tickles_me
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2009
- Messages
- 119
- Points
- 0
Not another Puritan stocks punishment story! I know, I know. If it's any consolation this features zero feather tickling. Being tickled like this is a fantasy of mine so I simply couldn't help myself.
That said, if you can get past the trite concept and would like to illustrate any part of this original narrative, you have my permission/blessing/gratitude.
Also I'm undecided on more parts. It may or may not depend on how many/whether anybody would like to see it continued.
Thanks all.
Jonah Repents
A panel of five judges, stern-faced and elderly, sentenced twenty-four-year-old Jonah to five consecutive nights in the stocks in town square. Two male executioners would carry out his punishment from dawn to dusk each day and leave him to whomever happened by overnight. Jonah was found guilty of soliciting the affection of an innocent woman without her father’s permission - Helen, a girl he had known his whole life and had been caught kissing behind the barn, watched with her father as they led Jonah to the square with his hands tied.
Three sets of stocks stood in the square, facing out from each other so that a circled crowd could watch the pained expressions of up to three criminals at once. Jonah was quiet as they led him to the nearest set and began to prepare him, untying his hands and sitting him down on the stool behind the head stocks. He was large and could easily overpower his handlers, but chose to comply quietly; fighting would shame his family further.
They removed his shirt and hung it on a nail sticking out of the stocks. Jonah was tall and brawny, a farmhand for his father since the day he could walk - the hair on his body was blonde and glistened in the sun, his skin tan but soft and healthy.
His head and wrists were laid and locked into their respective holes - his legs were stretched forward and ankles rested in foot stocks. They removed his shoes and Jonah flexed his meaty hands and feet, feeling out his bonds for comfort. His limbs fit snugly. His sandy blonde hair fell over deep blue eyes as he scanned the collecting crowd; word was spreading. Butterflies were pounding around his hairy chest and stomach.
“Jonah.” The taller executioner, a bearded thin man named Roland, sat beside his head to look in his eyes. “You have been tried and found guilty of the crime of coveting a woman without permission from her father. We will now commence your sentence of five days of torture. You have valued your body above the authority of another man and shall feel the repercussions of such hubris.”
The other man, Henry, was not tall or short but had gleaming, excited eyes in his mask. Jonah was sweating with anticipation; his mouth was dry and he felt humiliated and exposed, the soles of his feet facing the handful of villagers that has gathered. They were thick and soft despite his lifetime of farm work, the soles slightly pink.
“Get him!”
“Boy needs a right proper lesson.”
The crowd grew excited as the two men positioned themselves around Jonah. They each pulled on heavy leather gloves with dull spikes tipping the fingertips, their hands flexing and settling into the new skin. Roland walked behind Jonah where he could not see and Henry stepped over one of his legs into the triangle of space between them, facing him.
“I’ll start!” Roland said from behind him.
Jonah jumped and clenched as he felt the silver fingernails land on his shoulders. The nails tapped and scratched lightly to his elbows down and back to the tops of his shoulders; a rash of goosebumps broke out along his arms and the nerves down his back and ribcage tingled with anticipation. Down to his elbows and scritch scritch scritch back up, down and up again - they tickled the back of his neck a little and he shrugged. He held his breath as his shoulders tightened.
The hands traveled back up and down his arms, taking advantage of the long time they had and increasing his nervousness. The more nervous Jonah felt the more the tapping silver nails tickled. He knew he deserved to be punished and wanted to take it with dignity. A man takes responsibility for his weak moments and repents - Heaven and the Law called for this penance. He was to be sorry and would be forgiven fully after serving his sentence.
His torturers’ metal claws stroked and raised, landed under his bent elbows and tickled backward toward his armpits. Jonah’s biceps clenched and his breath caught, the nerves twitching, just as the points lifted and landed again beneath his elbows. His breath trembled and gasped as he tried to retain control - the soft skin under his arms was gently, methodically poked and scraped. His insides wiggled and zapped with every climbing inch of tickles, the skin down his shoulders and back tingling in waves. The fingers traveled over and down between his shoulder blades and lightly clawed down the muscles either side of his spine; Jonah groaned and his eyes clenched. His spine flexed and his whole back straightened; he held his breath and felt his restraint begin to crumble.
“Hoo boy!! Roland you should see his face! You're awful sensitive for a big fella,” Henry said, watching from between his legs. Somehow this made things worse and a coughing laugh barked from behind his clenched teeth. “His face is redder than a tomato!”
Roland's big hands climbed back up his back muscles to the nape of his neck, the fingernails walking faster and faster. Jonah’s body squirmed and contorted, his trapped fingers flexing, his torso curving away from the white-hot, pointy fingernails.
“That's a boy, let it out. You can't hold out. Tickle tickle tickle. You're done for. Kootchy kootchy kootchy,” Roland began to tease. Jonah panted and shook, his hands and feet flapping in their bonds; his blue eyes crossed as he fought desperately to fight the torture. He knew Roland was right and the verbal teasing broke him down.
Roland's hands clawed downward again, quicker, and Jonah’s spine vibrated; he groaned loudly, the sound punctuated by hiccups of laughter.
“Oh here we go. That’s it you big beast, laugh. Laugh for the crowd. This is only the beginning. Tickle tickle tickle, let it out. Kootchy kootchy koo.”
On their way back up, the tapping silver nails crawled like evil spiders around his ribcage and into his hairy armpits. They pressed into the skin in his big hollows and scrabbled erratically, back and forth, up and down the pit.
Jonah lost all control as the intense tickling grabbed his entire torso and squeezed. He let loose a tidal wave of uncontrollable peals of screaming laughter as the nails scrabbled and poked in his trapped pits. Scritch scritch scritch. Skittered out and in, up and down. They poked just hard enough to activate a shockwave of hilarity that poured out of his gaping mouth. He yanked hard on his hands, trapped in holes on either side of his face, but his arms remained separated from his body and the pointed nails attacked his pits.
“MWWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAA!! AAAAHHHHHAHAHAHAAAA!” Jonah bellowed, large farmhand muscles convulsing against his bonds; his ribcage flexed and forced the sounds out. “OHHHNOOOAAAAAHAHAHAAA!” His hands and feet flapped open, the fingers and toes reaching out for help that would not come. Jonah’s face and neck were flushed a deep red as he struggled in his bonds.
Rolling guffaws tumbled out of him as the tickling hands slowed to a single finger on each side, slowly tracing circles in only the hairs of the pits. After ten or twelve careful loops the nails suddenly clamped, wiggling furiously, back into his pits.
Startled by the intense tickling escalation Jonah howled, his head shaking back and forth, begging, as his tear-filled blue eyes raised to the sky. The nails scrabbled until his laughter was silent, and then returned to single-finger hair tickling as he took giggly, heaving breaths.
Five...six..seven...then they clawed and clamped into the pit hollows again, grabbing and scrabbling mercilessly. Jonah squealed and laughed, twisting uselessly in his bondage. Scritch scritch scrabble scrabble the nails darted in and and around his ticklish armpits.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHMWWAAAHHHAHAAHAHAAAAAHAAAA!! STAAAAAHAAHAAAASTAAAAHAAAHAOHGAAAAHA *gasp* STAAAHHHPPHHHAAAHAHA!”
Again, he was tickled breathless and the nails retreated to the tips of his pit hairs. And again, they slammed back into his pits. He screeched, high pitched and strained, then fell into breathless cackling. And again, and again until Jonah was sobbing and wheezing for air.
The hands crawled back out of his armpits and along the undersides of his biceps, around the outsides of his arms, back to his shoulders and down his spine again.
Jonah chuckled and his body wiggled back and forth, slower than before; the laughing continued to ebb and flow as the hands moved around his torso. They tickled up and down his back, which caused him to stiffen reflexively. They tickled up and down the tops of his arms, and across the tops of his shoulders and the base of his neck - back and forth, back and forth. Goosebumps ran down his shoulders and back and he giggled endlessly. It tickled enough that he couldn't stand it quietly, sensitive as he was.
“You may not make it five whole days, eh boy? Ho man! You're already crying and it ain't been more’n an hour!” Henry teased him, waving his metal tipped gloves in front of Jonah’s tear-stained face. “You are going to learn a stern lesson, son.”
Wave after wave of steady hilarity rolled out of Jonah as Henry’s words processed in his mind; his hands flexed and his feet flapped in their bonds. The silver claws tickled up and down his back, walked around his ribcage and into his pits - grab grab poke poke - as he wriggled like a worm, every touch zapping laughter into his belly. When they touched his pits he shrieked and his elbows waved, his hands flexed - shockwaves of ticklish sensation rolled from where the nails tickled under his arms, down his aides and into his belly. He howled with laughter and tried to beg forgiveness; Henry was right, he could not live through five days of this.
Henry watched the display, expressionless in his mask, from directly in front of Jonah. Members of the crowd made comments that Jonah could not be bothered to comprehend. He was lost in the sensations of ten silver point tapping, scratching and grasping his arms and back. Tickling him relentlessly. His ribs began to ache from the extended exertion of clenching.
Eventually, Roland reached around and tickled Jonah’s fuzzy stomach, poking one silver nail into his belly button and scrambling the fingers of the other around and around. Scritch scritch, back and forth, again and again. Around his waist and over his kidneys, back and around his waist to his belly. And back across the belly, and around and over the kidneys - meanwhile, his body contorted to avoid the tickling fingers as they scraped and tapped his belly and back. Jonah could not get away and instead shrieked and cackled.
The hands crawled up the front of his body, tickling his ribs and his pecs and nipples. Jonah continued to squirm and laugh, his hands flexing into fists.
“Haahahaheeheeeoohooaaahaa,” he chuckled. This would go on for five whole days; despite his smiling happy face Jonah wanted to cry. Henry had not even touched him yet.
The hands tickled up into his armpits again, swiftly diving in and scrabbling the nails up and down the hollows. They dug in past the thick dark hair and poked, all five, grab grab grab, stab and poke. As he had each time before, Jonah was instantly lost in a flood of hysterics at the pit tickling.
“I think I will tickle you just here for an entire afternoon. Kootchy kootchy koo you devil child. Laugh that lust out. Laugh young man, and take your penance. Tickle tickle tickle. These big armpits are so sensitive it's a wonder you can call yourself a man at all. You laugh like a little boy! Kootchy kootchy koo, little boy!” Roland taunted, the words adding power to the tickle torture and sending Jonah into another teary-eyed fit of laughter. His head shook back and forth and he struggled to mouth words like “please” and “stop”.
Roland reduced the poking fingers to one on each side poking and stabbing firmly, pressing into the apex of his pit hollows. They jabbed up and down, up and down; he yanked in his arms harder and squealed louder when they dug into the lowest point of his pits where they met his ribcage. So Roland poked there for two whole minutes while Jonah squealed and cackled and squirmed with renewed vigor.
“OOHHNOOOAAAHAHAHAHAEEEEEEEHEEEEEAHAAAAA!!” Jonah cried, surprised that he was so desperate. The longer it went on the more intense the tickling sensations; every touch was hilarious, his muscles yanked futily to protect his soft sensitive hollows. Sweat beaded on his back and flushed face.
Suddenly, Roland stopped.
Jonah’s body sagged and he struggled to catch his breath; tears fell from his eyes as giggles escaped his body involuntarily. It took him several minutes to calm down, his body slowly relaxing as huge breaths heaved in and out of him. His red face began to whiten again and his head sagged, his hands and feet limp.
It was then that Henry raised his claw-gloved hands, flexing the fingers menacingly in front of Jonah’s trapped face; the young man’s eyes widened and he licked his lips, his head shaking “no”. He knew he was deserving of this punishment but was unable to keep from wishing it were over already. It had been an hour and he was already tortured and exhausted.
Henry’s hands lowered over Jonah’s knees; Jonah was wearing loose linen shorts, so the nails landed on bare skin over his kneecaps. Five nails on each hand started on the knee cap and traveled down to the tendons. Then back up, and down, and down. Jonah’s legs twitched and a smile tugged on his mouth as he watched the hands with wide eyes; he was unaware that Henry stared right at him, watching his face carefully for every reaction.
“Ho, boy, I can see you're already repenting! That's a boy! Just think how cleansed you'll be by Saturday. If you thought your armpits were ticklish, boy, just you wait. Cause here comes ol’ Henry. Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha,” he teased, softly, so only Jonah could hear. The young man’s breaths were short and fast, his hands already clenched into fists; his legs trembled with every touch as Henry barely teased his knee joints.
Jonah swallowed hard as he watched the nail-tipped hands; they began to crawl up his knee towards his thighs. Henry watched hungrily as Jonah’s worried face contorted, his eyes crossed and he struggled to keep his mouth closed. “Let it out, son. You're wasting energy fighting it. Go ahead and give ol’ Henry a giggle, hmm? Getcha getcha getcha.”
The nails pressed firmly into the muscles above his knees and the fingers walked, deliberately, up his thighs. They swayed from side to side, tickling and poking inside and on top and across to the outsides of his thick, hairy thigh muscles.
“I see you fightin’ it. Just give us a laugh, a little kootchy kootchy koo giggle.”
His legs clenched and convulsed, the combination of the intense poking and stern taunting became too much - Jonah let out a desperate wail that collapsed into devastated laughter.
“GrRrUUUHHNNNGGAAAAAHAAA! WAAAHAAAAHAAAHAHAAA!!”
Poke, grab, poke, grab. The nails traveled slowly and poked deeply up, up, creeping under his linen shorts. As they grabbed at his legs beneath his clothes, up his thighs, his whole body shook and pulled against his bondage. Jonah could not help the need to pull on his arms and legs, the instinctual drive to protect his most sensitive place overcoming any conscious thoughts. He cackled endlessly.
He could feel his penis and scrotum electrify with anticipation, unsure whether Henry would touch him there; Henry’s tickling hands made their way, crawling toward the crease where Jonah’s legs and hips met. Jonah’s meaty legs trembled and strained and shook, his toes flapping and hands clenched into white fists. He laughed as if from the most hilarious joke, the sensations tumbling up from his belly anticipating the tickling of his sensitive member. His stomach pulled in, trying to pull his body away from the creeping, poking fingernails. They crept intently onward and he began to feel as if they were already tickling him between his legs. Electric tingles zapped his nerves and he squealed and laughed.
“That's right young man. I am coming for your devil’s stick. Tick tock. One...more...tickle…tickle...here...I…COME!!”
On the final word, the clawing hands leapt into the dip where his hip bones met his thighs, the deep crevice and major tendon holding his legs to his body, and tickled HARD. Jonah screamed, unable to laugh or breathe or think; his body stiffened and strained as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning and he wailed, his head slamming back and forth. His jaw fell open to allow as much space as possible for the last of his breath to race out of his open throat.
“GOTCHA GOTCHA GOTCHA!! SCREAM, BOY! TICKLE TICKLE! LET IT OUT!” Henry continued to taunt without letting up on the intensity of his tickling, jabbing pointy fingers into the entire joint of the man’s legs, from under the ball sack to the direct inside; up and across, into the crease along the top of his legs. Then he moved back down inside the joints, under his balls, stabbing and poking relentlessly. Jonah’s face contorted into a disturbing combination of strained laughter and sobbing; his head was held high by adrenaline and electricity radiating from his groin. He could do nothing to protect himself, could not close his legs or cover himself with his hands. His face was frozen in a mask of hilarity.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” It was one sound that trailed into a wordless scream; the hands grabbed under his ass cheeks and worked their way back up, pinching firmly into the tendons on either side of his now-turgid penis. His balls swayed and the dick waved back and forth under his linen shorts as his body convulsed and heaved with tortured laughter.
Finally the nails scrawled away from his genitals and back down his legs, which continued to shake involuntarily with every tap and poke. The metal nails scraped and dragged down the length of his legs, over the knees and down the shins to his ankles where they disappeared into the stocks.
Jonah’s screaming subsided into sobbing laughter, then soft sobs only, and he hung his head while his feet kicked at the tickling of his ankle bones. The nails scrabbled and tapped from inside to outside, poking into the stock holes as if they meant to reach his feet; although it was obvious they could not, the idea struck him as hilarious and he was overcome with giggles.
“Heheheeeheeheee.” His toes clenched. “Youuhohohorraaahaha kiiehehehellingaananaana meeeeheeeeheeee!” He managed to cackle as the nails prodded and poked back up his shins. His legs shook and flexed as the nails tickled back up and began, again, to drag under and over his knees.
“HAHAHHAAH!” Jonah laughed, the frustrated crying replaced with involuntary hysteria. He prayed that Henry would not reach all the way into his shorts again - the memory of the tickling intensity was enough to cause shrieking laughter.
To his devastation, Henry’s ferocious, tickling metal fingertips made their way up into his shorts’ legs again, the fingers walking like spiders towards his erect penis and tight balls. Jonah’s legs kicked desperately and he screamed with laughter, his head thrashing back and forth, begging. Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he cackled and cried, the claws’ creeping tickling him senseless.
“Are you ready for it, Jonah? Here come the tickles! Here...we...COME!”
“NOOOOOAAAHAHHAPPLEEAAHAASNOOAAAHAHAA!” He cried.
Again, the claws dug viciously into his trapped legs’ crevices, poking with deep, intent jabs and driving Jonah completely insane. His shrieking laughter rang out of the town square, drawing a larger and larger crowd. He began to hear jeering and taunts from the people around him.
“Look at his pecker! It grew!”
“Draw the list from that poor boy!”
“Laugh, devil! Laugh the evil from your soul!”
“You're gonna kill the boy, Henry!”
“Roland! Are ya taking the day off?”
Jonah had all but forgotten Roland, and his eyes snapped open wide as he remembered his other torturer. Roland laughed heartily and clawed his silver nails, counting down to resuming his tickle assault on Jonah’s upper body.
“Ready, lad? One...two...THREE!”
He clapped his hands together into Jonah’s armpits and the boy screamed bloody murder. He thrashed and cried and flapped his head, hands and feet with total abandon. His blonde tresses stuck to his beet red face with sweat, his body was wet and his mouth contorted and drooling. Desperate wailing poured out of him as he was tickled mad. He regretted his stolen kiss with every fiber of his tickled, exhausted body.
Henry drew his hands from inside Jonah’s pants and waived his nails before the boy’s eyes; Roland withdrew his hands from Jonah’s armpits. The boy could barely breathe, her alone make a sound. For several minutes, as the crowd jeered, the two men believed Jonah to be unconscious. His heavy breathing was labored and his limbs were limp.
They had tickled him for only a couple of hours and he was already destroyed. His muscles trembled slightly for want of oxygen, his skin felt hot and sensitive. Jonah was painfully aware of the erection tight in his pants and the crowd’s comments about it and his listful ways. He wanted to cry but was too exhausted; he had no tears left.
“You will now be allowed ten minutes’ respite and a drink of water.” Roland and Henry stood and walked away. Another man made his way through the crowd with a bucket and presented a ladle of cool well water to Jonah. He sniffled and coughed, then allowed the man to pour the water carefully into his open mouth. Jonah’s toes flexed and stretched, his hands rotating and his torso beginning to relax. He was served his fill of water; he drank half of a bucket.
When the water man retreated Jonah sagged into his bondage; some of the crowd wandered off to get on with their day. Some talked loudly of the tortures to come and his need for repentance; others spoke of his obvious hard-on. Jonah tried to ignore them and simply recover, his eyes closed and his sweaty head hanging limply.
He jumped with surprise and cried out when he felt someone straddle his lap. His eyes snapped open to see the butcher’s wife, Agnes, plump and scowling, legs spread over him and her crotch pressed into his stiff penis. She covered his head and face with her shawl, and Jonah gasped, confused. He was good friends with Agnes’ husband, Dalton, the butcher - she was buxom and soft, dark hair tied in a bun on her head. Jonah knew that she cared for him and was worried for his eternal, tainted soul. He did not want her to do what he knew she was about to, even though he knew the good in it. Filled with regret and shaky with exhaustion, Jonah was glad no one could see him cry behind the shawl.
Agnes leaned in and whispered, “You poor child, the devil is in you, and driving you by your most evil parts. I will help release you from your suffering - and hide your shame from those around us. Hush, child. Let it go.” Agnes's began to rock against his erection through his shorts, her large warm hips riding his waist and rubbing under his shaft and along his balls. Jonah stiffened and groaned, barely able to comprehend what was happening to him, let alone combat it.
“Muh...Muh...mmmMMPPHH,” he groaned into the tight shawl. The fabric was thick enough to hide his face and sheer enough for him to breathe, with some effort.
The feeling in his belly and legs became liquid and oily, and he could feel his shorts become moist with both of their excitement. Agnes's rocked him and held him and shushed him, urging him to allow the devil to be released from him. Jonah listened and obeyed, his hips rocking against hers and rubbing the head of his cock against her warm crotch.
Rock, rock, rock, rock...in mere minutes, Jonah let out a deep grunt and his body froze, extended, trembled and finally sagged. He gasped into his shawl face mask, fingers and toes wiggling. Jonah was completely exhausted and fully aware of the lack of recovery time remaining. He let out a cry into the shawl as Anges held him.
“That's a boy. Let it all out. This will all pass, and the evil will be driven from you, lad.”
Their tender comfort went on for as long as it could before the inevitable return of Roland and Henry. Agnes rose and kissed his forehead gently before returning to her husband, who greeted her with approval. Jonah could not look his friend, Agnes’ husband, in the eye.
Roland and Henry each sat on a stool beside one of Jonah’s large, meaty feet poking out of the stocks. They each carried a bucket which was set beside them. Jonah could not see his own feet over the wooden walls but he did not care. His head hung in resignation as he tried to ready himself for the next onslaught.
Henry and Roland each splashed cold water on Jonah’s feet, which were calloused and rough from his lifetime of manual labor at home. A softening salve was rubbed with their still-gloved hands all over his heels, the balls of his feet and his toes. Jonah accepted these actions without response or comment. Next, the men removed universe stones from the water and began to scrub the rough places on Jonah’s feet.
Scrub scrub, rub rub scrape - the thicker the skin, the less he felt. It almost felt good, comforting, for several minutes until the torturers reached the tender new skin beneath. Jonah’s feet and toes jerked immediately as the rough rocks were scraped continually over the sensitized balls and heels of his feet. As the tickling jolted up his legs, into his belly, an involuntary smile slowly grew on his face. Jonah’s breath came in short gasps and he began to laugh quietly, overcome with giggles just as they moved on to the thick skin on other parts of his feet.
This went on for another hour, the torturers rubbing dead, nerve-less skin from a part of each foot until it was sensitive enough to crack him - then they moved on, and he was kept on the edge of tickling and giggles every few minutes.
As his smiles became giggles, Henry (who was never not watching Jonah’s every reaction) would shout, “THERE he is!” and they would move on.
Scrub scrub scrub scrub - his face contorted into a forced half grin - scrub scrub scrub - his breath caught and a little grunt escaped - scrub scrub Scritch scritch - Jonah tittered and his head shook.
“There he is!” Henry said, and they moved their stones to another part of his feet. Scritch scritch scrub scrub - his smile tugged - scratch scrub scrub…
“There he is!”
Jonah was unable to recover from the sensitizing orgasm or the continual ebb and flow of the tickles on his feet, punctuated with the constant reminder that they were intentionally bringing him to the edge and back.
They finished this endless process with the very backs of his heels, scrubbing until he laughed out loud and then they each suddenly dropped the stones. Jonah had time for a single deep breath before ten pointy silver fingernails attacked his feet, scratching furiously from the heels up the flat arches to the plump balls of his feet and into the clenching toes; they scrabbled up and over to the tops of his feet and, when Jonah flexed to protect the tops they each used one hand to tickle the exposed soles. As Jonah’s feet flapped side to side, the two men’s hands followed, keeping both sensitive, shorn feet trapped in a tickling sandwich.
“BWWAAHAAAHAAAAHAAA!! AAAAHAHAAAMMMERRHERRHEERCYYYYYYAAAAHAEEEHEEHEEE!” Jonah cried, deep belly laughter tumbling from him like water. He couldn't move his feet far enough away or hide them from the torment, the merciless tapping and scratching of the twenty metal claws on his soles and balls and arches, atop and in the creases of his pudgy, hairy toes.
“Sensitive as a child, eh Jonah? It's amazing what a little stone can do to improve your penance. Kootchy kootchy koo boy! It seems someone helped you out while we were gone,” Roland said from the other side of the stocks, referring to his wet shorts and reduced erection.
Jonah was busy giggling heartily at the tickling in his feet. It slowly dawned on him that his bladder felt full.
“Now that we have warmed you up,” said Henry. He and Roland stopped their nails and reached again into the buckets, each removing a round brush with a strap to attach to their palms. The bristles of the brushes were metal cones, set in three concentric circles . Jonah’s big toes were tied to the stocks boards, strapped back with thin twine and immobilizing his feet. Ronald and Henry slipped the straps over their gloves and set the brushes against their palms - Jonah could only see their shoulders and the tops of their arms over the stocks board, and had no idea what they were doing.
The men began to scrub the bottoms of his feet in little circles, looping up from his heels over his thick arches and toward his straining, flexing toes.
Jonah yowled through clenched teeth, a deep rumbling groan broken up by laughter from his chest. His legs kicked and he shook his head as if in disbelief - the cone points rubbed and scratched deeply into his pumiced feet and the sensation was an intense combination of ticklish and painful.
The curry combs made their way in tiny loops up the bottoms of his feet, over his thick heels and into the bottoms of his arches. With his big toes tied back to the board, his soles were stretched tight and were clean and pink from the torturers’ stone ministrations.
Jonah howled and cried, unable to move his ticklish feet away from the deeply scratching brushes. He most definitely had to pee and the harder he laughed the more pressure it put on his bladder. Jonah didn't want to wet his pants in front of everyone, but he couldn't get away or even beg.
The scrubbing brushes circled further up and his desperation increased. His toes tingled with anticipation as the brushes rubbed and rubbed their way toward his toes; they flexed uselessly in their bondage.
“OHHHLOOOHOOHOOHRRSSSSAAHAHAAYVEMEEHEHEHEHEEAAAAHAAAAAHAHAHAAAA!” Jonah begged as his feet were tickled mercilessly.
“A little boy with ladies’ feet!” Roland said. “I've never seen a man more ticklish in my whole life!”
Jonah sobbed and laughed. He couldn't see how they were doing it but he had never experienced any sensation like it. When the needles rubbing his feet touched his toes he let out a long scream. His belly tightened and his bladder aches. Roland and Henry looked up without stopping; as the wail died out they taunted him.
“You can scream all you want boy but it makes it worse. It's the laughter that cleanses. Kootchy koo, take all those tickles and let them out your belly.”
“Give us those giggles, son. We are gonna take em right out of these big ol toes.”
They were relentless with the circles scrubbing Jonah’s toes and the balls of his feet. Jonah’s scream was replaced with involuntary belly laughter; scrub scrub scrub. His toes wiggled and his stomach heaved as he laughed; he felt as if he would burst. Giggles welled up in Jonah’s belly again and he was forced to let them out. Finally, a hot piss stain grew in his shorts as his bladder let go; thick yellow drops ran off the bench he was on and dropped into the dry dirt under him.
Jonah sobbed as the scrub brushes scraped up and down his soles. They circled on his toes and scraped up and down again.
“That's it big boy let it out! A responsible man would hold his filth. Only boys let it go! Tickle tickle! It was these toes wasn't it? Tickle tickle toes!” Henry said.
The tickling continued while Jonah giggled and cried. The crowd began to shout.
“His devil stick has risen again!”
“The boy is filled with sin!”
Henry and Roland stopped their merciless foot scrubbing to peer over the stocks at Jonah’s crotch. His penis was stiff again. Jonah cried sincerely at the thought that they would need to tickle him harder, further to purge him of the lustful demon.
“Nooohoohoo,” he whimpered. “Pleeeheeeheeeese.”
“Indeed!” Henry shouted. “The devil has risen again! We shall takes trigger action against the vileness in this boy!”
Jonah continued to whimper and whine as the two men abandoned his feet and walked behind him.
“Please! PLEASE! Don't tickle my armpits! PLEASE DON’T!” Jonah shrieked in anticipation, the thought of those pointed metal fingers dancing in his pits causing waves of tortured panic to crash through him.
“Oh ho ho!” Henry chuckled. “Don't you worry, Jonah! We won't forget those delicate underarms of yours. But first!”
Jonah moaned and shook his head, bracing himself for an onslaught. Instead, he felt a clang in the bench beneath him and a panel slid out from under his ass. Jonah then felt his linen shorts pulled away from his taint and heard a small tear, followed by a slight waft of air.
“No no no NO NO NO!” he begged, his head thrashing and legs kicking.
Four hands and twenty metal nails snuck into his ripped shorts and viciously attacked his taint and dangling ballsack. They scrabbled behind his sack, poking and scratching; then tickled forward to poke the very bottoms of the balls. Some of the nails poked curiously farther up and scratched his ass or his thigh creases.
Jonah went completely ballistic, having had an orgasm and currently sporting another erection, his balls were tight and electric.
Ten nails tapped and scraped the runway behind his scrotum, drawing little tight circles and short red lines in his secret crevice. Five each met at the very tip of each testicle and dragged upwards, tickling up to the crease where they hung from his taint and dragging back down. Up, and down. Up and down. Jonah wailed and cackled, his tongue lolling out, tears streaking his face and his hair splattered all over his head. His legs kicked like a jackrabbit, jolt after tickling torturous jolt ripping through his muscles.
“Let it out Jonah! Release the devil from your body!”
“Look at him! Repent boy!”
Jonah screamed and wiggled in his bonds, his arms and legs again straining futilely to protect his most sensitive parts. He could do nothing but laugh and cry as they tickled and tickled him underneath.
When Roland raised both hands to grab maniacally at his belly, ribs and armpits - grab grab grab belly grab grab grab ribs ribs ribs grab grab grab pits pits pits - Jonah could make no sound, could draw no breath and, finally, passed out.
That said, if you can get past the trite concept and would like to illustrate any part of this original narrative, you have my permission/blessing/gratitude.
Also I'm undecided on more parts. It may or may not depend on how many/whether anybody would like to see it continued.
Thanks all.
Jonah Repents
A panel of five judges, stern-faced and elderly, sentenced twenty-four-year-old Jonah to five consecutive nights in the stocks in town square. Two male executioners would carry out his punishment from dawn to dusk each day and leave him to whomever happened by overnight. Jonah was found guilty of soliciting the affection of an innocent woman without her father’s permission - Helen, a girl he had known his whole life and had been caught kissing behind the barn, watched with her father as they led Jonah to the square with his hands tied.
Three sets of stocks stood in the square, facing out from each other so that a circled crowd could watch the pained expressions of up to three criminals at once. Jonah was quiet as they led him to the nearest set and began to prepare him, untying his hands and sitting him down on the stool behind the head stocks. He was large and could easily overpower his handlers, but chose to comply quietly; fighting would shame his family further.
They removed his shirt and hung it on a nail sticking out of the stocks. Jonah was tall and brawny, a farmhand for his father since the day he could walk - the hair on his body was blonde and glistened in the sun, his skin tan but soft and healthy.
His head and wrists were laid and locked into their respective holes - his legs were stretched forward and ankles rested in foot stocks. They removed his shoes and Jonah flexed his meaty hands and feet, feeling out his bonds for comfort. His limbs fit snugly. His sandy blonde hair fell over deep blue eyes as he scanned the collecting crowd; word was spreading. Butterflies were pounding around his hairy chest and stomach.
“Jonah.” The taller executioner, a bearded thin man named Roland, sat beside his head to look in his eyes. “You have been tried and found guilty of the crime of coveting a woman without permission from her father. We will now commence your sentence of five days of torture. You have valued your body above the authority of another man and shall feel the repercussions of such hubris.”
The other man, Henry, was not tall or short but had gleaming, excited eyes in his mask. Jonah was sweating with anticipation; his mouth was dry and he felt humiliated and exposed, the soles of his feet facing the handful of villagers that has gathered. They were thick and soft despite his lifetime of farm work, the soles slightly pink.
“Get him!”
“Boy needs a right proper lesson.”
The crowd grew excited as the two men positioned themselves around Jonah. They each pulled on heavy leather gloves with dull spikes tipping the fingertips, their hands flexing and settling into the new skin. Roland walked behind Jonah where he could not see and Henry stepped over one of his legs into the triangle of space between them, facing him.
“I’ll start!” Roland said from behind him.
Jonah jumped and clenched as he felt the silver fingernails land on his shoulders. The nails tapped and scratched lightly to his elbows down and back to the tops of his shoulders; a rash of goosebumps broke out along his arms and the nerves down his back and ribcage tingled with anticipation. Down to his elbows and scritch scritch scritch back up, down and up again - they tickled the back of his neck a little and he shrugged. He held his breath as his shoulders tightened.
The hands traveled back up and down his arms, taking advantage of the long time they had and increasing his nervousness. The more nervous Jonah felt the more the tapping silver nails tickled. He knew he deserved to be punished and wanted to take it with dignity. A man takes responsibility for his weak moments and repents - Heaven and the Law called for this penance. He was to be sorry and would be forgiven fully after serving his sentence.
His torturers’ metal claws stroked and raised, landed under his bent elbows and tickled backward toward his armpits. Jonah’s biceps clenched and his breath caught, the nerves twitching, just as the points lifted and landed again beneath his elbows. His breath trembled and gasped as he tried to retain control - the soft skin under his arms was gently, methodically poked and scraped. His insides wiggled and zapped with every climbing inch of tickles, the skin down his shoulders and back tingling in waves. The fingers traveled over and down between his shoulder blades and lightly clawed down the muscles either side of his spine; Jonah groaned and his eyes clenched. His spine flexed and his whole back straightened; he held his breath and felt his restraint begin to crumble.
“Hoo boy!! Roland you should see his face! You're awful sensitive for a big fella,” Henry said, watching from between his legs. Somehow this made things worse and a coughing laugh barked from behind his clenched teeth. “His face is redder than a tomato!”
Roland's big hands climbed back up his back muscles to the nape of his neck, the fingernails walking faster and faster. Jonah’s body squirmed and contorted, his trapped fingers flexing, his torso curving away from the white-hot, pointy fingernails.
“That's a boy, let it out. You can't hold out. Tickle tickle tickle. You're done for. Kootchy kootchy kootchy,” Roland began to tease. Jonah panted and shook, his hands and feet flapping in their bonds; his blue eyes crossed as he fought desperately to fight the torture. He knew Roland was right and the verbal teasing broke him down.
Roland's hands clawed downward again, quicker, and Jonah’s spine vibrated; he groaned loudly, the sound punctuated by hiccups of laughter.
“Oh here we go. That’s it you big beast, laugh. Laugh for the crowd. This is only the beginning. Tickle tickle tickle, let it out. Kootchy kootchy koo.”
On their way back up, the tapping silver nails crawled like evil spiders around his ribcage and into his hairy armpits. They pressed into the skin in his big hollows and scrabbled erratically, back and forth, up and down the pit.
Jonah lost all control as the intense tickling grabbed his entire torso and squeezed. He let loose a tidal wave of uncontrollable peals of screaming laughter as the nails scrabbled and poked in his trapped pits. Scritch scritch scritch. Skittered out and in, up and down. They poked just hard enough to activate a shockwave of hilarity that poured out of his gaping mouth. He yanked hard on his hands, trapped in holes on either side of his face, but his arms remained separated from his body and the pointed nails attacked his pits.
“MWWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAA!! AAAAHHHHHAHAHAHAAAA!” Jonah bellowed, large farmhand muscles convulsing against his bonds; his ribcage flexed and forced the sounds out. “OHHHNOOOAAAAAHAHAHAAA!” His hands and feet flapped open, the fingers and toes reaching out for help that would not come. Jonah’s face and neck were flushed a deep red as he struggled in his bonds.
Rolling guffaws tumbled out of him as the tickling hands slowed to a single finger on each side, slowly tracing circles in only the hairs of the pits. After ten or twelve careful loops the nails suddenly clamped, wiggling furiously, back into his pits.
Startled by the intense tickling escalation Jonah howled, his head shaking back and forth, begging, as his tear-filled blue eyes raised to the sky. The nails scrabbled until his laughter was silent, and then returned to single-finger hair tickling as he took giggly, heaving breaths.
Five...six..seven...then they clawed and clamped into the pit hollows again, grabbing and scrabbling mercilessly. Jonah squealed and laughed, twisting uselessly in his bondage. Scritch scritch scrabble scrabble the nails darted in and and around his ticklish armpits.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHMWWAAAHHHAHAAHAHAAAAAHAAAA!! STAAAAAHAAHAAAASTAAAAHAAAHAOHGAAAAHA *gasp* STAAAHHHPPHHHAAAHAHA!”
Again, he was tickled breathless and the nails retreated to the tips of his pit hairs. And again, they slammed back into his pits. He screeched, high pitched and strained, then fell into breathless cackling. And again, and again until Jonah was sobbing and wheezing for air.
The hands crawled back out of his armpits and along the undersides of his biceps, around the outsides of his arms, back to his shoulders and down his spine again.
Jonah chuckled and his body wiggled back and forth, slower than before; the laughing continued to ebb and flow as the hands moved around his torso. They tickled up and down his back, which caused him to stiffen reflexively. They tickled up and down the tops of his arms, and across the tops of his shoulders and the base of his neck - back and forth, back and forth. Goosebumps ran down his shoulders and back and he giggled endlessly. It tickled enough that he couldn't stand it quietly, sensitive as he was.
“You may not make it five whole days, eh boy? Ho man! You're already crying and it ain't been more’n an hour!” Henry teased him, waving his metal tipped gloves in front of Jonah’s tear-stained face. “You are going to learn a stern lesson, son.”
Wave after wave of steady hilarity rolled out of Jonah as Henry’s words processed in his mind; his hands flexed and his feet flapped in their bonds. The silver claws tickled up and down his back, walked around his ribcage and into his pits - grab grab poke poke - as he wriggled like a worm, every touch zapping laughter into his belly. When they touched his pits he shrieked and his elbows waved, his hands flexed - shockwaves of ticklish sensation rolled from where the nails tickled under his arms, down his aides and into his belly. He howled with laughter and tried to beg forgiveness; Henry was right, he could not live through five days of this.
Henry watched the display, expressionless in his mask, from directly in front of Jonah. Members of the crowd made comments that Jonah could not be bothered to comprehend. He was lost in the sensations of ten silver point tapping, scratching and grasping his arms and back. Tickling him relentlessly. His ribs began to ache from the extended exertion of clenching.
Eventually, Roland reached around and tickled Jonah’s fuzzy stomach, poking one silver nail into his belly button and scrambling the fingers of the other around and around. Scritch scritch, back and forth, again and again. Around his waist and over his kidneys, back and around his waist to his belly. And back across the belly, and around and over the kidneys - meanwhile, his body contorted to avoid the tickling fingers as they scraped and tapped his belly and back. Jonah could not get away and instead shrieked and cackled.
The hands crawled up the front of his body, tickling his ribs and his pecs and nipples. Jonah continued to squirm and laugh, his hands flexing into fists.
“Haahahaheeheeeoohooaaahaa,” he chuckled. This would go on for five whole days; despite his smiling happy face Jonah wanted to cry. Henry had not even touched him yet.
The hands tickled up into his armpits again, swiftly diving in and scrabbling the nails up and down the hollows. They dug in past the thick dark hair and poked, all five, grab grab grab, stab and poke. As he had each time before, Jonah was instantly lost in a flood of hysterics at the pit tickling.
“I think I will tickle you just here for an entire afternoon. Kootchy kootchy koo you devil child. Laugh that lust out. Laugh young man, and take your penance. Tickle tickle tickle. These big armpits are so sensitive it's a wonder you can call yourself a man at all. You laugh like a little boy! Kootchy kootchy koo, little boy!” Roland taunted, the words adding power to the tickle torture and sending Jonah into another teary-eyed fit of laughter. His head shook back and forth and he struggled to mouth words like “please” and “stop”.
Roland reduced the poking fingers to one on each side poking and stabbing firmly, pressing into the apex of his pit hollows. They jabbed up and down, up and down; he yanked in his arms harder and squealed louder when they dug into the lowest point of his pits where they met his ribcage. So Roland poked there for two whole minutes while Jonah squealed and cackled and squirmed with renewed vigor.
“OOHHNOOOAAAHAHAHAHAEEEEEEEHEEEEEAHAAAAA!!” Jonah cried, surprised that he was so desperate. The longer it went on the more intense the tickling sensations; every touch was hilarious, his muscles yanked futily to protect his soft sensitive hollows. Sweat beaded on his back and flushed face.
Suddenly, Roland stopped.
Jonah’s body sagged and he struggled to catch his breath; tears fell from his eyes as giggles escaped his body involuntarily. It took him several minutes to calm down, his body slowly relaxing as huge breaths heaved in and out of him. His red face began to whiten again and his head sagged, his hands and feet limp.
It was then that Henry raised his claw-gloved hands, flexing the fingers menacingly in front of Jonah’s trapped face; the young man’s eyes widened and he licked his lips, his head shaking “no”. He knew he was deserving of this punishment but was unable to keep from wishing it were over already. It had been an hour and he was already tortured and exhausted.
Henry’s hands lowered over Jonah’s knees; Jonah was wearing loose linen shorts, so the nails landed on bare skin over his kneecaps. Five nails on each hand started on the knee cap and traveled down to the tendons. Then back up, and down, and down. Jonah’s legs twitched and a smile tugged on his mouth as he watched the hands with wide eyes; he was unaware that Henry stared right at him, watching his face carefully for every reaction.
“Ho, boy, I can see you're already repenting! That's a boy! Just think how cleansed you'll be by Saturday. If you thought your armpits were ticklish, boy, just you wait. Cause here comes ol’ Henry. Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha,” he teased, softly, so only Jonah could hear. The young man’s breaths were short and fast, his hands already clenched into fists; his legs trembled with every touch as Henry barely teased his knee joints.
Jonah swallowed hard as he watched the nail-tipped hands; they began to crawl up his knee towards his thighs. Henry watched hungrily as Jonah’s worried face contorted, his eyes crossed and he struggled to keep his mouth closed. “Let it out, son. You're wasting energy fighting it. Go ahead and give ol’ Henry a giggle, hmm? Getcha getcha getcha.”
The nails pressed firmly into the muscles above his knees and the fingers walked, deliberately, up his thighs. They swayed from side to side, tickling and poking inside and on top and across to the outsides of his thick, hairy thigh muscles.
“I see you fightin’ it. Just give us a laugh, a little kootchy kootchy koo giggle.”
His legs clenched and convulsed, the combination of the intense poking and stern taunting became too much - Jonah let out a desperate wail that collapsed into devastated laughter.
“GrRrUUUHHNNNGGAAAAAHAAA! WAAAHAAAAHAAAHAHAAA!!”
Poke, grab, poke, grab. The nails traveled slowly and poked deeply up, up, creeping under his linen shorts. As they grabbed at his legs beneath his clothes, up his thighs, his whole body shook and pulled against his bondage. Jonah could not help the need to pull on his arms and legs, the instinctual drive to protect his most sensitive place overcoming any conscious thoughts. He cackled endlessly.
He could feel his penis and scrotum electrify with anticipation, unsure whether Henry would touch him there; Henry’s tickling hands made their way, crawling toward the crease where Jonah’s legs and hips met. Jonah’s meaty legs trembled and strained and shook, his toes flapping and hands clenched into white fists. He laughed as if from the most hilarious joke, the sensations tumbling up from his belly anticipating the tickling of his sensitive member. His stomach pulled in, trying to pull his body away from the creeping, poking fingernails. They crept intently onward and he began to feel as if they were already tickling him between his legs. Electric tingles zapped his nerves and he squealed and laughed.
“That's right young man. I am coming for your devil’s stick. Tick tock. One...more...tickle…tickle...here...I…COME!!”
On the final word, the clawing hands leapt into the dip where his hip bones met his thighs, the deep crevice and major tendon holding his legs to his body, and tickled HARD. Jonah screamed, unable to laugh or breathe or think; his body stiffened and strained as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning and he wailed, his head slamming back and forth. His jaw fell open to allow as much space as possible for the last of his breath to race out of his open throat.
“GOTCHA GOTCHA GOTCHA!! SCREAM, BOY! TICKLE TICKLE! LET IT OUT!” Henry continued to taunt without letting up on the intensity of his tickling, jabbing pointy fingers into the entire joint of the man’s legs, from under the ball sack to the direct inside; up and across, into the crease along the top of his legs. Then he moved back down inside the joints, under his balls, stabbing and poking relentlessly. Jonah’s face contorted into a disturbing combination of strained laughter and sobbing; his head was held high by adrenaline and electricity radiating from his groin. He could do nothing to protect himself, could not close his legs or cover himself with his hands. His face was frozen in a mask of hilarity.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” It was one sound that trailed into a wordless scream; the hands grabbed under his ass cheeks and worked their way back up, pinching firmly into the tendons on either side of his now-turgid penis. His balls swayed and the dick waved back and forth under his linen shorts as his body convulsed and heaved with tortured laughter.
Finally the nails scrawled away from his genitals and back down his legs, which continued to shake involuntarily with every tap and poke. The metal nails scraped and dragged down the length of his legs, over the knees and down the shins to his ankles where they disappeared into the stocks.
Jonah’s screaming subsided into sobbing laughter, then soft sobs only, and he hung his head while his feet kicked at the tickling of his ankle bones. The nails scrabbled and tapped from inside to outside, poking into the stock holes as if they meant to reach his feet; although it was obvious they could not, the idea struck him as hilarious and he was overcome with giggles.
“Heheheeeheeheee.” His toes clenched. “Youuhohohorraaahaha kiiehehehellingaananaana meeeeheeeeheeee!” He managed to cackle as the nails prodded and poked back up his shins. His legs shook and flexed as the nails tickled back up and began, again, to drag under and over his knees.
“HAHAHHAAH!” Jonah laughed, the frustrated crying replaced with involuntary hysteria. He prayed that Henry would not reach all the way into his shorts again - the memory of the tickling intensity was enough to cause shrieking laughter.
To his devastation, Henry’s ferocious, tickling metal fingertips made their way up into his shorts’ legs again, the fingers walking like spiders towards his erect penis and tight balls. Jonah’s legs kicked desperately and he screamed with laughter, his head thrashing back and forth, begging. Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he cackled and cried, the claws’ creeping tickling him senseless.
“Are you ready for it, Jonah? Here come the tickles! Here...we...COME!”
“NOOOOOAAAHAHHAPPLEEAAHAASNOOAAAHAHAA!” He cried.
Again, the claws dug viciously into his trapped legs’ crevices, poking with deep, intent jabs and driving Jonah completely insane. His shrieking laughter rang out of the town square, drawing a larger and larger crowd. He began to hear jeering and taunts from the people around him.
“Look at his pecker! It grew!”
“Draw the list from that poor boy!”
“Laugh, devil! Laugh the evil from your soul!”
“You're gonna kill the boy, Henry!”
“Roland! Are ya taking the day off?”
Jonah had all but forgotten Roland, and his eyes snapped open wide as he remembered his other torturer. Roland laughed heartily and clawed his silver nails, counting down to resuming his tickle assault on Jonah’s upper body.
“Ready, lad? One...two...THREE!”
He clapped his hands together into Jonah’s armpits and the boy screamed bloody murder. He thrashed and cried and flapped his head, hands and feet with total abandon. His blonde tresses stuck to his beet red face with sweat, his body was wet and his mouth contorted and drooling. Desperate wailing poured out of him as he was tickled mad. He regretted his stolen kiss with every fiber of his tickled, exhausted body.
Henry drew his hands from inside Jonah’s pants and waived his nails before the boy’s eyes; Roland withdrew his hands from Jonah’s armpits. The boy could barely breathe, her alone make a sound. For several minutes, as the crowd jeered, the two men believed Jonah to be unconscious. His heavy breathing was labored and his limbs were limp.
They had tickled him for only a couple of hours and he was already destroyed. His muscles trembled slightly for want of oxygen, his skin felt hot and sensitive. Jonah was painfully aware of the erection tight in his pants and the crowd’s comments about it and his listful ways. He wanted to cry but was too exhausted; he had no tears left.
“You will now be allowed ten minutes’ respite and a drink of water.” Roland and Henry stood and walked away. Another man made his way through the crowd with a bucket and presented a ladle of cool well water to Jonah. He sniffled and coughed, then allowed the man to pour the water carefully into his open mouth. Jonah’s toes flexed and stretched, his hands rotating and his torso beginning to relax. He was served his fill of water; he drank half of a bucket.
When the water man retreated Jonah sagged into his bondage; some of the crowd wandered off to get on with their day. Some talked loudly of the tortures to come and his need for repentance; others spoke of his obvious hard-on. Jonah tried to ignore them and simply recover, his eyes closed and his sweaty head hanging limply.
He jumped with surprise and cried out when he felt someone straddle his lap. His eyes snapped open to see the butcher’s wife, Agnes, plump and scowling, legs spread over him and her crotch pressed into his stiff penis. She covered his head and face with her shawl, and Jonah gasped, confused. He was good friends with Agnes’ husband, Dalton, the butcher - she was buxom and soft, dark hair tied in a bun on her head. Jonah knew that she cared for him and was worried for his eternal, tainted soul. He did not want her to do what he knew she was about to, even though he knew the good in it. Filled with regret and shaky with exhaustion, Jonah was glad no one could see him cry behind the shawl.
Agnes leaned in and whispered, “You poor child, the devil is in you, and driving you by your most evil parts. I will help release you from your suffering - and hide your shame from those around us. Hush, child. Let it go.” Agnes's began to rock against his erection through his shorts, her large warm hips riding his waist and rubbing under his shaft and along his balls. Jonah stiffened and groaned, barely able to comprehend what was happening to him, let alone combat it.
“Muh...Muh...mmmMMPPHH,” he groaned into the tight shawl. The fabric was thick enough to hide his face and sheer enough for him to breathe, with some effort.
The feeling in his belly and legs became liquid and oily, and he could feel his shorts become moist with both of their excitement. Agnes's rocked him and held him and shushed him, urging him to allow the devil to be released from him. Jonah listened and obeyed, his hips rocking against hers and rubbing the head of his cock against her warm crotch.
Rock, rock, rock, rock...in mere minutes, Jonah let out a deep grunt and his body froze, extended, trembled and finally sagged. He gasped into his shawl face mask, fingers and toes wiggling. Jonah was completely exhausted and fully aware of the lack of recovery time remaining. He let out a cry into the shawl as Anges held him.
“That's a boy. Let it all out. This will all pass, and the evil will be driven from you, lad.”
Their tender comfort went on for as long as it could before the inevitable return of Roland and Henry. Agnes rose and kissed his forehead gently before returning to her husband, who greeted her with approval. Jonah could not look his friend, Agnes’ husband, in the eye.
Roland and Henry each sat on a stool beside one of Jonah’s large, meaty feet poking out of the stocks. They each carried a bucket which was set beside them. Jonah could not see his own feet over the wooden walls but he did not care. His head hung in resignation as he tried to ready himself for the next onslaught.
Henry and Roland each splashed cold water on Jonah’s feet, which were calloused and rough from his lifetime of manual labor at home. A softening salve was rubbed with their still-gloved hands all over his heels, the balls of his feet and his toes. Jonah accepted these actions without response or comment. Next, the men removed universe stones from the water and began to scrub the rough places on Jonah’s feet.
Scrub scrub, rub rub scrape - the thicker the skin, the less he felt. It almost felt good, comforting, for several minutes until the torturers reached the tender new skin beneath. Jonah’s feet and toes jerked immediately as the rough rocks were scraped continually over the sensitized balls and heels of his feet. As the tickling jolted up his legs, into his belly, an involuntary smile slowly grew on his face. Jonah’s breath came in short gasps and he began to laugh quietly, overcome with giggles just as they moved on to the thick skin on other parts of his feet.
This went on for another hour, the torturers rubbing dead, nerve-less skin from a part of each foot until it was sensitive enough to crack him - then they moved on, and he was kept on the edge of tickling and giggles every few minutes.
As his smiles became giggles, Henry (who was never not watching Jonah’s every reaction) would shout, “THERE he is!” and they would move on.
Scrub scrub scrub scrub - his face contorted into a forced half grin - scrub scrub scrub - his breath caught and a little grunt escaped - scrub scrub Scritch scritch - Jonah tittered and his head shook.
“There he is!” Henry said, and they moved their stones to another part of his feet. Scritch scritch scrub scrub - his smile tugged - scratch scrub scrub…
“There he is!”
Jonah was unable to recover from the sensitizing orgasm or the continual ebb and flow of the tickles on his feet, punctuated with the constant reminder that they were intentionally bringing him to the edge and back.
They finished this endless process with the very backs of his heels, scrubbing until he laughed out loud and then they each suddenly dropped the stones. Jonah had time for a single deep breath before ten pointy silver fingernails attacked his feet, scratching furiously from the heels up the flat arches to the plump balls of his feet and into the clenching toes; they scrabbled up and over to the tops of his feet and, when Jonah flexed to protect the tops they each used one hand to tickle the exposed soles. As Jonah’s feet flapped side to side, the two men’s hands followed, keeping both sensitive, shorn feet trapped in a tickling sandwich.
“BWWAAHAAAHAAAAHAAA!! AAAAHAHAAAMMMERRHERRHEERCYYYYYYAAAAHAEEEHEEHEEE!” Jonah cried, deep belly laughter tumbling from him like water. He couldn't move his feet far enough away or hide them from the torment, the merciless tapping and scratching of the twenty metal claws on his soles and balls and arches, atop and in the creases of his pudgy, hairy toes.
“Sensitive as a child, eh Jonah? It's amazing what a little stone can do to improve your penance. Kootchy kootchy koo boy! It seems someone helped you out while we were gone,” Roland said from the other side of the stocks, referring to his wet shorts and reduced erection.
Jonah was busy giggling heartily at the tickling in his feet. It slowly dawned on him that his bladder felt full.
“Now that we have warmed you up,” said Henry. He and Roland stopped their nails and reached again into the buckets, each removing a round brush with a strap to attach to their palms. The bristles of the brushes were metal cones, set in three concentric circles . Jonah’s big toes were tied to the stocks boards, strapped back with thin twine and immobilizing his feet. Ronald and Henry slipped the straps over their gloves and set the brushes against their palms - Jonah could only see their shoulders and the tops of their arms over the stocks board, and had no idea what they were doing.
The men began to scrub the bottoms of his feet in little circles, looping up from his heels over his thick arches and toward his straining, flexing toes.
Jonah yowled through clenched teeth, a deep rumbling groan broken up by laughter from his chest. His legs kicked and he shook his head as if in disbelief - the cone points rubbed and scratched deeply into his pumiced feet and the sensation was an intense combination of ticklish and painful.
The curry combs made their way in tiny loops up the bottoms of his feet, over his thick heels and into the bottoms of his arches. With his big toes tied back to the board, his soles were stretched tight and were clean and pink from the torturers’ stone ministrations.
Jonah howled and cried, unable to move his ticklish feet away from the deeply scratching brushes. He most definitely had to pee and the harder he laughed the more pressure it put on his bladder. Jonah didn't want to wet his pants in front of everyone, but he couldn't get away or even beg.
The scrubbing brushes circled further up and his desperation increased. His toes tingled with anticipation as the brushes rubbed and rubbed their way toward his toes; they flexed uselessly in their bondage.
“OHHHLOOOHOOHOOHRRSSSSAAHAHAAYVEMEEHEHEHEHEEAAAAHAAAAAHAHAHAAAA!” Jonah begged as his feet were tickled mercilessly.
“A little boy with ladies’ feet!” Roland said. “I've never seen a man more ticklish in my whole life!”
Jonah sobbed and laughed. He couldn't see how they were doing it but he had never experienced any sensation like it. When the needles rubbing his feet touched his toes he let out a long scream. His belly tightened and his bladder aches. Roland and Henry looked up without stopping; as the wail died out they taunted him.
“You can scream all you want boy but it makes it worse. It's the laughter that cleanses. Kootchy koo, take all those tickles and let them out your belly.”
“Give us those giggles, son. We are gonna take em right out of these big ol toes.”
They were relentless with the circles scrubbing Jonah’s toes and the balls of his feet. Jonah’s scream was replaced with involuntary belly laughter; scrub scrub scrub. His toes wiggled and his stomach heaved as he laughed; he felt as if he would burst. Giggles welled up in Jonah’s belly again and he was forced to let them out. Finally, a hot piss stain grew in his shorts as his bladder let go; thick yellow drops ran off the bench he was on and dropped into the dry dirt under him.
Jonah sobbed as the scrub brushes scraped up and down his soles. They circled on his toes and scraped up and down again.
“That's it big boy let it out! A responsible man would hold his filth. Only boys let it go! Tickle tickle! It was these toes wasn't it? Tickle tickle toes!” Henry said.
The tickling continued while Jonah giggled and cried. The crowd began to shout.
“His devil stick has risen again!”
“The boy is filled with sin!”
Henry and Roland stopped their merciless foot scrubbing to peer over the stocks at Jonah’s crotch. His penis was stiff again. Jonah cried sincerely at the thought that they would need to tickle him harder, further to purge him of the lustful demon.
“Nooohoohoo,” he whimpered. “Pleeeheeeheeeese.”
“Indeed!” Henry shouted. “The devil has risen again! We shall takes trigger action against the vileness in this boy!”
Jonah continued to whimper and whine as the two men abandoned his feet and walked behind him.
“Please! PLEASE! Don't tickle my armpits! PLEASE DON’T!” Jonah shrieked in anticipation, the thought of those pointed metal fingers dancing in his pits causing waves of tortured panic to crash through him.
“Oh ho ho!” Henry chuckled. “Don't you worry, Jonah! We won't forget those delicate underarms of yours. But first!”
Jonah moaned and shook his head, bracing himself for an onslaught. Instead, he felt a clang in the bench beneath him and a panel slid out from under his ass. Jonah then felt his linen shorts pulled away from his taint and heard a small tear, followed by a slight waft of air.
“No no no NO NO NO!” he begged, his head thrashing and legs kicking.
Four hands and twenty metal nails snuck into his ripped shorts and viciously attacked his taint and dangling ballsack. They scrabbled behind his sack, poking and scratching; then tickled forward to poke the very bottoms of the balls. Some of the nails poked curiously farther up and scratched his ass or his thigh creases.
Jonah went completely ballistic, having had an orgasm and currently sporting another erection, his balls were tight and electric.
Ten nails tapped and scraped the runway behind his scrotum, drawing little tight circles and short red lines in his secret crevice. Five each met at the very tip of each testicle and dragged upwards, tickling up to the crease where they hung from his taint and dragging back down. Up, and down. Up and down. Jonah wailed and cackled, his tongue lolling out, tears streaking his face and his hair splattered all over his head. His legs kicked like a jackrabbit, jolt after tickling torturous jolt ripping through his muscles.
“Let it out Jonah! Release the devil from your body!”
“Look at him! Repent boy!”
Jonah screamed and wiggled in his bonds, his arms and legs again straining futilely to protect his most sensitive parts. He could do nothing but laugh and cry as they tickled and tickled him underneath.
When Roland raised both hands to grab maniacally at his belly, ribs and armpits - grab grab grab belly grab grab grab ribs ribs ribs grab grab grab pits pits pits - Jonah could make no sound, could draw no breath and, finally, passed out.
