They landed around Tom, their ends just about touching the marble flooring.
Masked Man No. 1 nudged Tom off of his seat.
Tom stood carefully as Masked Man No. 2 began to un-cuff Tom’s wrists from behind his back.
Relief had no chance to greet Tom as Masked Man No. 3 started to tie one of the lengths of rope around Tom’s left ankle.
Masked Man No. 4 did the same to Tom’s right ankle.
“Wait, hang on, give me a second,” Tom tried to step away from The Four Masked Men but before he had the chance to move, Masked Man No. 1 had started to loop the third length of rope around the leather cuff attached to Tom’s right wrist, “If, if you’re gonna tickle me I need to, to use the bathroom fir—”
—Out from the darkness and into the spotlight slid an open sack filled with fifty thousand dollars worth of cash.
Tom watched the sack arrive at the tips of his toes.
On top of the pile of cash was a box of matches.
“If you say no,” the voice announced, “You can set the cash on fire yourself.”
Tom gulped.
He thought about the last time he had been tickled, well and truly tickled …
It was by six of his friends, in the pool, they had all attacked him, playfully, taking a body part each.
They knew his weakness, they used it against him all the time …
He could barely stand it.
And now here he stood, wearing hardly anything, about to be tied and tickled, not by friends but by four sturdy men …
Could he take it?
The people in the audience could see the cogs turning within Tom’s head.
They knew what he was thinking …
What all Subjects thought when face to face with a situation as unique as this one …
It’s just tickling.
Reluctantly, Tom held out his left hand and allowed Masked Man No. 2 to attach rope to the leather cuff around his wrist.
Tom now stood with lose lengths of rope attached to his wrists and ankles, his big brown eyes staring down at the large quantity of hundred dollar bills looking back at him.
Masked Man No. 1 walked back into the dark, his smartly dressed figure consumed by black the further he stepped away.
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
Tom shot worried looks from left to right as the sound of a crank being turned echoed throughout the room.
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
The remaining Masked Men stood in a circle around Tom as Tom’s arms were slowly lifted above him, the lengths of rope around each of his wrists now gradually being returned to the ceiling …
Tom could feel his heart beat in his throat, his ears, the sides of his neck …
Second by second, crank by crank, Tom’s armpits began to reveal themselves as his arms were lifted above him.
Their bushy, furry depths stretched out, exposed and open as Tom’s ribcage began to expand, his broad chest tightening …
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
Tom found himself now standing on tip toes, his long arms roped high above him, the lengths of bondage continuing to disappear into the spotlight.
Tom winced as he curled his hands around the rope, his chin pressing down against his chest, his triceps now squashed against either side of his head, his underarms now entirely on show …
Tom’s toes left the marble flooring.
His feet now hovered inches from the ground, where he could easily kick through the air, his entire body hanging in a casual dangle.
No more cranking …
No more speaking …
Just Tom’s nervous breathing …
“Jesus Christ,” Tom muttered.
Masked Man No. 1 returned from the darkness.
All Four Masked Men now surrounded Tom.
Tom eyed them anxiously, his body twisting in a spin, his feet already kicking out, the lose ropes attached to his ankles flapping with every swipe.
“Right, guys, just go easy on me!” Tom tried to sound light hearted, “I seriously, seriously hate being tickled, this, this is literally the worst thing you could’ve done—”
The Masked Men chuckled behind their masks.
“Do your worst, boys …” The voice demanded.
“No! No! No!” Tom spun in his dangle, his left foot kicking out in front of him, his right foot kicking out behind him, “Please, please, stop, stop, don’t do your worst, do it gently, be gentle, just be gentle, be gentle, be, be—”
"He’s begging already?” Masked Man No. 3 broke code and spoke, his voice muffled behind the plastic oval strapped over his face, “What a fucking pussy. We’ve barely started …”
Masked Man No. 1 smacked his friends chest, reminding him to keep quiet, just in case Tom or members of the audience recognised his voice.
Tom yelped as Masked Man No. 4 grabbed the rope attached to his right ankle.
Masked Man No. 2 grabbed at the length of rope attached to his left.
Together, they walked around Tom so that Masked Man No. 4 stood a few metres to his left and Masked Man No. 2 stood a few metres to his right.
They then stepped back, pulling at the rope so that Tom’s flexible legs stretched out either side of him.
Tom felt the air leave his lungs as he was reluctantly forced into a mid-air split position, his arms still bound above him.
With his legs so spread apart, Tom’s bulge, ass and taint were on fully display, along with the rest of his open and defined torso.
Masked Man No. 3 moved towards the space between Tom’s thighs and slowly tilted his head in admiration.
For Masked Man No. 3, Tom’s abs, navel and overall stomach would be the focus …
Tom peered down his chest, his tummy sucking in as Masked Man No. 3 began to press his index finger into Tom’s belly button.
Tom bit his lower lip as his eyes began to water, his spread apart legs trying their best to pull back inward.
“No, not my tummy, not my—” Tom squeezed his eyes shut, “—I really need to—”
—Masked Man No. 3 then began to gently tickle around Tom’s navel with one hand, whilst his other gently stroked Tom’s six pack.
Tom felt his throat tighten up as he tried to contain his laughter.
He wasn’t going to be giving these people what they lusted after so easily …
‘Mnn— mnn …”
He twisted to the right and then twisted to the left, unable to spin in a full rotation thanks to The Masked Men pulling his legs apart with such a strong hold on the ropes attached to his ankles.
Masked Man No.3 then began to use both hands to tickle Tom’s stomach, his fingers clawing over the athletes hips and waist as they travelled across the lower part of his torso, causing the twenty nine year old to finally give in and start to giggle.
“Yup, alright, this is insa-ahahaha-ahahaha-ahahaha-ahahaahane—” he breathed in through his nose, his cheeks boiling red, sweat now forming around his chest, “—Yeah, o, okay, you have to stop, I’m not gonna be able to ta-hahahahahahaha-ahahahahah-ahahahake this—”
Masked Man No. 1 disappeared into the darkness momentarily, only to return with another briefcase.
He laid this out over the surface of the chair Tom had been seated on only minutes ago and flipped the lid open.
As Masked Man No. 3 continued to tickle Tom’s stomach, Tom took strained eyes past all the breathless giggling and glared into the suitcase and its contents.
He could make out a white seagull feather, a pair of scissors and a fully charged electric massager.
Tom raised both of his eyebrows as he pressed his face into his shoulder, his nostrils unintentionally taking in a thick whiff of body odour from his armpit hair.
“Oh please sto-ohohohohohohoh-ahahahahahahahah-ohohohohohop—” Tom cried, his face creased into a manic grin, “—I, I, I can’t take thi-ehehehehehe-ehehehehehe-ehehehehehehe-ssss—” he breathed in through his lips, his mouth shaping into an O, “—oh my god, oh my god, oh my god this tickles so much—” he admitted, verbalising his despair as he continued to try and spin and twirl away from the third Masked Man.
Masked Man No. 1 picked the feather out of the suitcase.
He then strolled casually around Tom, ducking under the length of rope attached to his right ankle, currently pulled out by Masked Man No. 4.
Tom continued to cackle as his abs were stroked and pinched, his head twisting around to try and locate the guy who had just aqquired the feather.
“Where, where are you going with that?!” Tom panted, his armpits now expelling a fierce stench of perspiration, “Come, come back here, come back here!”
As his face began to glow with sweat, Tom felt the feather brush gently across his taint.
Tom couldn’t help but let a high pitched squeal leave his mouth.
The Masked Men chuckled to themselves as Masked Man No. 1 slid the feather against Tom’s taint for a second time.
Another squeal, this one higher in its pitch as well as being a little louder …
With his legs spread in such an stretched apart way, and with his ass and manhood contained by such thin, skimpy material, Tom’s taint was only covered by a tiny stretch of fabric, a stretch of fabric that could easily be pulled out of the way to further expose the silky smooth, hairless expanse of flesh that made up the gap between Tom’s balls and his hole.
Tom’s eyes scowled into the spotlight as he arched his back, unintentionally forcing his round butt backward, the material once wedged neatly between his ass now picked out by Masked Man No. 1 and sitting snug around his juicy left cheek …
“Not my arse—” Tom winced, “—That’s too sensitive!” — He tightly scrunched all ten of his toes as Masked Man No. 1 started to drag the feather around Tom’s taint and butt in a saw-like motion, “No! Not, not my arse! That’s private! That’s not allowed! Not down there, please! Please! Pleaaaa-hehehehehehe-ehehehehehehe-ehehehehehe-ehehehehehehehe-eheheeheheheeeeeeeeeese!” He squealed.
The booming voice remained purposefully absent, the person it had come from now seated with the rest of the paying audience, who continued to enjoy the spotlit performance before them.
As Masked Man No. 1 continued to stroke the feather around Tom’s ass, Masked Man No. 3 moved his claw-like tickling away from Tom’s six pack, where it travelled in a now teasing wiggling up his torso, toward each of his armpits.
“No, no, no, n, n, no, n, n, n, no, n—” Tom panted, his head glaring down at the hands reaching up, his ass wiggling and shaking the more the feather slid between his cheeks, “—Not my, not my underarms, not my un, underarms, any, anywhere but my—” Tom mentally urged the fingers to stop wiggling closer to his pits, their teasing travel up his body both daunting and taunting in equal measure, their tips now beginning a soft brush against the curls of Tom’s damp armpit hair …
The white oval plastic mask glared Tom in the eye as Masked Man No. 3 stretched his arms up Tom’s body, his fingers now burying into Tom’s underarms where he actioned a gradual stroke of his fingernails across the moist, warm flesh that made up Tom’s pits.
Tom squealed once again, the feather twirling around his ass as ten fingers scratched over his underarms, their drag creating white lines over his hairy skin as Tom twisted in his hanging dangle, heavy gasps and splutters leaving his throat and lips as disbelief began to overwhelm him.
Unapologetically and without even being able to control it, Tom began to expel his hysteria in the form of high pitched, relentless giggling and hearty laughter.
He squeezed his eyes shut and thrashed his head from side to side as his underarms fell victim to Masked Man No. 3’s ten fingers, his ass cheeks clapping with every squirm and mid-air struggle, the madness leaving his throat in a loud, steady, non stop bellow …
Tom’s breathless, persistent laughter echoed around the large expanse of blacked out room, the rope above him squeaking as it swayed from left to right the more Tom spun in his dangle, Masked Man No. 1 now wiggling the feather’s sharp but soft edge across the bottom of Tom’s spine, where he strolled around the hanging victim and began to wiggle the feather across his left hip, over his stomach and towards his left nipple, keen to not get in the way of Masked Man No. 3 who continued to invade Tom’s underarms with his strong, merciless attacks.
Between every howl and scream came the attempt to beg, with Tom closing his mouth for just a few seconds where he blinked away sweat and focused on taking in air, only to shout out his need for this to end with all the gusto in his lungs.
“I NEED TO BREATHE—” Tom giggled so hard that saliva had begun to bubble at each corner of his mouth, “—PLEASE STOP—” he tried to contain the importance of his cries in five words or less, “—ANYWHERE BUT MY PITS—”
Tom’s underarms were now soaked with sweat, a thick layer of perspiration gathering over his chest and abs causing them to glisten in the spotlight, droplets of exhaustion now visible over his forehead, his collarbones, the bottom of his back.
His thighs throbbed, his legs ached, he had been hanging in the split position for what now felt like forever …
Until the tickling gradually stopped …
… The fingers left his underarms …
… The feather stopped twirling …
Masked Man No. 2 and Masked Man No. 4 carefully stepped closer to Tom, the rope still in their grasp.
Tom’s legs were slowly lowered, the comforting warmth of them no longer needing to be spread so far apart reassuring him, just for a second, that this ordeal might soon be over …
Tom spent the next few seconds trying to see through the sweat, catching his breath, constantly acknowledging the strong whiff of his body odour that kept humming out from his recently tickled underarms …
“Enough, en, enough,” he coughed, “I’m done, no more tickling, do something, something else, any, anything else …”
Masked Man No. 2 and Masked Man No. 4 let go of the rope.
Tom twisted his head towards the beam of light above as the familiar sound of cranking returned…
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
Tom raised his eyebrows and licked his lips, his lungs still burning, his stomach tight and decorated in little pink pinch marks …
“Wa, wait, I, I need a moment …” Tom huffed, “… Seriously! At least give me a second—” he spat, anger now bubbling at the back of his throat, “I can only take so much!”
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
The rope tied around Tom’s feet began to return to the ceiling.
Still dangling from the rope looped around his wrists, Tom suddenly felt his feet lift behind him …
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
The ropes tied around each of his ankles continued to disappear into the darkness of the ceiling as the spotlight persisted in its vibrant beam over Tom, who now hung in a starfish position.
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
The ropes continued to lift Tom further from the ground where his entire body now swayed from side to side, around three feet from the marble flooring in an uncomfortable hoist.
All Four Masked Men looked up at The Subject, their view being the front of Tom’s body.
A droplet of sweat from Tom’s left underarm landed on Masked Man No. 2’s mask with a plop.
Suspended in the air in such a taunt position caused Tom to naturally grunt and groan, his figure never bound like this in his twenty nine years of living.
He faced the floor, able to fully take in the sight of all Masked Men, the spotlight shining around his body, a body now casting a shadow out over the ground.
“Mnn—mnn—”
His big brown eyes watched Masked Man No. 4 walk towards the brief case.
He picked the scissors out from inside and turned to look at Tom.
“Mnn! Uhh, n-n-n—'“
Tom’s breathing quickened as he began to panic, Masked Man No. 4 raising his arm to reach up to Tom’s waist where he—
Snip!
—cut away Tom’s thong at the waist band in one expert slice.
Gravity pulled the skimpy underwear away from Tom’s body, where it landed on the floor making no noise at all.
Tom was now suspended entirely naked, wearing just a bow tie around his neck, his cock and balls dangling free …
… And they were some big balls … Far bigger than The Four Masked Men or anyone in the paying audience had expected them to be.
They were hairless and round, plump in size, gathered neatly behind a medium sized cock that also hung free now that the thong had been removed.
Tom felt shame boil across his cheeks, his ass facing the ceiling, his nude, muscular body hung like some puppet for The Masked Men to play with …
“Pl, please,” Tom began his bargain, “I’ve gone far further than what we agreed, an, an, and I’m, I’m happy to be tied any which way, honestly, just no more tickling,” he whined, “I, I can’t take it, do something else! Do whatever you like, wherever you like,” he offered himself up entirely, “I’ll, I’ll bottom, I’ll suck cock, spank me,” he chuckled nervously, “Seriously! Whatever you want, just no more tickling …”
Slowly and almost as if they had practised it before, Masked Man No. 4 turned around just in time to calmly hand Masked Man No. 3 the scissors.
As if pre choreographed, Masked Man No. 3 laid the scissors back inside the suitcase as Masked Man No. 1 positioned himself under Tom’s torso, feather still in hand.
Masked Man No. 2 picked the electric massager from out of the suitcase, it’s long white plastic shape and vibrating bulb suddenly buzzing into action as Masked Man No. 2 pressed his thumb over the on button.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …
“No,” Tom hissed, “Are you even listening? Don’t come near me with—THAT!” He shouted in alarm as Masked Man No. 1 began to stroke the feather across Tom’s cock and balls, “FUCK—” he swore for the first time in a while, frustration mixing in with his sensory overload, his legs trying their best to clamp together, “—NO MORE TICKLING—” he growled.
Masked Man No. 1 stroked the feather around the base of Tom’s cock, sawing it over his balls and wiggling it around his taint, sending the twenty nine year old into a convulsed rage of thrashing and mid-air writhing.
Such a soft yet sharp sensation over one of Tom’s most delicate, intimately private areas of his body flooded Tom with a mixture of emotional and physical reactions.
As Tom watched Masked Man No. 2 approach his suspended body with the electric massager, Tom acknowledged embarrassment, apprehension and dire defeat, all whilst kicking and squirming in his hung starfish, the ropes attached to his wrists and ankles creaking and squeaking with every thrust.
“Oi, don’t come near me with that,” Tom repeated his warning in a strained moan, “I, I swear to god, if you even come near me with that I’m telling you now I’m gonna piss myself—”
The Masked Tickler’s didn’t care if Tom pissed himself - if anything, they’d be hugely satisfied to tickle Tom to such a state where he couldn’t even control his own bladder …
“Oh come on!” Tom whined, “This is taking things a bit too far don’t you think?” Masked Man No. 2 raised his arm and pressed the electric massager against Tom’s navel, the vibration rubbing across his toned, sweaty stomach in an effortless glide, “No! Please, no, agh! Ah-hah! Hahaa! Seriously! Seriously, come on! Come on! Come ohahahaha-ahahahaha-ahahahaha—” Tom jolted through the air as Masked Tickler No. 1 continued to stroke his cock and balls with the feather whilst the electric massager ran in a constant buzz over his abs, “I, I ha-ahahaha-ahahaha-ahahahaaad no idea you were gonna do-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o this!” Tom shrieked, “I, I drank like, a litre and a ha-ahahaha-ahahaha-ahahalf of water before I showed up!” He reluctantly explained.
Masked Man No. 3 carefully removed the briefcase from the fold up chair, taking the seat in his right hand where he carefully lifted it from the floor and carried it over to the other end of Tom’s body.
Masked Man No. 3 stepped onto the chair, now standing at a height where he could gain easy access to Tom’s feet.
Tom kicked his legs, craning his neck hard over his right shoulder as he tried to gain visibility of the masked man trying to pinch his big toes.
“Get off, get off!” Tom squealed, “Get oh-oh-o-o-o-o-oahahaha-ahahaha-ahahahaoffofme-e-e-e-e-eeeeee—” he kicked his legs, but Masked Man No. 3 was able to snatch hold of Tom’s right calf, keeping his foot in place where he actioned a sadistic fingernail scribble over the arch of Tom’s right foot, “—No! No! No! Please, not all of you! This is too much! I’m not gonna be gang tickled! No way! This is fucked— oh god, oh god, oh my god, this is so fucked, so, so fucked, fuck I’ve never been tickled like this, you’re gonna make me lose my mind! What are you doing to me? What are you do-o-o-o-o-o-ahahahah-ahahahah-ahahahahaing—”
Masked Man No. 4 made his way under Tom, who now worked as a ceiling himself for all Four Masked Men, their presence gathered beneath Tom’s body as it thrashed and writhed in its suspension above, his torso completely accessible for the clawing hands reaching up to tickle it.
Tom giggled and heaved, howled and screamed, the electric massager buzzing over his tummy as his cock and balls were tickled by the feather, one Masked Man tickling the sole of his right foot whilst Masked Man No. 4 reached up and began to stroke Tom’s armpit hair.
Tom’s vision blurred as the veins around his neck and the sides of his head began to thicken, the hysteria leaving his throat in the form of deep, hearty chunks of laughter, disbelief, shock and bewilderment greeting him all at once as his mind tried to compartmentalise the intensity of his ordeal, an ordeal he hadn’t agreed to, an ordeal he wished he wasn’t part of …
“Pleee-ee-eeeee-eeee-eeee-eeee-eee—eeee-e-eeee-eee-eeeeeaaaase!” Tom swung from side to side, his entire body glistening with so much perspiration that he looked like he had just taken a dive, “I, I, I can’t take it anymore, guys! This isn’t co—o—o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ool—” he heaved in air, his nostrils gushing out emotion as he continued to pant and puff, “—Anything but this, please, anything but this, I’ll do anything!”
Tom wriggled his shoulders as Masked Man No. 4 continued to infiltrate his underarms, his fingers now combing through Tom’s soaked armpit hair where they scritched and scratched over the silky smooth, delicate, hyper sensitive depths of Tom’s pits.
“You’ll do anything?” The voice returned, content with where The Masked Men had finally been able to successfully transport Tom’s mindset.
Tom twisted his head from left to right as he tried to catch where the voice was coming from.
“Yes—” he spluttered, his torso twisting as the electric massager buzzed away from his navel and worked its vibration over his left side, “I’ll do anything! Fuck me, spit-roast me, lock me up for as long as you like,” Tom had reached dire levels of desperation, shouting his final suggestion out in one loud sentence, all at once, with the remaining energy inside his body, “FuckingshitonmeIdontcarejustdontticklemeanymore—!!” he threw his body around in the most wildest, violent way he had done so yet, all Four Masked Men taken by surprise at how aggressively such a small young man could move.
“Agree to another tickle session, and then we stop …” the voice suggested.
Tom moaned as the electric massager joined Masked Man No. 4 in abusing his underarms, the vibrating bulb now buzzing into the stinky depths of his left armpit.
“I’m seriously gonna piss myself if you keep doing this!” Tom revealed, his nasally British accent and soft lisp causing some dribble to spit out of his mouth as he shouted out his sudden circumstance, “I’m warning you! Ser, seriously you have to stop, you, you’ve got to st, st, st, or I p, p, p, piss—”
Masked Man No. 3 lifted his mask a little above his nose so that he could hold onto Tom’s right foot and shove his toes into his mouth, all five of them, all at once.
Tom squealed, his entire body jolting forwards in its dangled suspension, his back arching harder, his star-fished swing gaining further momentum as the ropes above creaked and squeaked.
“Agree to another tickle session, and then we stop …” the voice repeated.
Tom’s bladder continued to sting as Masked Man No. 2 dragged the electric massager away from Tom’s armpit, where it buzzed over Tom’s bowtied neck and ran gently over his shoulders, its vibrating bulb returning to his armpit briefly before it soon left again, only to glide effortlessly back across Tom’s six pack.
“No way! I can’t do this again!” Tom spluttered, “I, I wont do this again!” He shrieked, high pitched yelps leaving his lips as Masked Man No. 3 sucked and licked all over the toes of his right foot, “Agh! Agh! AGH! AGH! AGH-HA! HA! Aghahahaha-ahahaha-ahahahaha-ahahahah—No leave my toes alone ple-e-e-e-ee-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-aaaaa—ahahahaha-ahahahaha-ahahahaha-ahahahaha-ahahahahse not my to-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ahahahaha-ahahahah-ahahahahah-oeeeeeees ohmygod I’m gonna piss, I’m gonna piss, I’m gonna piss my, my, myse—!”
“—Go for it, Mr. Daley. And once you have pissed yourself from being tickled too hard, we’ll just keep on tickling you, for the rest of the day; we’ll soak your soles in baby oil, we’ll write with a ballpoint pen on the bottoms of your feet, in detail, just how ticklish you are. We’ll use long words, descriptive sentences, and when we’re done we’ll scrub the writing away with a hairbrush till your soles are ink free…” the voice warned.
Tom’s mind became overwhelmed with a variation of thoughts and feelings, his eyelids flickering shut, his tongue resting between his teeth as he shuddered and groaned, his toes sucked, his balls tickled by a feather, the electric massager running across his tummy, his armpits stroked and scratched …
“I’m, I’m pissing, I’m, I’m sorry, I can’t take, take it—” Tom muttered, his babble leaving his lips in the form of senseless gibberish, “Please, pl, pl, I’m ssss, sorry — fuck — this is so embarrassing, shhhhhhhhhhhit —” Tom pressed his lips together and looked down at his cock as it began to thicken, the feather still working his balls as his penis twitched and began to expel a long, yellow line of urine, causing the athlete to groan into the humid atmosphere, his back arching harder, his ass cheeks clenching up tightly …
All three Masked Men beneath Tom became drenched in his piss as it landed over their masks in a heavy splatter, decorating the oval white plastic in large droplets of yellow.
“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—” Tom could barely contain himself, his body still writhing above the tickle torture as he unintentionally pissed himself, his naked, muscular body hanging in its bondage, swaying in its suspension as the electric massager continued to buzz and vibrate over his six pack, “—Shhhhhhoooooooh god, oh goddddddd, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god, oh my god, please, please, I’ve pissed myself! I’ve pissed myself! Come on, you’ve tickled me so hard I’ve fucking wet myself, please! Please, isn’t that enough? Come on, please, guys, seriously, seriously? Seriously …”
Suddenly, Tom thrashed all four of his limbs around in a violent punch and kick, the ropes keeping him in his suspended yet flaying mid air starfish, where he shouted out, at the top of his lungs, a fierce announcement.
“—I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE!”
Toms defiant declaration echoed throughout the room as all Four Masked Men continued to tickle his body, they persisted in sucking his toes, in wiggling the feather across his balls, in stroking his armpits and running the electric massager across his stomach, even if their masks were soaked in Tom’s piss …
“Then agree to another session…” the voice bellowed, “… And we’ll stop.”
Tom didn’t have a choice.
By this point, simply having a break from this was now the most important thing in his life …
And if that meant agreeing to more tickling, at a different time, be it tomorrow or next week, or the week after that, at least this moment would be over, at least he could recover …
And quite frankly, he couldn’t look down at his puddle of piss on the floor for a minute longer, nor could he stand the constant drag of the feather between his balls, or the long, warm tongue tickling the betweens of his toes …
“Okay!” Tom snarled, his body still thrashing and twisting within his suspension, “OKAY—” he shouted, breathing in hard through his nostrils where he then repeated the word in a non stop, constant, high pitched, squeal, “—OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYOKAY—!”
All Four Masked Men stopped tickling Tom.
Masked Man No. 3 slid his mouth away from the toes of Tom’s right foot, where he climbed off the chair and joined his brothers below, who all stood underneath Tom’s glistening body, his muscular shape a roof over their heads.
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
The ropes hanging Tom’s limbs from the ceiling began to drop slowly downward …
“Mnn— thank god — mnnn—”
CRANK, CRANK, CRANK …
Tom watched the marble floor get closer as his body was gradually lowered …
His breathless panting, along with the cranking, was the only noise in the giant, blacked out room, all Four Masked Men now stepping aside to allow Tom’s body to be gently laid out over the ground.
Tom grimaced as his stomach and chest landed gently over his puddle of piss, which was once warm and was now miserably cold.
Once Tom had been planted out over the marble, a clicking sound came from above.
The ropes fell from the ceiling where they tumbled around Tom, landing over his back, his legs, his ass …
As Tom lifted his head to take in the sack full of cash, the spotlight above switched off —
BOOM —
Blanketing everything and everyone in total darkness.
Tom huffed and puffed behind the hood that had been pulled over his head.
His arms had been restrained either side of him, his ankles secured in stocks, his speedo-clad body bound to The Tickle Chair …
He felt dribble leave the corners of his mouth, another ball gag wedged between his teeth …
As he blinked, his eyelashes rubbed against the cotton covering his head.
He hadn’t expected his next session to be handed to him so soon …
Just think of the money, he thought, just think of the money …
He pictured himself sun bathing on the beach of a luxury resort, cocktail in one hand, slice of pizza in the other …
Suddenly, his dreams were shattered when The Tickle Chair he sat in began to wobble and squeak, the structure rolling across smooth flooring where it eventually jittered to a stop.
Tom turned his head, the hood blinding him entirely.
BOOM —
Another spotlight, this one brighter, some of the light shining in through tiny gaps of the hood …
Tom could make out some people around him, both men, one tall the other short and squashed into a wheelchair.
A voice …
Elderly, broken, exhausted, frail.
“… Who have you arranged to be his next tickler…?…”
Out into the darkness of another blacked out room …
A sinister laugh began it’s echo …
“ … HA … HA … HA … ”
Tom narrowed his eyes behind the hood as a figure stepped under the spotlight.
He could only make out red fuzzy hair, a red nose … Various colours, a tall frame, another mask …
Tom frowned in disbelief, his mind offering up his conclusion in one confused sentence …
… Is that a clown?
TOM DALEY RETURNS IN CLOWN CHAPTER FIVE, COMING SOON
