Dean Marsden was living in New York and the 32 year old had gone to the New York porno theater on Third Avenue and skipped the film and headed directly downstairs to the back rooms, craving the kind of anonymous sex that could only happen in pitch dark, with nothing but the occasional flash of a cigarette lighter to show what and who, he stopped, feeling up crotches as two guys moved in on him he was so hard he thought he'd burst the buttons on his Levi's 501s. An open mouth covered his, he tasted tongue and hot breath. A pair of hands worked at those buttons. Near the center of the room was a raised, carpeted platform where a guy could stretch out and get worked over.
6'1" Dean moved slowly toward the platform, never losing contact with the hands that were groping him. In no time his jeans were around his ankles, he wasn't wearing underwear and he stripped off his t-shirt, letting it fall somewhere near his feet. He lay down, letting the raised back of the platform support him, and spread his knees. His long, hard dick was ready for contact and it wasn't disappointed; one hand gently stroked the shaft while another caressed his balls, and he was sure they were two hands from two different men. Again the hungry mouth, a tongue lapping the back of his throat, and now there were hands on his pecs, sliding down along his sides.
When a hot mouth closed over his 8" dick he gave a shout, it felt so good. There were still hands on his chest, roughing up his nipples, and that pair of hands caressing his sides, how many men were doing him? Three? Four? In the dark it was easy to lose count of hands and mouths and cocks. He reached out and found a hard one, began stroking it. Another nudged his left hand, and he grabbed that one too. There were at least four pairs of hands and as many mouths moving over him. The air was filled with hard breathing, moans, and soft, satisfied curses.
More hands moved in, more dicks. One gently pried at his lips and he took it in, thrilling at the feel of the head of a guy's dick against his palate. His own dick was slick with saliva and pre-cum, and he didn't know how much more handling and sucking it could take before he'd shoot. The dick in his mouth couldn't take much teasing at all, a sudden hard thrust and hot cum coated his tongue, dribbled down his chin. If his hands were free he would have caught the last drop and licked it from his fingers but none of him was free, his hands were full of cock and there were hot impatient hands on his arms and shoulders and chest and belly.
Then something different and those fingers moving across his abs. That wasn't unusual, guys were all the time feeling his abs, worshipping them but this time the fingers were more than touching, they were tickling. Oh fuck he couldn't stand it! Any second he was going to burst out laughing. He squirmed as much as all those hands would allow, praying the maddening sensation would stop. Of course it would, no one was tickling him on purpose, it was just that he was so ticklish but the tickling didn't stop. Helplessly he slid down farther on the bench, and felt a sudden rush of heat to his groin as he realized he hadn't been tickled in a long, long time. Before he knew it he let a giggle escape his lips. Could it even be heard above the groaning and moaning and sucking all around him? He squirmed some more, giggled a little louder... he couldn't help it, the fingers were digging in harder.
"What was that?"
"Hey, he's ticklish!"
"Where?"
"Poke him here... "
"Hey, yeah!"
More fingers moved in, mercilessly probing his abs and sides. He squirmed, he let go of the hard cocks he'd been pumping but it did him no good: strong hands grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms up
"No, no," he cried, already nearly breathless with laughter, "don't tickle me, don't!"
His legs were pinned down too, there were bodies pressing in on him from all sides. He'd never survive if they all started tickling him but he didn't have any choice. Before long he couldn't speak, couldn't plead any more, all he could do was laugh. As scared as he was of laughing, of letting them know just how ticklish he was, he threw his head back and roared hysterically as all those hands attacked his abs and sides, ribs and armpits.
Maybe it was the darkness, not being able to see his attackers but he was more ticklish now than he'd ever been in his life. He screamed with laughter as fingers clawed into his armpits and knuckles mashed his ribs. The screams only brought him more punishment: a finger found its way into his navel and twisted and drilled into his guts. His groin was now the property of at least twenty fingers, and his balls were being twiddled like mad. More hands made mincemeat of his inner thighs. No part of him was safe, not even the ticklish spots behind his knees.
It was only a matter of time before they lifted up his feet and he felt, along with everything else, greedy fingers working at the laces of his sneakers. The size 13 sneakers were pulled free and he heard comments made about the rich smell of his socked feet just ready for tickling and it began immediately and fingers run across his socked feet over his arches but then comments about them being warm and sweaty so very sensitive and two ticklers used all of their fingers to tease his feet and Dean forced to give in to the uncontrollable laughter that took over him.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHNOOONOOTMYFEET MYSOCKED FEET OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Horror for Dean as he heard laughter and someone say "You heard him not the socked feet!" and another voice saying "Yeah tickle the fucker's barefeet, I sure as hell am gonna!"
This unrelenting foot tickling was unlike anything Dean had ever experienced, he couldn’t get over how much it tickled, he hated his feet touched but this was too much and he still had his socks on! The ticklers had persisted in stroking both socked feet and their fingers light and proving effective. One of them with his right foot paid particular attention to his arch and centre of his sole while the tickler of his left foot found fun with the balls of his foot and under his toes!
Then he yelled "NOOOO NOT MY BARE FEET COME ON GUYS NOOOOAHAHAHAHHAHAHAASTAAPAPHAHAHAHAPLEEESEHAHAHA!"
Dean threw his head back with huge amounts of loud and hard laughing as his socks off he sensed many ticklers tickling his bare feet. Hands on them changing sensations but all tickling him senseless, fingers up n' down his soles, across ghis arches lower arch, under his toes and fingers slid in between his toes a killer for him as someone gleefully said and Dean woth no choice outnumbered completely gave up fighting it happening and just laughed and laughed and laughed.
A feather slid in between his toes and then another feather but the pointed end dragged slowly up and down the length of his soles and then he heard "Use this and give his feet a brush!" and Dean rduced to non-stop almost manic laughter as 'Bzzzz' the sonicare'e revolving bristles did serious ticklish damage to his feet and then "NOOOOFUCKNNOO!" tongues and soles licked and toes sucked, mouthfuls taken and nibbled, it was hellish and drove Dean berserk!
“OH NO!NO NOT THAT! NOT THAT,NOOO STOP FUCKING TONGUES NOOOOOOO PLEASE!”
His jeans were gone altogether. "Oh fuck stop tickling my feet!" He tried to say it, but his words were broken up by laughter, hysterical laughter that became more hoarse and yet more high-pitched as fingers attacked his soles and toes and the tops of his feet. Soon each breath he managed to take escaped as a high keening wail, and they kept on tickling him.
Then he heard a deep, rasping voice that had said, "Hey, he's ticklish!" and then, "Poke him here." The voice and the hot breath that came with it was right in his ear, and this time it was saying, "Tell me what they're doing to you."
Was he serious? Dean couldn't believe it. All he could do was laugh, and if he was able to get a word out here and there, it was to beg for the tickling to stop. Now this guy wanted him to talk. Dean shook his head, his mouth stretched wide with hilarious laughter.
"If you don't talk," the raspy voice said, "then you get this."
Now Dean felt something he had truly never felt before, as two fingers, two thumbs, more likely stabbed deep into his exposed armpits. They were like pile drivers, and the jolt made his entire body stiffen and tore loose a yell from deep down in his throat. All Dean could think, when he recovered enough to form a coherent thought, was that he now knew what electroshock treatment must feel like.
"Talk to me," the voice rasped again, "or you get the thumbs."
"Oh..fuck... please don't." It took every effort of will just to get those words out, with so many hands tickling him.
"What are they doing to you?" the voice rasped.
"Oh...shit... tickling... my fucking feet!"
"Yeah? What else?"
Some generous guys had been free with their pocket lube, and Dean's groin was now all slicked up. They were slicking up his abs as well, giving a new, slippery feel to the tickling that had Dean sputtering helplessly, he was no more capable of forming words than an infant.
"What else? What else? Tell me, or you're going to get it... "
Again the thumbs drilled into his armpits, and again the jolt was so bad that Dean thought his spine would crack.
So he was trained to narrate what they were doing to him, struggling to get out the words as he also laughed and screamed and begged and panted.
"Tickling my... balls! and... oh shit..sucking my toes. aahhhh, sticking their fingers in... my belly button! Hah, hah, hah, can't... stand it... OH my ribs, tickling my ribs, my toes haahahaha... oh fuck, they've got my thighs... and... what? What are they doing to me...."
They were moving him, adjusting him, lifting his legs. He was their helpless toy, they could bend and flex him however they wanted and he was too weak to defend himself. Lifting and spreading his legs...
"What are they doing to you, what?"
"Fuck... oh no... tickling my asshole!"
Slippery fingers, dozens of them, teased and prodded his asshole, stretching, exploring, poking there was no way he could speak now, his cries were reduced to a pathetic wailing as they twiddled his anus, palped his scrotum, squeezed his thighs, violated his navel... and there was still the same steady tickling of his feet, sides and ribs.
He knew, insofar as he was capable of knowing anything, that it would also come again, the jolt of thumbs screwing powerfully into his armpits and so it did and his dick was harder than it had ever been, leaking pre-cum all over his belly, which slickened his ticklish skin even more, intensifying his torment. He was so weakened by the tickling that he didn't know if he could escape even if they did let him go; but his sexual response was stronger than ever, and when someone grabbed his dick he yelled, his hips thrusting upward all by themselves. One hand pumped his shaft, a mouth closed over his dickhead, and yes, someone was licking his balls now, and more greedy mouths were licking his soles and sucking his toes!
He could no longer separate the sensations, the sucking and jacking and tickling, the licking, poking and stroking. His body had become one nerve that was being stretched to the breaking point and just when he felt that he really would break, his groin began to heave, his cock shook, and he came, filling one hot sucking mouth and then continuing to shoot. Every one of his tormentors slurped from his cock as if it were a drinking fountain.
"Yeah!" they were crying, over and over. "Yeah, yeah, yeah!"
He didn't know he could shoot that big a load. His balls had been turned inside out. As the hands and mouths gradually withdrew, he panted and moaned and offered whispered prayers and curses to the dark. Though he lay perfectly still he felt he was falling, tumbling down and backwards, headed toward inescapable fate. It wasn't over. Far from it. Collective male lust was a force of nature swirling through the humid, dusty air, rocking the floor, shaking the walls. A hand raised his head, shoved a bottle under his nose. It wasn't his bottle of Rush, it was genuine amyl, and it took the top of his head off.
The raspy voice spoke in his ear: "Some new guys have come in, and they're dying to play with you!"
To his horror Dean felt his ankles being secured together so he was helpless as his big feet wiggled back and forth as he tested his new bonds giving him new realization about how helpless he really was. Someone then playfully ran a feather over his soles and through his toes. Dean struggled and fingers then ran from his right heel to the balls of his foot. His foot scrunched as fingers followed the ridges up his sole and then down his sole and same repeated with his left foot as Dean giggled and wiggled his feet as much as he could. Then toes of both feet pulled back and tickled under his toes Dean burst out laughing and struggled like a wild animal. The softness of his soles made the tickling easier and the fact they were lubricated with his foot sweat
“Don’t tickle my feet hahahhahaha!" Dean yelled but both sets of hands tickle his soles and the raspy voice saying
“Cooootchie Coooooo” as Dean's toes flexed and wiggled as he struggled helplessly. The fingers stroked over the tops of his feet as his head rolled from side to side as his giggles became frantic pleads for the ticklers to stop. Then wild with lust mouths attacked Dean's feet, hot tongues worked over his toes and sole and voices saying they tasted so good! Very sweaty from the torment they wiggled like mad in both mouths working on his toes expertly.
Tongues licking in between his toes made the tickling that much worse. His soles and toes licked and mouths chewed on the balls of his feet as his laughter intensified and fingers tickled his soles as they worked his size 13s over expertly. Faces next to his feet lickling them, tongues sliding in between each and every toe a fingers tormented his soft soles. The talented tongues worked slowly through each toe and nibbled on his toes which made him thrash like a crazy man. Then hot tongues worked over his soles and toes again. Dean was consistently tickle tortured until about 6am!
At 6am Dean was sitting on the floor outside the back rooms, leaning against the wall by the men's room door. He had found his jeans and his sneakers, but his socks and t-shirt were lost. Well, he had had to go home shirtless before, he didn't mind as long as it was warm outside but it would take him a while yet to fully recover. His eyes were red and swollen from tears of laughter, his throat felt raw, his ribs were sore, the soles of his feet tingled, and his cock, balls and asshole were almost unbearably tender. Every minute or two his spine gave a shudder, and a weak, hysterical giggle escaped his lips, as if they were all tickling him still. Guys walked past him, leaving him in peace but still eyeing him hungrily and muttering to each other about what had happened in the farthest dark room.
"Never saw a guy get that kind of treatment... "
"Did you see how ticklish his feet were? Fuck they have some funky smell and taste going on!"
"Never saw a guy cum like that, either. Fuckin' puddles on the floor!"
6'1" Dean moved slowly toward the platform, never losing contact with the hands that were groping him. In no time his jeans were around his ankles, he wasn't wearing underwear and he stripped off his t-shirt, letting it fall somewhere near his feet. He lay down, letting the raised back of the platform support him, and spread his knees. His long, hard dick was ready for contact and it wasn't disappointed; one hand gently stroked the shaft while another caressed his balls, and he was sure they were two hands from two different men. Again the hungry mouth, a tongue lapping the back of his throat, and now there were hands on his pecs, sliding down along his sides.
When a hot mouth closed over his 8" dick he gave a shout, it felt so good. There were still hands on his chest, roughing up his nipples, and that pair of hands caressing his sides, how many men were doing him? Three? Four? In the dark it was easy to lose count of hands and mouths and cocks. He reached out and found a hard one, began stroking it. Another nudged his left hand, and he grabbed that one too. There were at least four pairs of hands and as many mouths moving over him. The air was filled with hard breathing, moans, and soft, satisfied curses.
More hands moved in, more dicks. One gently pried at his lips and he took it in, thrilling at the feel of the head of a guy's dick against his palate. His own dick was slick with saliva and pre-cum, and he didn't know how much more handling and sucking it could take before he'd shoot. The dick in his mouth couldn't take much teasing at all, a sudden hard thrust and hot cum coated his tongue, dribbled down his chin. If his hands were free he would have caught the last drop and licked it from his fingers but none of him was free, his hands were full of cock and there were hot impatient hands on his arms and shoulders and chest and belly.
Then something different and those fingers moving across his abs. That wasn't unusual, guys were all the time feeling his abs, worshipping them but this time the fingers were more than touching, they were tickling. Oh fuck he couldn't stand it! Any second he was going to burst out laughing. He squirmed as much as all those hands would allow, praying the maddening sensation would stop. Of course it would, no one was tickling him on purpose, it was just that he was so ticklish but the tickling didn't stop. Helplessly he slid down farther on the bench, and felt a sudden rush of heat to his groin as he realized he hadn't been tickled in a long, long time. Before he knew it he let a giggle escape his lips. Could it even be heard above the groaning and moaning and sucking all around him? He squirmed some more, giggled a little louder... he couldn't help it, the fingers were digging in harder.
"What was that?"
"Hey, he's ticklish!"
"Where?"
"Poke him here... "
"Hey, yeah!"
More fingers moved in, mercilessly probing his abs and sides. He squirmed, he let go of the hard cocks he'd been pumping but it did him no good: strong hands grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms up
"No, no," he cried, already nearly breathless with laughter, "don't tickle me, don't!"
His legs were pinned down too, there were bodies pressing in on him from all sides. He'd never survive if they all started tickling him but he didn't have any choice. Before long he couldn't speak, couldn't plead any more, all he could do was laugh. As scared as he was of laughing, of letting them know just how ticklish he was, he threw his head back and roared hysterically as all those hands attacked his abs and sides, ribs and armpits.
Maybe it was the darkness, not being able to see his attackers but he was more ticklish now than he'd ever been in his life. He screamed with laughter as fingers clawed into his armpits and knuckles mashed his ribs. The screams only brought him more punishment: a finger found its way into his navel and twisted and drilled into his guts. His groin was now the property of at least twenty fingers, and his balls were being twiddled like mad. More hands made mincemeat of his inner thighs. No part of him was safe, not even the ticklish spots behind his knees.
It was only a matter of time before they lifted up his feet and he felt, along with everything else, greedy fingers working at the laces of his sneakers. The size 13 sneakers were pulled free and he heard comments made about the rich smell of his socked feet just ready for tickling and it began immediately and fingers run across his socked feet over his arches but then comments about them being warm and sweaty so very sensitive and two ticklers used all of their fingers to tease his feet and Dean forced to give in to the uncontrollable laughter that took over him.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHNOOONOOTMYFEET MYSOCKED FEET OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Horror for Dean as he heard laughter and someone say "You heard him not the socked feet!" and another voice saying "Yeah tickle the fucker's barefeet, I sure as hell am gonna!"
This unrelenting foot tickling was unlike anything Dean had ever experienced, he couldn’t get over how much it tickled, he hated his feet touched but this was too much and he still had his socks on! The ticklers had persisted in stroking both socked feet and their fingers light and proving effective. One of them with his right foot paid particular attention to his arch and centre of his sole while the tickler of his left foot found fun with the balls of his foot and under his toes!
Then he yelled "NOOOO NOT MY BARE FEET COME ON GUYS NOOOOAHAHAHAHHAHAHAASTAAPAPHAHAHAHAPLEEESEHAHAHA!"
Dean threw his head back with huge amounts of loud and hard laughing as his socks off he sensed many ticklers tickling his bare feet. Hands on them changing sensations but all tickling him senseless, fingers up n' down his soles, across ghis arches lower arch, under his toes and fingers slid in between his toes a killer for him as someone gleefully said and Dean woth no choice outnumbered completely gave up fighting it happening and just laughed and laughed and laughed.
A feather slid in between his toes and then another feather but the pointed end dragged slowly up and down the length of his soles and then he heard "Use this and give his feet a brush!" and Dean rduced to non-stop almost manic laughter as 'Bzzzz' the sonicare'e revolving bristles did serious ticklish damage to his feet and then "NOOOOFUCKNNOO!" tongues and soles licked and toes sucked, mouthfuls taken and nibbled, it was hellish and drove Dean berserk!
“OH NO!NO NOT THAT! NOT THAT,NOOO STOP FUCKING TONGUES NOOOOOOO PLEASE!”
His jeans were gone altogether. "Oh fuck stop tickling my feet!" He tried to say it, but his words were broken up by laughter, hysterical laughter that became more hoarse and yet more high-pitched as fingers attacked his soles and toes and the tops of his feet. Soon each breath he managed to take escaped as a high keening wail, and they kept on tickling him.
Then he heard a deep, rasping voice that had said, "Hey, he's ticklish!" and then, "Poke him here." The voice and the hot breath that came with it was right in his ear, and this time it was saying, "Tell me what they're doing to you."
Was he serious? Dean couldn't believe it. All he could do was laugh, and if he was able to get a word out here and there, it was to beg for the tickling to stop. Now this guy wanted him to talk. Dean shook his head, his mouth stretched wide with hilarious laughter.
"If you don't talk," the raspy voice said, "then you get this."
Now Dean felt something he had truly never felt before, as two fingers, two thumbs, more likely stabbed deep into his exposed armpits. They were like pile drivers, and the jolt made his entire body stiffen and tore loose a yell from deep down in his throat. All Dean could think, when he recovered enough to form a coherent thought, was that he now knew what electroshock treatment must feel like.
"Talk to me," the voice rasped again, "or you get the thumbs."
"Oh..fuck... please don't." It took every effort of will just to get those words out, with so many hands tickling him.
"What are they doing to you?" the voice rasped.
"Oh...shit... tickling... my fucking feet!"
"Yeah? What else?"
Some generous guys had been free with their pocket lube, and Dean's groin was now all slicked up. They were slicking up his abs as well, giving a new, slippery feel to the tickling that had Dean sputtering helplessly, he was no more capable of forming words than an infant.
"What else? What else? Tell me, or you're going to get it... "
Again the thumbs drilled into his armpits, and again the jolt was so bad that Dean thought his spine would crack.
So he was trained to narrate what they were doing to him, struggling to get out the words as he also laughed and screamed and begged and panted.
"Tickling my... balls! and... oh shit..sucking my toes. aahhhh, sticking their fingers in... my belly button! Hah, hah, hah, can't... stand it... OH my ribs, tickling my ribs, my toes haahahaha... oh fuck, they've got my thighs... and... what? What are they doing to me...."
They were moving him, adjusting him, lifting his legs. He was their helpless toy, they could bend and flex him however they wanted and he was too weak to defend himself. Lifting and spreading his legs...
"What are they doing to you, what?"
"Fuck... oh no... tickling my asshole!"
Slippery fingers, dozens of them, teased and prodded his asshole, stretching, exploring, poking there was no way he could speak now, his cries were reduced to a pathetic wailing as they twiddled his anus, palped his scrotum, squeezed his thighs, violated his navel... and there was still the same steady tickling of his feet, sides and ribs.
He knew, insofar as he was capable of knowing anything, that it would also come again, the jolt of thumbs screwing powerfully into his armpits and so it did and his dick was harder than it had ever been, leaking pre-cum all over his belly, which slickened his ticklish skin even more, intensifying his torment. He was so weakened by the tickling that he didn't know if he could escape even if they did let him go; but his sexual response was stronger than ever, and when someone grabbed his dick he yelled, his hips thrusting upward all by themselves. One hand pumped his shaft, a mouth closed over his dickhead, and yes, someone was licking his balls now, and more greedy mouths were licking his soles and sucking his toes!
He could no longer separate the sensations, the sucking and jacking and tickling, the licking, poking and stroking. His body had become one nerve that was being stretched to the breaking point and just when he felt that he really would break, his groin began to heave, his cock shook, and he came, filling one hot sucking mouth and then continuing to shoot. Every one of his tormentors slurped from his cock as if it were a drinking fountain.
"Yeah!" they were crying, over and over. "Yeah, yeah, yeah!"
He didn't know he could shoot that big a load. His balls had been turned inside out. As the hands and mouths gradually withdrew, he panted and moaned and offered whispered prayers and curses to the dark. Though he lay perfectly still he felt he was falling, tumbling down and backwards, headed toward inescapable fate. It wasn't over. Far from it. Collective male lust was a force of nature swirling through the humid, dusty air, rocking the floor, shaking the walls. A hand raised his head, shoved a bottle under his nose. It wasn't his bottle of Rush, it was genuine amyl, and it took the top of his head off.
The raspy voice spoke in his ear: "Some new guys have come in, and they're dying to play with you!"
To his horror Dean felt his ankles being secured together so he was helpless as his big feet wiggled back and forth as he tested his new bonds giving him new realization about how helpless he really was. Someone then playfully ran a feather over his soles and through his toes. Dean struggled and fingers then ran from his right heel to the balls of his foot. His foot scrunched as fingers followed the ridges up his sole and then down his sole and same repeated with his left foot as Dean giggled and wiggled his feet as much as he could. Then toes of both feet pulled back and tickled under his toes Dean burst out laughing and struggled like a wild animal. The softness of his soles made the tickling easier and the fact they were lubricated with his foot sweat
“Don’t tickle my feet hahahhahaha!" Dean yelled but both sets of hands tickle his soles and the raspy voice saying
“Cooootchie Coooooo” as Dean's toes flexed and wiggled as he struggled helplessly. The fingers stroked over the tops of his feet as his head rolled from side to side as his giggles became frantic pleads for the ticklers to stop. Then wild with lust mouths attacked Dean's feet, hot tongues worked over his toes and sole and voices saying they tasted so good! Very sweaty from the torment they wiggled like mad in both mouths working on his toes expertly.
Tongues licking in between his toes made the tickling that much worse. His soles and toes licked and mouths chewed on the balls of his feet as his laughter intensified and fingers tickled his soles as they worked his size 13s over expertly. Faces next to his feet lickling them, tongues sliding in between each and every toe a fingers tormented his soft soles. The talented tongues worked slowly through each toe and nibbled on his toes which made him thrash like a crazy man. Then hot tongues worked over his soles and toes again. Dean was consistently tickle tortured until about 6am!
At 6am Dean was sitting on the floor outside the back rooms, leaning against the wall by the men's room door. He had found his jeans and his sneakers, but his socks and t-shirt were lost. Well, he had had to go home shirtless before, he didn't mind as long as it was warm outside but it would take him a while yet to fully recover. His eyes were red and swollen from tears of laughter, his throat felt raw, his ribs were sore, the soles of his feet tingled, and his cock, balls and asshole were almost unbearably tender. Every minute or two his spine gave a shudder, and a weak, hysterical giggle escaped his lips, as if they were all tickling him still. Guys walked past him, leaving him in peace but still eyeing him hungrily and muttering to each other about what had happened in the farthest dark room.
"Never saw a guy get that kind of treatment... "
"Did you see how ticklish his feet were? Fuck they have some funky smell and taste going on!"
"Never saw a guy cum like that, either. Fuckin' puddles on the floor!"
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