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F/M - Tabitha's Tease and Tabitha's Tickle Back In Print (With Excerpts)

Robin Wilde

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Jul 18, 2006
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Fellow F/M Ticklephiles,

Back in 1995, I published two f/m tickling/tease & denial novels with Masquerade Books, TABITHA’S TEASE and TABITHA’S TICKLE. Both have been out of print for a little over a decade, and sell on the used/rare book market for anywhere from $40 to $240, which is a testament primarily to the rarity professional f/m tickling and teasing erotica.

Pink Flamingo (http://www.pinkflamingo.com) has just published a combined edition of both TABITHA’S TEASE and TABITHA’S TICKLE for $14.75, bringing these once-rare collectables within reach of everyone. They also published my other two erotic novels, THE CAPTURE OF ARCHER CORDELL and THE TAMING OF ARCHER CORDELL, both of which also feature quite a lot of f/m tickling and teasing.

Here are two sets of excerpts. The first set are outtakes from the two Tabitha books: scenes I wrote and didn’t use, false starts, directions that didn’t work out. You’ll find some salvaging and reuse in the actual books, but these are presented for your enjoyment.

Following the first set is the opening scene from TABITHA’S TEASE, presented with the kind permission of Pink Flamingo. (All material is, of course, copyright © 2008 Robin Wilde, with all rights reserved.)

My other professional erotic writing includes:

“Sorority Slave,” by Professor Robert F. Kotler, LEG SHOW December 1994 (professor enslaved by sorority girls)

“Lust in Disguise,” by Robert Benjamin, Penthouse Variations, November 1994 (vampire sex at SF convention)

“The Black Satin Teddy,” by “Robert Oberbeck”, February 1993 (lingerie fantasies)

“Modern Day Scheherazade Enthralls Her Husband With a Wildly Erotic and Wicked Imagination” (lead letter), Penthouse Variations, November 1992 (reprinted in Best of Variations)

EXCERPT 1

(A false start to the book--part of the scene was salvaged and put into Tabitha’s Tickle)

The early September night was warm and balmy. With his hands shoved deep in his pockets to conceal his erection, Bobby elbowed open the door to the dorm and ambled down the steps. It was about a quarter of a mile to the visitor parking lot, and he was grateful for the dark. “Damn,” he cursed to himself in the silent night air, his anger and frustration mounting.

Behind him he heard the sound of a van approaching and edged left onto the sidewalk. Instead of it passing, he heard a horn sound, and brakes squealing.

“Hey, good looking, want a ride?” a deep contralto voice echoed in the quiet night.

He turned. “Me?”

“Yes, you, silly.” The driver of the van was another of the varsity cheerleaders, Veronica, an exotic dark-haired beauty, incredibly wealthy and rumored to be fast.

“I’m just walking to the visitor’s lot.”

“Jump in, we’ll give you a ride,” she said, hitching her thumb backward. There, pressed against the back windows of the van, were the other varsity cheerleaders, Tiffany, Kerri, Wendy, several others he barely knew.

“Sure,” he shrugged. He didn’t need the ride, but being in a van with the varsity cheerleading squad was a fine idea, especially in his current supercharged state. He ran around the van to the open side door. Soft hands reached out to grab him, pull him in.

There were no chairs in the van. He sat on the floor surrounded by luscious cheerleaders, all in their uniform of white sweater and white skirt, trimmed in red, the varsity letter between their breasts, no stocking, just saddle oxfords and white ankle socks. They were laughing and giggling and crowding around. One of them, Wendy, another blonde like Sharon, grabbed his hands. “You’re our prisoner now,” she gloated.

Bobby’s hard-on had raged back to life the second he entered the van. “I guess,” he smiled, determined to play along. He didn’t have to get back to his dorm anytime soon.

“You guess?” Wendy said with mock anger. “There’s no doubt about it, is there, girls?”

“Yeah!” “Damn right!” “Get him!”

Wendy leaned forward, pressing against him and at the same time pulling his arms back, back behind him. Another girl, he didn’t know who, grabbed them and pulled them together. Then Wendy began unbuttoning his shirt while two other girls started on his pants.

“Hey, wait a minute!” he protested, struggling to free his arms. The cheerleaders were stronger than they looked, plus there were so many of them. Wendy put her hand firmly over his mouth and sternly said, “Shush.”

Fingers worked on his clothing, hands tugged at his pants and sleeves. In spite of his bulging cock, this was going too far. “Stop! Hey!” he shouted, then began to struggle and tug. Ruthlessly, the girls held him fast, pulling his clothes off faster and faster, stripping him before he knew what hit him. The van was speeding up as the girls wadded his clothes up into a bundle, then sat up.

“Now you’ve really got to do what we say,” Wendy, the ringleader, said, laughing as the embarrassed teenager futilely tried to cover himself. “You owe us some serious slave time before we’ll even think about giving you your clothes back.”

His protests went unheeded, and he realized that he was truly helpless. “W-what do you want?”

“That’s a good boy. Just do what we say and everybody will have a good time.” Wendy looked knowingly at the other girls. “Put your hands out to the sides,” she commanded.

Bobby felt frozen in place, clutching at his nakedness. Her stern look finally made him move, fearing worse consequences, perhaps to be shoved naked out of the van to make his way home. Gingerly, he stretched his arms out. Two of the cheerleaders grabbed them, and using two pairs of handcuffs shackled him to the metal posts that held the front seats down. Then Wendy made him stretch his legs out. Tiffany sat on one of his outstretched legs and another cheerleader, one he didn’t know, sat on the other. The other girls surrounded him like vultures or lionesses at their prey, between his vulnerable legs, leaning over his naked chest, giving him a feeling of profound helplessness.

His cock retreated under the amused scrutiny of his giggling captors. He was near tears in his desperate humiliation. “Please, let me go, please,” he moaned, clenching his eyes shut. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Wendy’s innocent voice teased. “Most boys would be happy to be naked in a van full of cheerleaders. What’s the matter? Don’t you think we’re sexy?” She reached down and gave his nipple a hard pinch. “Hmm? Don’t you think we’re sexy?”

“Y-yes, yes, you’re sexy, you’re very sexy. Please let me go,” he babbled.

“Your little dickie doesn’t seem to think we’re very sexy,” she pouted prettily. She took his limp penis between her thumb and forefinger and pressed persistently against the sensitive frenum.

A groan of humiliated pleasure escaped from the handcuffed boy’s mouth. He peeked out of squinting eyes to see the covey of cheerleaders leaning over his limp erection being fondled by the devastatingly cute blonde. She caught his glimpse. “Made you look,” she giggled. “I bet you like it, huh?”

His helpless swelling was all the evidence the girls needed. “Yeah, he likes it,” Kerri, a hot- eyed redhead with a cute ass he’d noticed at the basketball games, laughed knowingly. “If Sharon caught him right now, she’d probably cut it off.”

Bobby gulped. Sharon was very jealous. She’d never understand. “If you weren’t interested, why did you let them pick you up? It wasn’t that far to your car,” he heard her mental voice scold.

Even Sharon’s mental image wasn’t enough to control his growing erection in Wendy’s casually fondling hand. He moaned with delight as Wendy began to masturbate him slowly, with long delicate strokes. “He’s a very bad boy, don’t you think?” Wendy smiled at the other girls, who looked at their victim with tsking noises and disapproving faces. “This shows just how unfaithful the boy is. I think Sharon would be very angry, and I think that as a sorority sister we owe Sharon some revenge. Right, sisters?”

“Right!” snickered his other captors. Kerri leaned over him, her heavy perfume filling his senses. “We’re going to show you what happens to boys who cheat on our sisters, Bobby,” she grinned derisively.

The soft breathy voice of Tiffany added, “Yeah! Let’s tickle him till he screams!”

“No! No!” Bobby protested madly, shaking his head from side to side and tearing at his cuffs. “I didn’t do anything! Let me go! For god’s sake don’t tickle meeEEE! Ha-ha-HAHAHA!” His words turned to gasping laughter as their tickling fingers attacked his vulnerable outstretched ribs.

“Ooh, the boy is really ticklish,” he heard one laughing female voice say.

“Oh, my god, no, please!” he cried. He was terribly ticklish. If willpower could have broken his metal bonds he would have been free. Just the thought of being tickled was more than he could stand. The reality was unbearable.

At first their fingers dug into his sides, tickling hard against the bone, making him shriek with hysterical sensation. They were everywhere at once: ribs, underarms, belly, thighs, feet. Wendy kept one hand wrapped around his erection, but the pleasure of her gentle masturbation was completely drowned out by the insane tickling. Wendy bent over, cooing, “This is what happens to bad boys who get hard-ons around other cheerleaders. You’re being punished for being unfaithful. All you have to do is lose this boner and we’ll stop.” She squeezed it for emphasis.

The sadistic young cheerleaders played spider’s-legs over his spreadeagled and helpless body. He was ticklish, more ticklish than even he realized. Every spot their hands touched was more ticklish than the one before. He struggled to maintain control, to lose his insistent erection, but their hands defeated him, convulsing him with helpless, humiliating laughter forced from his cruelly stretched and tormented body, the intensity of sensation drowning out all other feelings. Desperately he pleaded, but his pleas were choked off by bursts of helpless laughter. “No--ha, ha-- please--nooo!--hahahah!” he cried.

“Oh, baby, you’re very ticklish, aren’t you?” Wendy’s teasing voice penetrated. “Too bad. How about your kneecaps? Oh, your ribs! Careful, you almost hurt yourself. I don’t know when I’ve met someone so ticklish.” His laughter came in bursts and screams, wrenched from him at each touch of their wiggling, squirming fingers. If it weren’t for his erection, he was positive he would have wet himself.

The cheerleaders laughed with delight at his suffering plight, utterly in control and obviously enjoying themselves in his eternal agony. Merciless fingers continued to tickle his underarms, his stomach, and nipples. He writhed in helpless, uncontrollable laughter, squirming futilely to escape. He begged helplessly, “No...hahaha...please...stop...aaaah...no!” But the tortuous tickling continued. Seconds passed like hours.

As soon as he gained some control of his reactions, the girls switched tactics, moving from rib-tickling to gentle tease-tickling, renewing his impotent laughter and denying his relief. His cock swelled under Wendy’s gently masturbating touch. “Poor baby,” Wendy taunted, leaning over his face. “What’s the matter? Are the little cheerleaders getting to you already? That can’t be right. We’ve barely begun!”

Kerri straddled his helpless body and sat down so her panty-clad crotch rubbed against the bulge of his hungry cock. Then she attacked his vulnerable torso with her fingernails. He giggled and sputtered and pleaded with her to stop wiggling her fingers in his armpits, tracing her fingers up and down his arms and chest, and making slow, tormenting circles around his rock- hard nipples. She dug her fingers into his sensitive sides, making him howl with agony. She tickled his ribs and tormented the agonizingly sensitive ridge of his hip with her fingertips.

“Oh, ha-ha, I ca-can’t stand-ha-ha-any more!” he pleaded futilely.

The devilish Tiffany stretched out on the other side, her soft hair brushing against him, and traced with her fingers the contours of his neck and sides, sending shivers up and down his body. Slowly and tormentingly, she moved her tickling fingers down his body, switching back and forth from tease-tickle to outrageous attacks on his ribcage.

Wendy’s pumping hand continued to flog his helpless, swollen cock. In spite of his hysteria, Bobby’s lust continued to mount as Wendy’s hand dragged him ever closer to the edge. She noticed the straining look on his face as his sanity slipped away in one eternal burst of sexual agony. Stunned, head reeling, his body a mass of sensitive nerves, he gasped for breath in between gales of laughter. He strained his head upward to gaze at the teenager who had enslaved his helpless cock.

Wendy smiled wickedly at him. “Getting close? Wanna come? Then you’d really be unfaithful to Sharon, and we’d have to punish you even more.”

Writhing under the devilish caresses, Bobby pleaded wordlessly for mercy. At that moment he’d suffer a thousand torments for the solace of a spurting orgasm.

The hands of the other cheerleaders switched from tickling to caresses, rubbing his ultra- sensitive erect nipples, stroking his body sensually, cooing softly, “Oooh, baby, get close for us, we’re ready for it, yeah...” a melody of teasing sopranos urging on his orgasm.

“If you come, we’re gonna take you to our secret dungeon and torture you,” Wendy taunted. “Of course, you might like that. Tied up and tormented by teenage cheerleaders. Sounds sexy, huh? Poor Sharon won’t know what happened to you. You’ll be a sex slave. Your cock will belong to all us girls...oh, you’re getting close...almost there!”

She pumped slowly and steadily, teasing him along the frustrating edge, letting the impossible pressure build and build, until finally the inevitable culmination...

Bobby screamed as the first wave of exploding come burst from him, shooting in a high, wet arc to splatter across his chest. His co-ed captors cooed and aahed at the explosions, caressing him hotly. Shuddering, he spent the pent-up fluids, his juices draining the strength from his young body.

“What a mess,” Wendy giggled, rubbing her finger in the viscous fluid and smearing it on his lips. “Now that you’re our slave, it’ll be a while until you do that again.”

The van pulled to a halt in the dark night, and the handcuffed boy heard the metallic sound of the door open. Hands fumbled with the locks, and roughly pulled him to his feet, strong girlish hands imprisoning him. In his come-drenched weakness, he couldn’t have resisted anyway. The wetness was drying on his chest and limp organ as the girls pulled his unresisting nakedness out of the van. He looked up. Before him was the old girls’ gym, long abandoned. Veronica, the van driver, unlocked the double doors and the cheerleaders pulled him inside, led by Kerri with a flashlight. The cold night air raised goosebumps on his naked flesh. The girls tugged him through the pitch-black corridors using his cock as a leash, teasing him to a new erection as they marched him along. Finally they reached a small cubicle, an old workout room, and opened the door. There was a small metal cot in the corner. They fastened him down with his hands pulled over his head and legs pulled apart at the foot of the bed, securing him with cold metal cuffs.

“It’s time to say goodnight, Bobby,” Wendy announced. “We’ll come back for you in the morning.”

Each of the cheerleaders in turn perched on the bed beside the naked young prisoner. They kissed his mouth and nipples, stroked his cock, caressed his chest, nibbled his neck and ears, each inflaming him to renewed jutting passion, giggling and taunting him in his desperate need. Then they left him alone, aroused, in the dark, to await his fate.

In the corridor, Veronica carefully locked the cell door, and the laughing cheerleaders giggled, arm in arm, all the way to the old coach’s office.

The light was on. Behind the desk was a tall swivel chair, facing away from the entering co- eds. The chair swiveled around. In it was Sharon, Bobby’s girlfriend.

“How did it go,” the blonde asked, grinning. “Did Bobby freak?”

“Boy, did he ever!” Wendy laughed. “You should have seen him. You really must have charged him up.”

“If he thinks this was something,” Sharon said with a grin of patronizing amusement, “just wait until we start the full training program.”

The cheerleaders nodded with anticipation. They had a new victim. Tiffany licked her lips. “The only problem is that captures make me horny as hell.”

“You’re right, baby,” Kerri chimed in. “Let’s go have a party!”

As the cheerleaders left the old gym, each of them departed with a mental image of their handcuffed pleasure slave erectly waiting in the dark for an unknown fate of sexual torment, an image that turned each girl on with the desire to inflict punishment on their own personal victim, and they envied Sharon, who would receive her boyfriend back as a fully trained slave.

“Go, Teasers!” Tiffany shouted. The other girls laughed.

EXCERPT 2

(The original beginning to Tabitha’s Tease. Notice that Tabitha was originally named Anne.)

The invitation looked like a joke. He, join a sorority? But there it was:

AN INVITATION Sorority Pledge Rush for TAU ZETA RHO Please attend. Saturday, 7:00 PM

Not just any sorority, either. Tau Zeta was where the hottest girls hung out. Young, sexy, rich, and reveling in it, they had that special Southern combination of wildness and innocence, a combination that easily made a strong man weak, and turned a weak man into Jello.

Of course, it made a certain amount of sense that they’d invite him. As one of the first three males ever admitted to the highly exclusive, traditionally all-female V_____ College, it wasn’t as if there were any fraternity options for him. It was a nice gesture, if in fact it wasn’t some kind of elaborate practical joke. Maybe they wanted the status of laying claim to the only males nearby. If so, he didn’t mind.

When he first learned that V___ College was accepting male applicants, he thought he’d discovered the scam of the century, but now it looked like he was the one being scammed. Forget having acres of Southern-bred beauties at his beck and call. Forget being lionized as the king cock of the walk. Forget the dreams of warm, willing co-eds begging for his favors. No, these were Southern teases, the worst of the breed, purebred and pedigreed, flush with Daddy’s money and an unshakeable faith in their own superiority. At turns demure and outrageous, they had been turning him inside out ever since he’d arrived. It was one long tease, the torments of Tantalus with his fantasies just outside his reach, and he was desperately afraid he’d never make it through the semester. He wore a perpetual erection, and, because he lived in a mostly girl’s dorm since there weren’t enough men to justify a separate facility, he didn’t even have a chance to spank his own hamster, much less have it well- spanked by some sweet honey.

Well, maybe it was just a little joke. Or some terrible planned humiliation. But he was determined to go through with it. Who knows? Maybe they’d show him a little mercy if he played along with whatever game they had in mind. A mercy fuck, after all, was far better than no fuck at all.

Then he met Anne, the Pledge Mistress. She was a wet dream in red pumps and half a dress. She had blonde all-American looks, the knowing smile of an R-rated cheerleader, and a body that cried out for sin.

“I’m going to be in charge of your initiation,” she said, a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin sending shockwaves to the pit of his stomach. She looked him over, and for the first time he felt what it was like to be mentally undressed. It was not a pleasant feeling. “My friends call me Anne. You can call me Mistress.”

Living in a constant state of arousal, her presence was a torment to him. There was something about the way she moved that made him intensely aware of her naked body under her tight dress. Maybe it was the way that it revealed. Maybe it was the way she wore it. Her dress rode high on her legs. Deep cleavage made him want to lean forward to catch a glimpse of forbidden nipple. He had never wanted so much to grab a girl, take her, force her. And he couldn’t. At least not yet. Maybe this initiation would prove more than he thought. Maybe sex would be involved. His embarrassing erection was swollen and hot. Following instructions, he was wearing only a T- shirt with the sorority initials on it and shorts. He felt horribly underdressed even though her outfit didn’t cover much more than his did. It was that she was in charge. The status difference made him feel out of place and inferior.

To keep from breaking into a sweat under the inspection, he looked around. The small room contained a Queen Anne desk, an antique brass bed, and lots of mirrors. A large wardrobe on the far side of the room was open, and it was filled with silk and leather.

Finally, Anne walked over to the chair behind the desk and sat down. “Now,” she said, “Let’s talk about your training. You understand that you are being considered for membership in our sorority. Of course, as a boy, you can’t be a full member. An associate member, maybe a mascot. Your membership status will depend on your behavior during pledge week. As you know, Tau Zeta is the sorority on campus. Do well by us, and you’ll arrive in

College society. But if you fail us, then you’ll be finished here. Understand?” He nodded. “Nervous?” she asked sympathetically. He nodded again. “Well, let’s take care of that.”

She opened the lid of an ornate wooden box to produce a joint. “Here. Something to relax you, to get you into the right mood.” Gratefully, he accepted the lit joint and inhale deeply. The hot smoke seared at his lungs. After a few tokes, Robin was swimming in a velvet fog of high sensuality. His embarrassment was gone, but his cock was still an iron bar. Anne looked deliciously beautiful, even more sensual. Pot always affected him sexually, and now he was completely lost in an erotic maze. Anne regarded him carefully, calculatingly. She stood up and put her hands on his shoulders, gently pulling him toward her. He moaned as their bodies brushed together, his insistent hardness pulsed as it touched her. When her warm, soft lips gently met his, he moaned and put his arms around her to kiss her deeply. “No,” she whispered through the kiss. “Arms by your sides.” He obeyed. Hers was the aggressive mouth, the probing tongue. He opened up to her, letting himself go, pushing his swollen cock against her. If this was his initiation, then he was the world’s happiest initiate. Then she stopped.

“Lay down on the bed,” she whispered. He hated to move away from her, but quickly obeyed. Eagerly he awaited the continuation of her touch.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered, and again he obeyed. He felt soft hands stroking his arms and legs. Delirious, horny, he writhed under her arousing touch. She had good hands, knowing hands. “Mmmm, delicious,” she cooed. “I’m going to enjoy this.” Gently, she dragged his arms above his head, and suddenly he felt something cold go around his wrists. When he heard a metallic “snap,” his eyes flew open! Anne had handcuffed him to the bed!

“Wait a minute,” he said, “W-what are you doing?”

Batting her innocent eyes, she smiled. “Why, I’m getting you ready for your initiation,” she said. “Surely you didn’t think this was it.” She pulled one of his legs out and slipped a noose over it, fastening it to a corner of the bed. Before he could react, she had his other leg fastened. He was helpless.

“Untie me,” he pleaded. “Please. I don’t like this.”

“Shhh, this is just your initiation,” she replied. “You can’t expect to do a good job as a mascot if you haven’t been properly initiated and trained.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “I thought I was going to be an associate member!” he demanded.

“Perhaps,” she smiled. “But you’ll certainly be a mascot. You’ll get more if you behave and don’t argue.”

He tugged experimentally at the cuffs. He was well and truly helpless. “W-what’s going to happen to me? What exactly is a mascot?”

She smiled. “You’ll find out, all in good time.”

“W-what are you going to do to me?” Robin asked, now beginning to be frightened. What had he gotten himself into? What were they going to do to him? All this just to get laid, he thought, and I still haven’t gotten laid!

EXCERPT 3

(Another false start to Tabitha’s Tease. Robin Wilde is here named John Laird, and Tabitha is still Anne. Valentine College is no longer just a blank line, but it hasn’t found its real name yet.)

When John Laird first saw the Lilith College catalog, and realized that this would be the first year they admitted men, he thought he’d uncovered the scam of the century. “Look at this!” he told his eager friend. Over 650 co-eds in a small California town, the nearest college with other males some forty miles away. And, if the catalog pictures told the truth, gorgeous women. Sure to be lonely and frustrated, sure to welcome a man on the spot.

“Never happen. You’ll never get in. Totally a waste of time. Too good to be true. Think about the competition.” That was the support he got from his friends.

But he persevered. His friends might brag a lot, but they were mostly virgins, too. What did he have to lose? So he filled out the form, sweating over the essay. Why did he want to attend a historically girls’ school anyway? Stupid question, he thought. To fuck their brains out, that’s why. He struggled with “respect for a changing world,” “gaining a cross-cultural awareness of the changing role of women in the modern world,” to a long-shot, “interest in early religious thought, especially matriarchal religions of ancient Crete.” It was sort of true; he’d read about them. He made it to the first round. There was something very strange about the acceptance process. Sure, they wanted his grades and SATs and all, but they also had him visit a psychologist, a woman, an alumna, who gave him a battery of tests. Personality inventories. Ink blots. Hard- core mental stuff, not what he’d normally have expected. It was as if they were looking for a certain psychological type. The inventory probed his sexual feelings and made him very uncomfortable. How often did he masturbate? Of a long list of perversions, which ones turned him on (a) always, (b) sometimes, (c) occasionally, (d) not at all. And so forth. He got hard under the questioning and found himself wondering what the trim, buxom psychologist was wearing under her business suit. Probably something exotic, he thought, and suddenly found himself beet red and very embarrassed. He was even more embarrassed when she asked him, calmly and coolly, what he was blushing about. He stammered an excuse she didn’t believe. She smiled. He was sure he’d just blown it. But he passed that round.

He waited and waited for an answer, his mind dizzy with fantasies of 650 girls at his beck and call. Finally the envelope arrived, and his trembling hands revealed his new fate. “Yes!” he shouted. “Yes! Yes!” One of only two or three males around an exaltation of girls. Girls in class. Girls at play. Girls in shorts, girls in skirts, girls in ROTC uniforms, girls in cheerleader uniforms. Girls with rounded breasts, lissome thighs, pert asses, kissable lips. Girls eager for an available male. He’d once read an article about the first males who attended one of the Seven Sisters elite women’s colleges. By the end of the first year he was complaining about being a sex object, about being constantly pressured to put out.

“Well, I suppose I’ll hold up under all the pressure,” he grinned. His best friend jealously punched him in the arm, hard. The guys were insanely jealous.

It was a very long summer. Finally the first week of August came, and he reported to Lilith College for orientation. Eleven hours on a Greyhound bus, a slim trunk holding his worldly possessions, and then he was getting off in a small California town. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching from the long hours on the bus, he looked around.

A cute brunette, about nineteen, was looking around. She wore a tight Lilith College T-shirt and skintight jeans. Dark eyes, an innocent smile, and a lush body. Just the kind of co-ed dream he’d been fantasizing about during the long bus ride. She held up a sign with his name on it. Great! She’s here for me! he thought. Just like his fantasies. Not even on campus yet and already he was growing a hard-on that just wouldn’t quit. He quickly adjusted it in his trousers before getting off the bus.

“Welcome to Lilith College,” she smiled after he’d introduced himself. “I’m Brenda, and I’m here to drive you to your new school.” He grabbed his trunk and hoisted it in the back of her red Corvette. She popped the sunroof and drove off. She was a fast driver in a hot car, and John settled back to enjoy the trip.

“Well, how does it feel to be the only boy at a girl’s school?” she asked, a flirtatious smile playing at her red lips. It’s starting, he thought silently.

“Great, I guess,” he said. “I mean, it’s a good school and all...”

“C’mon. You weren’t tempted by having all of us to yourself?”

“Well...” he demurred. She laughed.

“Relax, it’s okay. Want a joint?” She pulled a fat reefer from her jeans pocket. “Here. Fire it up.”

A few tokes later his head was spinning. A lack of sleep, a new world, and driving fast in a hot car combined to hit him hard. He looked her up and down, cautiously at first, and boldly as his courage -- and penis -- grew. She was great. Maybe it would all start here.

“Mmmm, I’m starving,” she said. “Let’s drop off and get a pizza.” She suited words to action, screeching into a parking lot and braking hard. “Let’s go.”

The dark pizza parlor had small booths and they slid in across from each other. The orders in, two large beers before them, they filled the time with small talk. Was she flirting with him or just friendly? John decided flirting. He flirted back. She startled him by escalating, by sliding a suddenly shoeless foot up between his thighs. He jumped. She giggled.

Stoned, playful, they talked as she teased the inside of his leg and thigh with her toes. He spread his legs, but she didn’t take it further. When lunch was over he had to readjust his cock in his pants to escape from the restaurant without too obvious a bulge.

Driving too fast and too tipsy, he kept devoring her. A hint of braless nipple under her tight T- shirt. Her hand dropping too casually on his knee when she asked him a question. The signs were right. They arrived at the campus and at his dorm. He eagerly accepted her offer to show him his dorm room.

“We haven’t segregated the dorms, so you’ll have to share a floor with twenty freshmen girls,” she said with an innocent smile. “I hope that won’t be too tough to take.”

He nearly choked. “I-I think I’ll manage,” he said.

She giggled. “I’ll just bet you will.”

His dorm room was small, bed, dresser, and desk. He hefted his trunk onto the spare bed. Brenda perched on the other bed, leaned back, jutting her breasts out. She patted the bed. Eagerly, he sat down beside her. She leaned into him and he kissed her, deeply and sensuously, tongues and lips dueling for pleasure. He thought he was about to burst. Here and now I lose my virginity, he thought, the blood rushing. And I haven’t been here an hour yet! For a minute he thought he might be like that guy who was sick of the attention by year’s end. But not yet.

He slid his hand down to cup her breast, but suddenly she sat up. “Oooh,” she giggled. “You’re a good kisser, but let’s not rush things. We’ve got all year. I’ll see you soon!” She stood up, slightly unsteady. John could see her nipples standing up under her T-shirt. For a second he was about to protest, but it was too late. She was out the door. Another tease.

Left alone to nurse another case of blue balls, he fretted. Horny, aching, frustrating, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. He lay back on the bed and pictured Brenda. Brenda naked, Brenda with her legs apart, inviting, Brenda’s mouth devouring his needy erection. His lips parted with the picture as he pumped his cock faster, faster, faster... He was ready to come...he was about to come...he was going to come...

Then came a loud knock on the door.

He stuffed himself back in his pants in the nick of time because, without waiting for an answer, the door flew open to reveal...

EXCERPT 4

(I couldn’t keep going with the previous scene because I couldn’t think of anything that felt right to happen when the door opened. So I picked the story up later--ending with the invitation as in a previous excerpt.)

Even without males present, John noticed that the girls all dressed for effect. The female student body had been selected at least in part for looks. It was like going to school in a movie star world. When he started attending classes, he learned something more of the truth.

Lilith College wasn’t just a girl’s school, it was run according to unusual feminist principles. Unlike the traditional platform, women here were taught to embrace the system and make it work for them. They were taught to flirt, to play the game, and thus to control.

That came out during orientation. While there were a few male teachers, the majority of the faculty were women, all relatively young, all very attractive, and all with an assurance of control that was unusual. Some of the courses, “The Psychology of Male Sexuality,” “Manipulating Office Politics,” and “Flirt to Win,” let him know the truth. It was a little odd, but it didn’t bother him. He certainly thought women deserved an equal share of power, and it was more than appropriate for them to use the levers of power that tradition provided for them.

What did bother him was that the girls didn’t seem nearly so eager for his cock as he’d assumed. They flirted, but it was almost as if they were applying lessons from their classes. He was used to a certain male role, and he didn’t have it.

The brush-offs ranged from pitying to cruel. He’d no sooner approach a blonde sophomore in a tight sweater, long legs in a short skirt, than he’d get a cold stare and a brusque dismissal. It wasn’t paradise after all, it was torment. So close... He was a kid outside a candy store, face pressed against the glass. He wasn’t even getting as much as the little bit he was used to. When a woman did seem interested, another would show up at just the wrong moment, spoiling his approach.

Even in class he felt out of place. He was used to being a star talker, active in the discussions. Here, he was ignored, kept in his place. When called upon, he was expected to defend the “male point of view”: pro-patriarchy, pro-rape, pro- environmental destruction. He started to feel he was carrying the sins of 3,000 years of male exploitation around with him. Although he felt that the girls and their instructors often had the right of it, he found himself defensively supporting his fellow males. Losing arguments to pretty girls, being put upon as a mere male, being so close to so many gorgeous young things -- he was confused, aroused, and helpless in the face of superior numbers.

Worse, his usual solution to horniness problems -- compulsive masturbation -- didn’t work very well. The bathroom was semi-public; he had to wait his turn and announce his presence. No real opportunity for privacy, just do his business and get out. Keeping your dorm door closed was frowned upon. The academic load was significant, and people wandered in and out looking for answers or help. The freshman girls quickly got used to him and walked around in shorty nightgowns or just bra and panties, completely oblivious to him. One night, as a group worked over a tough calculus problem, one devastatingly cute freshman, her hair pinned up, her legs barely covered in a tiny nightie, cheerfully announced, “You know, I was a little nervous about you being here, but you’re almost like one of the girls!” He blushed hotly as the others laughed.

His best friend sent him a letter, asking for all the hot details. It was humiliating to know that everyone else was assuming that he was getting laid all the time. He lied in his reply, hinting at various adventures. He started giving serious thought to dropping out, but the thought of having to admit the truth stopped him dead. He was trapped, frustrated, and going crazy. He went to class, he walked around, he suffered vision after vision of these tantalizing goddesses, and not a one wanted anything to do with him.

Then came Pledge Week. At first he ignored it. What, after all, did sorority pledging have to do with him? Then he got the invitation.

AN INVITATION Sorority Pledge Rush for TAU ZETA RHO Please attend. Saturday, 7:00 PM

It looked like a joke, but it was the first party invitation that he’d gotten. No matter what, even if he was being set up for some humiliating upperclasswoman joke, he decided to attend.

A few of the freshman girls in his dorm got an invitation, too. He got a few giggles as he showed his around, but one of them said sympathetically, “I’m glad they invited you. As the only boy, it’s the only way for you to fit in. Good luck.” He was warmly pleased at her kind words.

He pulled out his best sweater, gray flannels, and a button-down blue oxford shirt. Freshly combed, shaved, and after-shaved, he was determined to make the best possible impression. He arrived promptly at seven o’clock. This was no time to be fashionably late. He knocked at the door. It opened to reveal a goddess.

EXCERPT 5

(This was the start of another Penthouse Variations article. A little bit of this found its way into Tabitha’s Tickle.)

It was a high-stakes game, and I was losing. My wife Julie and I have written erotic rules for many popular boardgames, using them not only as foreplay but as a way to decide who would be dominant or submissive for the afternoon or occasionally the weekend. This time, the loser would be the slave during our upcoming Hawaiian vacation.

It was a simple kid’s game. Each point won caused the other player to lose an article of clothing. Each trip to a “Lose a Point” space gave the other player three minutes to do or have done anything they pleased. When one player lost all his or her clothes, the other player also got three minutes per point. First to twelve points was the master or mistress. I was losing. Did I really want to win? Either way, it would be a sexually supercharged two weeks.

Julie was in a fiendish mood, practicing nipple torture on me whenever I lost a point. My nipples are excruciatingly sensitive, and I had to put my hands behind my back and let her tweak and rub them. I could barely stand it. Worse, she was four points ahead, and I only had two articles of clothing left. Soon, even that wasn’t true. She was down to bra, panties, stockings and garter: I should have insisted on counting clothing before we started. I think she was cheating. My cock was hard and leaking.

Before I knew it, she was at twelve points. I was her slave. She smiled and licked her lips. I knew that look. I was really in for it.

EXCERPT 6

(Another start of a Variations article.

There is a moment at the top of the roller coaster when you look down at the long, steep drop. Heart pounding, hands clammy, feelings of excitement, fear, and helplessness take over. It’s the most intense part of the ride for me. It’s also how I felt in my current predicament.

I was stark naked and lashed to the door. My hands were stretched above my head, the silk ties pulled all the way over and tied to the knob on the other side. My legs were pulled apart with other cords, passed behind the door on each side. One more cord around my waist pulled me taut. My cock dangled half-hard, my balls were sucked up with fear. At that moment I wanted very much to be let loose. It was hard not to call out the code words that would set me free. I squirmed in my bonds.

Julie -- Miss Julie -- my beautiful captor, smiled in that knowing, wicked way that makes me shiver. She wore a tight-fitting dark blue suit, a sexy black camisole instead of a blouse peeking through the buttoned jacket. Seamed, patterned stockings and open-toed black heels made her stern and sexy. The little riding crop in her right hand added the perfect touch of kinkiness. Her smile and the gleam in her large brown eyes made me tremble. She enjoyed this. She enjoyed my fear. She enjoyed my frustration. And she would enjoy the agonizing delights that this long weekend would produce.

I love and I fear these moments. As long as I can remember, I’ve fantasized about submitting to beautiful women. It’s been my great fortune to find that most women are willing to play dominance and submission games, at least experimentally, if they’re approached right. Especially when we take turns. While I prefer being the absolutely submissive sex slave, a toy or plaything at her service, I do enjoy the feeling of having a helpless, bound woman to tease, to tickle, to spank, to fuck.

My Miss Julie was special. Not because she was the naturally dominant seductress of my deepest desires, but instead because her erotic storytelling imagination is limitless. A natural actress, role-playing is her passion, hot talk her delight. My fantasies are just one more arena for her. A few times a year, my birthday, the odd three-day weekend, I become her slave, and she becomes my dark mistress. With other women I always knew I was in control, that it was my fantasy. But when Julie takes over, it’s her story, and I helplessly come along for the ride. It’s scary. It’s surprising. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“This is the interrogation chamber,” she announced, pacing back and forth, tapping her riding crop into her open palm. “If you confess your CIA role and give us the names of your contacts, you will be freed.”

“But I’m not a CIA agent,” I protested. “I don’t have any contacts.”

The riding crop landed stingingly on my inner thigh. Her eyes blazed. “Denial will do you no good. I will interrogate you until you confess. But be careful. If you lie, you will be punished even more.”

The darkened bedroom started to look like a dungeon interrogation room out of a spy novel. The curtains were drawn, red lights on the dresser gave the room an eerie glow.

Julie came closer; the rough silk of her suit rubbed against my naked flesh, which had become excruciatingly sensitive. She slid the riding crop up under my chin. “My methods include both pain and pleasure,” she smiled.

EXCERPT 7

(A false start for a scene in Tabitha’s Tickle. I liked the idea of the literal woody, but I couldn’t think of enough interesting things to do with it, so I let it drop. I also liked the idea of more transformational magic, but I think there’s an entire separate book in it; it didn’t fit into Tabitha’s universe.)

Bobby stirred from his unconsciousness, head fogged, muscles sore, unsure of his surroundings, but what a dream he’d had. Images swirled in his head; his cock began to snake sorely back to fullness. Then he rolled over, and to his shock, he couldn’t. He came instantly awake, tugging at his leather shackles. It wasn’t a dream--he was a prisoner of a girls’ cheerleading squad!

“Is pretty Woody awake?” taunted Tiffany, reaching over to pinch his nipple between her long red nails. Susan giggled in the background.

Bobby opened his eyes. Gone were the scanty cheerleading costumes, replaced by--devils? Tiffany’s skin glowed a warm red, setting off her raven hair. The whites of her eyes and her pearly teeth stood out in sharp contrast. She wore a black ciré spandex costume that consisted of a low-cut V-shaped bottom with high-cut legs, dipping far below her navel in front to rest at the leading edge of her pubic mound. Her midriff was bare; thin bands of cloth hugged her skin like wide suspenders, covering the outer edge of her breasts, dipping in to barely cover the nipples, leaving the deep cleavage gloriously nude. She swirled around as his eyes goggled, showing off her sexy body, revealing the thin bands crossing over her shoulders, revealing her lovely back down to reveal the upper part of her pert rounded ass, now complete with a devil’s tail with forked head. It seemed alive, not at all fake, and matched her skin perfectly. It twitched.

He glanced over at Susan, whose blonde hair made even a brighter contrast to her red skin. Susan’s identical costume was made of a complementary shade of red, darker than her skin. Her tail was real, too.

“We’re succubi,” Tiffany explained. “We’re Satan’s sex-pets. In legend, we’re responsible for wet dreams, and live from the male juices we extract. Like it?”

“Oh god,” Bobby moaned with desperate desire as he drank in the two tormenting teases with his eyes. “You can take my male juices any time you like.” Both girls laughed at his obvious need. His cock was fully erect and glistening.

He looked down at himself. “Oh god!” he cried again, this time with fear and shock. His cock had evidently turned into wood--a long shaft of polished oak with a twig and a leaf hanging from it. He recoiled at the sight, driving both girls into gales of new laughter.

“Since your name is Woody, we thought you could go as Pinocchio,” laughed Susan, standing up to tower over him. He looked down with disbelief. As he did, his wooden cock began to grow--stretching out with his desire. “But it’s not your nose that grows!” the girls chanted together, laughing hysterically.

He still wore his leather harness, and the girls put an Alpine hat on his head. “Don’t worry,” Susan said. “It’s an illusion spell and it just lasts for tonight. Underneath, your cock is as good as ever.” His puzzled look amused her. “Illusion spell. We’re witches. It’s magic. Get a clue.”

To demonstrate, she pushed him back on the bed, arms imprisoned underneath him, and grabbed his erection. It felt real, and as she pumped him forcefully, he felt himself building once again to the orgasm that never seemed to come. He moaned, closing his eyes, straining his hips upward into her masturbating hand. But she quit, of course, leaving him once more stunned in a fit of desperate need. It was magic, black magic. He was ensorcelled.

The girls made him stand up and checked out his harness. His jutting wooden woody stood out prominently. “Now, let’s see if this thing works,” Susan giggled. “Tiffany, get him started.”

The raven-haired devil walked behind him and reached around to toy with his nipples, hard as little stones. Her red-hot body pressed sexily against his back; he could feel the shape of her breasts and his shackled hands pressed against her pussy. He panted with delight. Susan straddled his wooden cock, letting it slide between her legs. It was a delicious sensation. He was already hard, but the teasing nipple stimulation made him quiver with delight--then the Pinocchio effect began.

“Ooh,” said Susan, wriggling with delight. “It’s growing.” It was growing. From a normal erection to a gigantic one, jutting out first a foot, then nearly two feet, swelling in girth, six inches in diameter, then eight. She was able to put all her weight on it. The angle of the erection lifted her off the ground. Through his haze of erotic delight, Bobby was amazed to see Susan in mid- air, riding his immense cock like a hobby horse, holding on with both hands that could not quite encircle it, grinding her hips.

“Ride ‘em, cowboy!” laughed Tiffany, continuing her excruciating nipple tease.

Susan’s lips parted; her eyes closed into half- lidded slits as she rode toward an orgasm. “Ooh, baby--now that’s what I call a woody!” she moaned, grinding her hips hard and triggering a series of spasms before dropping limply over his swollen shaft. Tiffany stopped playing with his nipples and his cock slowly shrank back to its normal size. Bobby was shaking all over; his legs quivered helplessly.

The two girls laughed as he sank to his knees. Tiffany nudged him with her black stiletto heel with the silver tip. “Don’t poop out on us yet, Woody, the party hasn’t even started yet.”

“Please...I don’t think I can take any more,” he moaned, looking at his pitiless captors. Tears welled in his eyes.

Susan knelt before him and took his face in her hands. She flashed a killer smile at him. “You’ll be okay, darling,” she said soothingly. “Tell the truth: you like being our sex-toy, don’t you.”

“Well...it’s too much,” he said, one tear falling on his cheek. Susan kissed it away. Bobby was entranced. She was so beautiful.

“You’re just waking up,” said Susan. “It’s been a traumatic afternoon, and you haven’t had anything to eat since lunch. Here. Tiffany and I made you a drink.” She unfastened his wrist cuffs and handed him a goblet. It was some kind of fruit drink made from powder, like bad Tang. There was a strange metallic taste in it. He drank it all down. “There,” said Susan. “All better.”

“W-what was in that?” Bobby asked.

“Just a special mixture. You are experienced, aren’t you?” She laughed. “As in LSD.”

His eyes widened. “Also THC, ginseng, coca leaves and lots of vitamins. Plus magic. It’ll put lead in your pencil.” She laughed at his discomfiture. “It’s what you always imagined: a real aphrodisiac. Don’t worry. Tiffany and I drank some, too. Except ours doesn’t have the submissive spell cast over it. We got the dominant tease version.”

“And, to cap it off,” Tiffany said cheerily, “ta- da! A really monster joint!”

Shortly, Bobby’s head was spinning wildly as the combination of drugs and magic swept over him. Every nerve of his body was erotically charged up; he felt great. His captivity was once again normal; his throbbing, leaking cock was a source of pleasure. He was an eager victim of the demon succubi; his literal woody grew twice the size of his normal flesh-cock. The two temptresses clustered around him fore and aft, forming him into a human sandwich as the aphrodisiac swept over all of them. They necked and petted passionately until Bobby was breathless and his cock leaked at the edge of orgasm. Tiffany re-shackled his hands as Susan clipped a leash to his collar, then his two captors led him from the dorm room.

The hall was again filled with beautiful, sexy co-eds, this time in a range of costumes. There were two girls dressed as rock video vixens, skin- tight leather and trashy lingerie. There was Marilyn Monroe with a skirt that blew up constantly, showing stockings and white panties. An Indian maid in warpaint and buckskin leather that barely covered bikini areas. Hands explored his wooden cock, his naked ass, teasing him, goosing him, tickling him. He surrendered utterly to the growing sensations.


THE OPENING SCENE OF TABITHA’S TEASE (Published Version)

Caught With His Pants Down by Robin Wilde, Femdom

Sexy cheerleaders catch Robin masturbating behind the bleachers and treat him to one humiliating exhibition
Copyrighted © 2008 by Robin Wilde, all rights reserved.

They caught Robin masturbating behind the bleachers.

As one of the first three males ever admitted to the highly exclusive Valentine Academy, all-female for over one hundred years, Robin thought he’d discovered the scam of the century. Now, it looked like he was the victim. Instead of being king cock of the walk, he was suffering the torments of Tantalus. A campus of all-American cockteasers, flush with Daddy’s money and an unshakeable faith in their own sexuality, at turns demure and outrageous, had been turning him inside out ever since he’d arrived. He wore a perpetual hard-on with few opportunities to do anything to relieve the pressure. With only a few males around, he was closeted in a girl’s dorm. Enemy territory.

Watching the cheerleader practice was too much for any normal male. Twelve young nymphets with that too-wholesome girl-next-door sexuality, fresh wriggling bodies and budding breasts covered by tight letter sweaters, long silky legs under scandalously short skirts, showing off their moves with knowing glances, driving him to a hard-on before he had a chance. He had to do something. He had to. Cautiously, he peered around, and then sneaked underneath the bleachers, discovering that he could peer out between the seats at their hip-swinging dance. He reached down to shift his tumescent organ, and the touch was so unbelievably pleasant he had to unzip his pants, slide them down over his hips, pull his penis out of his too-tight shorts, pull it out, just for a minute, then stroked it faster and faster, abusing it toward a quick, explosive release, gazing with tongue lolling out, panting, getting close, oh god...

“Well, what have we here?”

On the culminating brink of his needed explosion, his straining erection dripping pre-come under the steady strokes of his hand, he swiveled in shock to see three gorgeous, deadly cheerleaders giving him a disapproving once-over. His other hand flew to cover up his flopping, turgid organ as his pants slipped humiliatingly to puddle around his knees. A blush started at his forehead and burned its shaming way down his exposed torso, making him stammer lamely.

“I...I had an itch...I...” His stuttering explanation drew gales of laughter.

“Sure, you had an itch. We saw you scratching it,” snickered one cheerleader, an astoundingly cute redhead with a huge chest and a tiny waist, her laughing green eyes mocking him.

His eyes darted from side to side. He was desperate to escape, to run away and hide forever. He lunged past the co-eds, searching for an opening.

“Not so fast, little boy,” the raven-haired cheerleader jeered, grabbing him. The other two piled in, grasping his arms, holding him prisoner. Futilely, he struggled, trying to get away, but they were too strong for him.

The girls pushed him hard; he stumbled, tripped by his hobbling trousers. They stood dominatingly over him, wickedly stern in their scrutiny. “Better do exactly what we say, little boy, or we’ll have you expelled.”

Scared, humiliated, despairing, he nodded, sniffling. “O-okay. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell on me.”

“We’ll do exactly what we choose,” the raven-haired cheerleader said firmly. “Your only chance is to follow our orders.”

Meekly, Robin nodded.

His captors each wore the distinctive uniform of the Valentine Academy pom-pom squad. Tight, white short-sleeve sweaters with a deep red “V” stretching over the cleavage. Tiny pleated skirt, also in white, with a red trim and white reversed-out hearts along the hemline. The skirts flared out, exposing a good four inches of luscious girl-girl thigh. Bobbie sox and saddle oxfords completed the outfit. Beneath the fetishistic pleated miniskirts, Robin knew, were red cotton panties that flashed with every jump or split.

The dominating raven-haired vixen, Loni, had dark almond eyes and jet black eyebrows. Her shoulder-length tresses were windblown; one strand hung over her face. Her mouth was slightly open, her lips full and cruel. Her body was lean, with cupcake tits and long, sensual legs.

Kerri’s golden mane flowed in soft waves to the small of her back. She had a thin, sensual face with startling pale blue eyes that looked down at him with condescension. Her taut athletic legs were her best feature, but her breasts were large and full. The third cheerleader was Tiffany, a petite hipsy-tailsy redhead, an action-packed bundle of dynamite. More cute than beautiful, she had a sly smile packed with lust. As the helpless victim sat on the chilly concrete, vainly concealing his privates, his three sexy captors conferred in whispers, glancing at him from time to time with an amused sparkle in their eyes.

“All right,” Loni declared, “we won’t turn you in. But we will have to punish you for this indiscretion. Understand?”

“Y-yes,” he whispered, looking at his feet in painful embarrassment.

“That’s ‘yes, ma’am,’” Kerri added.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

“Okay, stand up.” When he complied, Loni continued, “Now, take off your clothes. We want to see what you’ve got.”

He knew he had no choice. With trembling, numb fingers, he unbuttoned his shirt, slid off his shoes and pushed his pants off. He stood with his hands barely covering his erect, jutting pole. The three pom-pom girls stared with kittenish glee.

“Hands behind your back. Now!” Loni barked.

They circled him slowly, checking him out like a side of beef. “Put your hands over your head,” Loni ordered. He trembled as he submitted to their teasing commands. Then they explored his nude form, caressing his ticklish sides, his tiny erect nipples, his dangling testicles. He squirmed under the tantalizing attention until a firm spank on his bare butt commanded him to be still.

His eyes fastened on the saddle oxford shoes of the sadistic cheerleader who orchestrated his public torment. The curving line of her ankle drew his eyes up the shapely calf and to the warm thighs vanishing under her pleated miniskirt, then to the narrow waist above rounded hips, and on to the letter sweater straining to contain her round, soft bosom, then to her face, angelic yet cold.

“Well, little boy, how are you feeling?” With mock sympathy, Loni stood in front of him as her companions snickered at his discomfiture. She tickled her soft hands over his naked torso, touching his nipples, sending waves of shameful pleasure coursing through him. “Ooh, is that better? Yes, it is. Your little penis likes it.” His shame and vulnerability were evident. She petted his nipples slowly, rubbing the rigid nubs in a circle. His half-mast erection pulsed to firmness almost instantly and he let out an agonized moan of frustration. She chuckled. “Yes. Yes. Come on, little toy. That’s right.”

She grabbed his cock in one hand. He could feel her heat inflaming him. His hands held rigidly above his head, he could only whimper as she masturbated him with one hand and toyed with his maddeningly sensitive nipples with the other. “Oh, god...” he pleaded, “oh god...oh god...please...yes...oh...yes...oh...”

“Horny little bastard, aren’t you?” she asked. He groaned with mortified desire, but did not reply. She dug her red painted talons into his shaft, making him wince, and asked again, “Horny little bastard, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes...yes...I’m a horny little bastard,” he moaned in abject agreement.

“How long has it been since you’ve shot off?” she asked, continuing her voluptuous torment.

“Days...I don’t know...aah!”

“Did you beat your meat last time you came or did a girl get you off?”

“I-I did it myself.”

“Oh?” She tantalized him devilishly with her innocent questioning and her inflaming hands on his nipples and cock. He was quickly climbing the slippery slope of sensual delight to an explosive orgasm. “You did yourself. You took your dick in your hand and rubbed it like I’m doing.”

He nodded, red-faced and gasping for breath. He was rocking back and forth on his knees, dangerously close to falling. His mind was reeling.

“And you kept it up until all that nasty white cream spurted out of it, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Who were you thinking about?”

“The g-girls...”

“Which girls?”

“A-all the girls...all the co-eds...the c-cheerleaders...”

“You were thinking about cheerleaders? Were you thinking about us?”

“Y-yes.” The other vixens, watching with undisguised and devilish delight, giggled knowingly.

“Careful. Careful. If you get any of that nasty white stuff on me, you’re going to regret it big time.” She dug her sharp crimson talons into his exposed flesh until he winced with the sudden pain, then returned to her casual stroking.

He bit his lower lip to keep from going over the edge. Mercilessly, she continued her stimulation and her questions.

“Did you ever make it with a cheerleader?”

“N-no.”

“Did you ever make it with anyone at Valentine Academy?”

“N-no.”

“Did you ever shoot that dick off inside a girl’s pussy?”

He blushed beet red. They now knew his secret shame. “N-no.”

“You’re a virgin?” she said, with roguish incredulity.

His hangdog expression was confirmation. The news made the three uniformed witches uncontrollably. “We’ve got a virgin pervert, girls!” she announced.

The humiliating comments echoed in his sex-tormented brain while the cold-hearted minx continued her slow, devastating tease. Clear seminal fluid began to leak from the purple cap of his penis.

Then she stood up, stopping the stimulation suddenly, leaving him stirred once again to the crumbling edge of relief, desperate for fulfillment denied. He whined with misery and desperation. She ignored him.

“What do you think, girls?”

“Well, if he’s a virgin, he sure can’t handle what I had in mind,” Tiffany, the big-titted redhead chortled wickedly.

Kerri giggled in response. “Yeah. He’d probably shoot off before we were even half-started. Let’s make him jerk off for us.”

Blushing, unbelieving, Robin hardly heard the order. “Yeah, Robin, jerk off for us. That’s what you wanted to do anyway, wasn’t it? Jerk it off.” The three cheerleaders purred and cooed in unison. “Jerk off. Jerk off. Jerk off.”

They chanted rhythmically as he hesitantly took his prick in his hand. After Loni’s tantalizing cocktease, the swollen and purple-helmeted organ pulsed in his own hand. He gaped at the three sly temptresses, wanting them, needing them. “Go ahead. Do it. You know you want to. Jerk off for us. Do it now. Jerk it. Jerk it.”

Obediently, he tugged at his humiliated erection, displayed for the amused titillation of his feminine captors, the veined skin sliding up and swallowing the cap, then skinning it again. His knees were weak; he felt faint, unable to stand. “Whip that cock. Make it spurt. Yeah.”

Toying with his enraged desire, Tiffany flipped up her skirt, showing off her panties. Loni blew him kisses. Kerri smiled and licked her lips with outrageously exaggerated sexuality. He worked his shaft harder and harder in his masturbating fist. “Yeah. That’s the way. Spank your hamster. Beat your meat. Flog your monkey.” They laughed derisively at him as he grunted in growing passion.

He was close...nearly there... “Stop. Right this second. Now!”

He groaned with frustration as Loni forced him to stop right before the culminating moment. When he calmed down for a second, she smiled with cruel glee. “Now start again. Beat your meat some more for us.”

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He started pushing his twitching, dripping tool back up the slippery Sisiphyean slope to the orgasm his tormentors might deny him yet again. He looked from one diabolical cheerleader to another. He was sweating. He speeded up as they chanted, “Jerk it off. Jerk it off. Jerk it off.” Again he approached the moment of culmination. His bloated, twitching tool was purple with its terrible craving. “Ah. Ah. Ah.” His breath came in pants. He was ready, so ready...

“Stop it. Stop it right now,” Kerri ordered sternly. The other two giggled. “Hands behind your neck. Now.” They circled him like jungle cats surrounding their prey, their wicked, teasing eyes devouring his degradation. They petted and tickled at him, wickedly avoiding his twitching organ. His hips bucked uncontrollably; his legs trembled with weakness. “Please...please,” he whimpered in the grip of helpless lust, craving his denied climax.

“He wants to jerk off for us. He’s just a little jerk-off boy, isn’t he? Aren’t you?” Tiffany scorned. He could only nod, begging, as she made fun of his desperation.

Finally, Kerri smirked, “Okay. You can start again. Jerk off for us.”

The other girls chanted, “Jerk off. Jerk off. Jerk off.” As he edged closer and closer to his long-denied explosion, he started to worry. Would they let him finish this time, or stop him again? Their expressions gave him no clue. His trembling knees got weaker and weaker; his body strained with urgent rut.

“Oh...oh...please...oh! Now! Yes!” He moaned with helpless lust. The three cheerleaders continued to chant their mantra. Finally, he began to spurt, his seed jetting out a full six inches, spattering on the cold, dirty floor. His legs could no longer support him and he collapsed to his knees, gasping with the draining intensity of his rutting orgasm. His heart pounded.

He recovered, only to see Tiffany finish gathering up his clothes. “Bye-bye,” Loni snickered. “You’d better be on your toes when you sneak back to your dorm room. Wouldn’t want some wicked girls to catch you stark naked on this campus. You never know what could happen, do you?”

His protest died in his throat as the devilish vixens slipped quickly through a metal door into the bowels of the stadium. He was alone, naked, with a puddle of white sperm cooling on the rough gray concrete.
 
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Even though I own both from Masquerade Books, I'm very glad that they are back in print. :D

To the community: Highly recommended, well written tickle torture with extreme tease-and-denial.
 
I've been a fan of your stories for a long time but have never had the pleasure of reading these books. I will now. Thanks for letting us know they are back in print.
 
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