View Full Version : "Fun is Relative" m/m, feet, genitals, non-con, bondage

03-31-2015, 07:37 PM
Summary: Jack Frost captures Pitch Black, the boogeyman and self-styled Nightmare King, for ticklish revenge.

This is actually the second in a series of fics set in the Rise of the Guardians universe. The first isn't a tickling fic but can be found here (http://archiveofourown.org/works/2013372)if you're curious.

Fun is Relatve

Though pine trees stood straight and tall all around, the line of vegetation at the edge of the clearing ended abruptly. Even the most stubborn of weeds seemed reluctant to grow too close to the deep pit in the sandy soil at the center of the glade. A few early crickets chirped among the sparse tufts of grass that waved in the cool spring breeze, but otherwise, the forest lay quiet under the light of the descending crescent moon.

The darkness in the pit grew deeper in defiance of the angle of the moonlight. Tendrils of shadow crept out into the minute ridges around the opening like runnels of ink. As the questing darkness reached the colonizing grass, the crickets fell silent. A shape formed in the heart of the pit, impossibly dark against the blackness surrounding it. The shape surged upward…

…and stopped with a strangled curse, stuck halfway through the opening. The flowing vanguard of shadows rushed back to the center like water sucked through a straw as the struggling shape resolved into a manlike figure with upswept hair, angular features, and a trailing black robe that flapped in a most undignified manner as the hoop shaped structure that held him was winched upward by sturdy hemp ropes.

Once the prisoner was clear of the pit, the structure holding him swung backward until the rim of the hoop caught between the trunks of two trees, leaving the captive’s legs dangling a few inches above the ground. The captive snarled and braced his hands on the rim, trying to dislodge himself. The effort only earned him even less mobility as his hands stuck fast. He willed the shadows to tear the trap apart, but for some reason his power just drained away into the hoop. A soft blue radiance shone from behind him, moving closer in time to the padding of bare feet among the undergrowth.

“Evening, Pitch.” A cheery young man with white hair and a glowing shepherd’s crook stepped into view. “Or more like really early morning. Man, I was starting to think you were never coming out of there. What took you so long?”

Pitch glared at him. “Get me out of this right now, Jack,” he snapped. The light coming from the staff cast the device around his waist into sharp relief. It was a surprisingly simple structure—a ring of willow or grapevine about twice the width of Pitch’s shoulders, filled with a loose webbing of leather sinew that held his torso in an unbreakable grip. The cords binding the net to the edge had somehow looped themselves around his wrists.

“Aw, where’s your sense of fun? You had it with you the other night,” Jack teased. He darted forward and slid a pair of smaller dream-catchers around Pitch’s ankles, using the lines attached to them to draw the boogeyman’s feet up and apart and secure them to the rim of the larger one. Despite his best efforts, Pitch’s knees were forced outward and pressed against the rim as well.

“Dream-catchers? Really, Jack?” Pitch said. “Do you honestly expect this to hold me?”

“They’re doing all right so far,” Jack said, stepping back to admire his work. “I know, it won’t last all that long. If it were that easy, North and the others would’ve done this ages ago. And, actually, I don’t really want it to last forever. Just long enough.”

“Just long enough for a little petty revenge, I see. How childish of you, Jack.”

In the light of the staff, Jack’s grin took on a slightly sinister cast. He stepped out of sight, moving behind Pitch once more. Without warning, a length of fabric snaked around to fill Pitch’s mouth.

“Oh, what I’ve got in mind is far from childish.” Jack’s breath ghosted against Pitch’s ear as he knotted the gag in place. “I wouldn’t let a child anywhere near what I’m planning on doing. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. We had fun the other night, didn’t we? Well, you did, anyway. I know for a fact that you did. Fun’s kind of my specialty, you know; I always know when somebody’s enjoying themselves.

“And I thought, well, fun’s relative, isn’t it? It all depends on the person who’s actually having it. And I thought about what you said, how you’d always wondered what that spell could do to someone, but I guessed you’d never had the chance to find out. And that got me thinking about the things I’ve wondered about that I’ve never had the chance to try. I’ll admit I haven’t been around nearly as long as you, but three hundred years is enough time to see lots of things that some of the people involved obviously enjoy, but you can’t do by yourself.”

Jack stepped back into view. He hooked his staff over the largest dream-catcher, keeping the end between his toes so the light wouldn’t falter.

“For example, did you know you can’t tickle yourself?”

Pitch drew a sharp breath through his nose. His eyes darted around the clearing, seeking a means of escape.

“Now, I’ve got some good friends these days, but that’s not really the kind of thing you can just bring up in casual conversation,” Jack went on. “I don’t even know how that would work with people covered in fur or feathers, not to mention a guy made of sand. And North’s, well... let’s just say he’s not really my type.

“But I figure you owe me after your little prank. And I’ll bet it’ll really be worth it. I mean, I go barefoot all the time, so my feet are pretty much all callus at this point, but you don’t even walk much, do you? You do most of your traveling by shadow. I’ll bet your feet are smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

Jack ran his hands over Pitch’s left calf, searching for the top of his boot. When he couldn’t find it, he summoned a sharp blade of ice and carefully sliced through the fabric. He trailed the tip of his right forefinger along the length of the bared sole, chuckling when Pitch jerked in his bonds.

“Ooh, it’s like silk,” Jack purred, looking up into his captive’s eyes. “And you know a great perk about holding you with dream-catchers? They’ve got feathers on them.”

Pitch made a desperate sound and began to struggle frantically. Jack caught his heel and lifted a feather into view.

“And all the feathers have a different texture,” he said conspiratorially. “This one, for example, is nice and fluffy. Let’s see how it feels between your toes.”

Jack brushed the plume along the underside of Pitch’s toes, starting at the base. The digits wriggled more and more desperately with every stroke, until Jack finally had to shift his hand from the heel to hold them back. Once they were mostly immobilized, he poked the feather into the webbing between each pair. Pitch twitched and snorted at each stroke. After what to the boogeyman seemed ages, Jack finally ended the torment, only to repeat the whole process on his flailing right foot.

“Now, that was fun,” Jack said when he finally gave Pitch a moment to catch his breath. “You ready for more? Good,” he said, ignoring the violent shaking of his victim’s head.

“This next feather is more of a precision instrument,” Jack said, presenting it for inspection. “It’s kind of stiff, with a tiny little tip, just right for strumming those sensitive soles.”

Jack ran the tip of the feather along the same path his finger had taken earlier. He alternated between long vertical strokes and short horizontal ones, paying special attention to the arches. Muffled cackling burst from behind Pitch’s gag.

“Man, I could just play with your feet for hours.” Jack grinned at the gasping boogeyman. “But we only have until dawn, I guess. That’s when the bad dreams are supposed to evaporate from the dream-catcher, so you’ll probably be freed then. So, let’s get to the next part. I know I’m gonna like it.”

Jack released the feather and took up the knife again. He carefully slit the inseam of Pitch’s leggings from ankle to groin, peeling them away to leave the whole lower half of Pitch’s body exposed.

“Looks like you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” Jack joked. He tapped the tip of Pitch’s swollen member, smirking when this occasioned a muffled yelp. “But we’ll get to that in a bit. First I’ve got a little thing to keep you going if I need a break.”

He pulled out a simple device of two metal rings connected by three short metal rods. Affixed to the larger of the two rings was yet another dream-catcher sporting a trio of feathers.

“I haven’t forgotten how it felt to have to hold perfectly still while you played with me,” Jack explained, sliding the chilly device into Pitch’s anus. The strands of the dream-catcher gripped the cheeks on either side, holding the toy in place. “I can’t keep you from tensing up, but this will make sure you stay nice and open. Now, two fluffy feathers to fill you up, and one stiff one for a special surprise.”

The first two feathers slid through the strands, ghosting against Pitch’s inner walls and making him giggle. Jack waited for Pitch’s hips to stop shifting, then slowly inserted the third. The stiff vanes popped through the strands one at a time, flicking the same spots over and over. The shaft was curved so that the tip stroked a torturous trail as Jack pressed it deeper, until finally it hit something that made Pitch’s whole body convulse.

“There?” Jack asked. He experimentally drew the feather in and out a few times until he felt sure he had the right spot. The webbing of the dream-catcher kept the quill in place, while the beads at the base provided a nice counterbalance that set the feather bobbing with every movement of the boogeyman’s hips.

“Now, what should we do about that dick of yours, hmm? Let’s go back to soft and fluffy for a while, okay?” Jack reached around behind Pitch’s legs to grab one of the feathers hanging from the main dream-catcher. Pitch’s eyes bulged at the sight of the ostrich plume. His penis twitched in horrified anticipation as the soft vanes descended to swirl around the head.

A rattling shriek echoed among the trees. Jack trailed the feather from base to tip; Pitch’s eyes rolled in his head. Jack brushed the length of the fluffy plume over the weeping slit; Pitch arched his back and screeched. The strokes grew faster, unbearably inflaming, but too soft to satisfy. Pitch bucked and whimpered, trying in vain to press against a caress that pulled away even as he reached for it, while the stiffer shaft buried in his ass tapped against his prostate over and over. After what seemed like hours of torment, he finally felt a welling heat that he pursued with a desperate eagerness, but just before the pressure could reach its peak, the tormenting feathers abruptly withdrew.

Pitch wailed helplessly.

A few moments passed. Pitch quivered in his bonds, muscles spasming throughout his body. A light breeze flowed through the clearing and made the drops of precome at the tip of his penis vibrate before they fell.

“Hey, sorry about that.” The sound of Jack’s voice broke through Pitch’s suffering. He looked up to see the winter spirit smirking at him. Jack stepped back a few paces so Pitch could see his thighs as he undid his own trousers.

“I hate to cut you off like that, but I just can’t wait any longer. We’ll pick back up in a minute.” Jack pulled his own member out and began to stroke, eyes never leaving Pitch’s face. Pitch watched, fuming with a mix of anger and envy as Jack treated himself to tight, firm stroking that had him moaning blissfully in moments. When he was finished, he put himself away and grinned.

“What’s wrong, Pitch?” he asked. “I thought you liked watching me. Wasn’t it fun?”

Pitch glared, but fear overwhelmed his annoyance as Jack returned and tucked the stiff feather back into his ass.

“So, what were we doing? Oh, right. Soft and fluffy. Well, let’s try a different one now.” Jack reached for the next feather on the main dream-catcher. “This one came from a noisy Asian birdy known as a peacock.” Jack ran his fingers along the vanes of the long feather. “A lot of different textures on this one. I think I’ll like it.”

Jack attacked the underside of Pitch’s erection, drawing the feather sideways like the bow of a violin. The soft down near the base of the quill gave way to widely-spaced, stiffer vanes that flicked one at a time against Pitch’s skin. The feather was so long that his thighs got a ticklish preview of each new texture. The vanes in the last few inches were much closer together, like the teeth of a flexible comb. It only a took a few long passes of the plume to bring back the hot pressure to Pitch’s groin, but once again, Jack stopped just a moment too soon.

“Something wrong, Pitch?” Jack asked. “Oh, silly me; you can’t answer with that gag in. Tell you what: I’ll ask yes or no questions, and you can nod or shake your head, okay? So, you seem uncomfortable. Is there something I can do to help?”

Pitch ground his teeth through the gag. No way was he going to give in to this brat’s game. Jack waited a moment, then shrugged.

“I guess you’re okay, then. Time for my personal favorite.” Jack pulled up the third feather on the dream-catcher, a long, white goose feather trimmed to a fine point. “I think the stiff ones are really the best. That goes for feathers, too,“ he added with a wink.

The tiny tip of the feather smeared through Pitch’s precome, forcing an unmanly squeal from his throat. His legs flexed violently until the entire structure holding him bounced up and down with his efforts to get away, but no matter how he struggled or where he moved, the wicked feather always found its mark with unerring accuracy. It wandered in complicated patterns over his penis and testicles, sometimes straying to flutter against his perineum, constantly changing speed and pressure to keep the sensation keen. Pitch writhed non-stop, whimpering frantically. He felt his orgasm approaching once again, and he knew beyond question that Jack had no intention of letting him finish. Tears ran down his face as his fear proved true.

Jack reached behind Pitch’s head and untied the saliva-soaked gag. He used the relatively dry ends to wipe away the tears and sweat from the boogeyman’s face. He let Pitch catch his breath, then asked, “What do you want, Pitch?”

Pitch shut his eyes. “You know what I want,” he grated.

Jack made a sound between a laugh and a scoff. “You’ll have to tell me,” he said. He tapped the head of Pitch’s penis once with the tip of the feather. Pitch’s hips spasmed.“Tell me,” Jack sang teasingly.

Pitch pursed his lips and shook his head. Jack began flicking the feather over Pitch’s member at random. “You know, you’re gonna be stuck here till dawn,” he said conversationally. “I won’t be, though. I’ve had a lot of fun already, and I kinda think it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to stick around much longer anyway. I don’t really need to do any more. Of course, that means you’ll be sitting here like this for a couple of hours with nobody to help out. Well, I guess maybe one of the tooth fairies might pass through, but that’s a long shot. You sure there’s nothing you want me to do before I leave?”

“You bastard!”

“Well, if you’re gonna be insulting, I’ll just go.” Jack gave Pitch’s erection one final, long stroke, then turned and started walking away. Pitch bit his lip. Jack wasn’t really leaving?

The light from Jack’s staff vanished through the trees. Pitch breathed through his nose, struggling to ignore the throbbing in his groin. A moment later, something unexpectedly nudged the stiff feather still buried inside him, and Pitch screeched.

“Jack! Please!”

An uncharacteristically dark laugh came from behind him. The blue light flared as Jack walked back into view. “’Please’ what, Pitch?” he asked, leaning on his staff.

“Please finish me off.”

“You mean kill you? I can’t do that, Pitch!” Jack’s eyes widened in mock-horror.

“I mean make me come.”

“But you’re already here.”

Pitch groaned. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “I mean give me an orgasm, Jack,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Jack said, as though it were a revelation. “With which feather?”

Pitch shook with terror at the thought of being teased yet again, even with the prospect of release. He took a deep breath to steel himself. “The last one,” he said, praying to whatever deity might be listening that Jack would be merciful enough to let him come this time.

Jack lifted his hand to let Pitch’s aching penis rest on his palm. With his other hand he drew the tiny tip of the stiff feather along the length of the shaft in rapid, firm strokes. Pitch thrust his hips back and forth, relishing the added friction of Jack’s supporting hand. He was vaguely aware that Jack was laughing at him, but all his attention was focused on the building pressure between his legs. Just before the feeling broke, Jack took his hand away, leaving only the tickling of the feathers inside and out to drive the sensation. Pitch screamed as he finally came, buttocks clenching as though to squeeze out every last drop of spend.

When the last ripple of pleasure faded, Pitch opened his eyes to find himself alone. He lay back in his bonds, relaxing as much as he could under the circumstances. He had known Jack would want revenge for his prank with the Spell of Enslavement, but he had never imagined the boy could be so inventive.

“Finally,” he murmured to himself, as he had not so very long ago, “someone who knows how to have a little fun.”