Once again, warning: Explicit and very gay.
I purchased my return ticket to Holmwood in the Surrey Hills, the nearest station to Patrick’s house as he had instructed me, and I boarded the train at London Victoria with my weekend bag on my back and thick mountaineering socks on inside my worn old black leather army boots. My feet were overly warm and sweaty for the journey since it was a warm Friday evening in May, but the socks were a stipulation of Patrick’s. When I asked him what else he would like me to wear he replied “Loose baggy trousers you can take off over your boots but other than that whatever you’re comfortable travelling in. I will be stripping you naked almost as soon as you walk in the door anyway.” Reading that had sent a shiver of anticipation up my spine. It had been two weeks since our liaison in the Hotel room in London where Patrick had explored my ticklishness and his hunger for it and we were both eager to do it again. I for my part was playing the role of prey item to the hilt, complying meekly with every instruction my tickle Master gave me. I had been sending him pictures of my feet bare, with jelly candies tucked between my toes, with smears of Nutella on my arches and with ‘Property of Patrick’ and ‘please tickle my feet’ scribbled on them in biro, the latter photo session being sent with an accompanying description of how tickly the biro was on my soft soles.
He had been sending me snaps of the home-made apparatus he had built in the basement of his huge house and assuring me that his nearest neighbour was about 1k away and no-one would be able to hear my screams for help once he had me installed in it. I couldn’t quite make out what precisely it was or how he had built it but I couldn’t wait to see it. We continued sexting each other during the train ride down and as I collected my bag and alighted the train at Holmwood, there stood Patrick leaning on the front of his expensive Range Rover with a flushed look on his face. I walked towards him, excited, scared, thrilled… That wonderful feeling of being the gazelle and knowing the lion has me in its sights. As I neared Patrick he was looking about nervously and he said a simple “Hello” and opened the passenger side door for me. I wondered if I had angered him somehow.
“Hello there little tickle boy. I missed you.”
“I Missed you too Master.” I replied, relieved.
“Was your journey ok? No delays?”
“No, the train was on time Master.”
“Have your toes missed my tongue?” My pulse quickened at that question.
“Yes Master.”
“And has your mouth missed my cock?”
“Yes Master. I can’t wait to suck your cock Master!” I replied eagerly, loving the contrast between my tickle prey persona and the person I was required to be for my working week. It was freeing and exciting to hear myself say it out loud even though it did not come without a great degree of shyness and embarrassment.
As he drove out of the station carpark he revealed that his hot and bothered demeanour was the result of two factors: Lust for me that he could not contain and the desire to not be seen with a young man getting into his car lest he bump into someone he knew and have to explain. The latter proved not to be a problem and we had an entire weekend to deal with the former.
Patrick sped back to his house scantly respecting the speed limit, drove into his drive, past the automatic gate which closed behind us and he parked up outside his front door. He ushered me out and strode for the door allowing me to go first. He carried my bag and held the door for me. Once we were inside he double locked the door behind him and showed me into the huge open plan kitchen and dining area where our progress was interrupted by two huge but affectionate St Bernard’s dogs. He petted and fussed them. He offered me a stool at the breakfast bar and instructed me to sit. He sat opposite.
“Don’t worry about Starsky and Hutch they’re big softies. Please sit down. I want to talk to you a little before you satisfy me tickle boy.”
“Of course Master.”
“I’m so glad we get the opportunity to re-kindle our ‘arrangement’ tickle boy. I’ve spent the last two weeks dreaming about your ticklish feet and your wonderful shrill giggling.”
“I’ve spent two weeks imagining the tortures you have in store for me Master.”
“And you’ve been looking forward to them?”
“Yes Master! I loved it when you tickle tortured me!” Once again my end of the conversation was a little awkward and stilted as I played my role. I was new to it and encumbered by self-consciousness.
“Are you looking forward to seeing what I built for you?”
“Yes Master.” I really was.
“There is something else I wanted to run by you tickle boy. Would you have any objection to my making films of your feet being tickled? They will only be for my own viewing pleasure and I will never show them to anyone else. They will not feature your face if that makes you feel better.”
My instincts were that this might be a problem but it also excited me even further so I gave in to it.
“That’s fine Master, I’d like you to have videos of tickling me.”
“Oh, you are the most adorable little tickle boy.”
Patrick hopped of his stool and moved around to my side of the breakfast bar. He was unfastening his belt as he walked and as he stopped in front of me he pulled out his huge raging hard cock. I hopped off my stool, eagerly kneeled down and began to suck it immediately. Patrick moaned in pleasure as I slid his cock into my mouth, struggling a little with its girth as I had before. I held the huge shaft with both hands and rocked my head back and forth sliding his cock in and out. It was salty and slimy from accumulated pre-cum from all the sexting. It was just as delicious as I remembered. Patrick allowed me to suck him for only about twenty seconds before he pulled out, returned his cock to his pants, reached down to take my hand and led me through his house to the entrance to his cellar.
“Are you ready to see where you’ll be spending most of weekend tickle boy?” I merely nodded.
Patrick opened the door, switched on the light and we descended the stairs, me first. As I walked down the bare wood staircase the large cellar space came into view before me. It was warm and musty and smelled a little like sawed wood. The light was from two hanging ceiling lights but there were other lamps around. There was a workbench along one wall and a free standing solid steel wood-working bench. There was no shortage of sawdust. There were some shelves above and some drawers under the bench. There was a tripod with a camcorder. There was a couch with a coffee table and a mini fridge against the other wall under the stairs as I reached the ground a looked around, and also, most importantly, right in the middle of the room with a wheeled office chair next to it, stood the apparatus.
I walked over to it, mesmerised. It was, at its root, a heavily constructed and heavily modified massage table. Its padded surface of thick wipeable black faux leather was mainly intact, as was the extra padded downward facing face hole in the slightly upwardly inclined head end, but there was an additional hole cut almost directly in the middle, about six inches wide and about twelve inches long. The padding had been gorilla directed down along the edges where it had been interrupted and was securely fixed with upholstery tacks. I was pretty sure I knew what this hole was for. I smiled. The legs had been replaced with four sturdy buttressed wooden legs and the table now stood lower to the ground than I imagined a massage table might. Most noticeably, at the opposite end from the face hole was a set of solid wooden stocks with padded and upholstered holes and a heavy clasp and lock on one side. I was certain I knew what those were for and I broke out into a wide grin. The stocks were mounted on elaborate but equally solid brackets whose height and angle relative to the table appeared to be adjustable. There was even a padded bar on the lower edge of the stocks which could be moved back and forth, flush with the stocks or out to a distance of about eight inches for whatever protruded from the socks to rest on. Draped loosely over the black faux leather were four strong flat straps with ratchet tightening mechanisms of the sort one saw holding luggage onto a car luggage rack. The thing truly resembled a torture device in the basement of a sexual predator, and here I was, it’s willing victim.
I turned and looked at Patrick who stood behind me, breathing heavily.
“I love it Master.”
“Shall we try it out then tickle boy? You had better strip. Can you remove those trousers over the boots? The boots should be the last things to come off and I will take them off.”
“Yes, I think I can Master.” I struggled but with the help of the couch I managed to get my baggy khaki combat trousers off without taking off my boots. My boxers wear a different story so Patrick produced a pair of scissors from a drawer and snipped the off me exposing my erect cock. He smiled a wry smile as he saw it.
“Excited tickle boy?”
“Yes Master”
Once I was naked apart from my boots and socks he walked over to the apparatus and pulled two of the straps to one end and two to the other.
“Lie down on your front tickle boy. You delightful little cock hangs through there.” He said indicating the central hole. I climbed on allowing my cock and balls to hang freely through the hole and I placed my face in the padded face hole which was angled gently upwards so that my face faced forwards a little. It was very comfortable.
“Hands behind your back.” I obediently reached my hands behind my back and I felt Patrick fasten my wrists together with a pair of bondage cuffs. I could feel that he had removed the central link and affixed the two leather cuffs directly to each other inflexibly. This meant that my hands were fastened higher and tighter than normal cuffs would allow. Each of my hands lay against the opposite forearm and both arms lay in the small of my back. Patrick truly had thought of everything. He applied the first two ratcheted straps, one over my shoulders and the other just below my wrist cuffs over the small of my back, positioning them and then pulling them tight to hold me to the table firmly but still comfortably. Then he walked around to my feet. I heard him adjust the stocks to the height and angle he desired and open them. He lifted each of my legs in turn and removed the boot. I heard him take a long inhale of each boot as he slipped them off. He looped the other two straps over onto the backs of my knees, guided sweaty thickly socked feet into position in the central holes of the stocks and closed them, locking the clasp loudly for my benefit. My knees were a little bent raising my legs at roughly a thirty degree angle. He positioned the two straps one over the backs of my knees and the other at mid-thigh and he tightened these. He extended and fixed the padded bar below the stocks so that the tops of my feet rested on it, my soles faced upwards my toes, clear of the bar by about two inches, pointed outwards into the room rather than down towards the floor. I was now totally helpless. I was more thoroughly bound than I could have imagined, I couldn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t even see other than a small field directly in front of my face and a few feet to either side.
“How is that tickle boy? Are you comfortable?”
“Yes Master.” I meekly replied.
“How does it feel now that you’re all trussed up and helpless in my tickle dungeon? It’s lucky for me you didn’t check the drawers, you might have found my array of tickle tools and fled!”
“I feel excited and scared Master. I feel… ticklish…”
Patrick let out a low throaty baritone grunt of lust as I said the word ticklish.
“I’m going to tickle your feet now tickle boy. I have missed my playthings these past two weeks.”
Patrick worked my socks out from the ankle holes of the stocks and wasted no time stripping both of them straight off leaving my feet bare. I felt the warm air of the room on my bare soles and I heard Patrick pull up the office chair. Unbeknownst to me he also started the camcorder rolling and sucked some of the sweaty musk from the end of one of my socks, rubbing it all over his face. Then his fingers arrived on my soles. He was too hot and bothered by now for the airs and graces of building the anticipation any more, he simply need to tickle my feet and his fingers dived in and helped themselves to the generous buffet of ticklish flesh my soft soles offered. I yelped and squealed and burst into loud urgent laughter as his fingers tickled a random pattern over my upturned wiggling soles. He started with just fingertips in light strokes without employing his fingernails, knowing just how to torture me best.
“EEEEK! EEEHEHEHEEEEEEEHEHEHEEE!!! AAAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAAA!! NOOOOHOHOO!!!! MASTER!!”
I couldn’t flap them freely as the padded bar beneath them prevented it but he had not bound my big toes together (yet) so I was able to wiggle my soles laterally a little and my toes relatively freely. It was just enough to offer no relief whatsoever but to provide an alluring spectacle for Patrick’s enjoyment. His plan for the socks had worked and my soles were predictably insanely ticklish and my first thought was that I could not endure this. This was too much! We had no safe word and I knew he would have no mercy. My only hope for sanity was that he was horny enough that he would need to cum before he tickled me out of my mind.
“Oh my god Tickle boy, I love these feet! These feet deserve to tickle tortured forever! Every second they go un-tickled is wasted time! I have to taste them right now!”
I felt Patrick’s mouth envelop the four smallest toes from my right foot and he sucked and worked that eager tongue between my toes to taste the fresh musky sweat now at its strongest. He carried on tickling my soles with his fingers while he worked his mouth along all ten of my vulnerable young toes, tasting… tickling… nibbling gently with his teeth… feasting on them. His tickle assault did not let up as he explored every square centimetre. He remembered from last time precisely where the most ticklish spots were and he regularly went to them making no effort to tease me by being sparing with the torture. I was straight in at the deep end and I was struggling to breathe for laughing. Patrick was letting loose with his appreciative grunts and moans as his lust consumed him.
“Laugh for me tickle boy, just for me. You were born for this purpose, to be my cute little tickly plaything. That is why your beautiful feet are so soft and sensitive.”
“NOOOHOHOO!!! MASTER!! STOP! PLEEEHEHEEASE!!!” I hoped he might detect that my tone was different, more urgent, but I knew that not only was there no audible difference but he wouldn’t care anyway. He would give me a break only when he wanted to. He stopped sucking my toes and tickled them with his fingers, his hands occasionally darting all the way up my soles to my heels and back down again. He was listening intently for subtle differences in the fever pitch of my helpless peals of laughter, looking for signs of even more shrill panicked squealing giggles. It had only been a few torturous minutes before he stopped and let my hysterical laughter subside.
“Tickle boy…”
“Yehehehesss master…” I managed between gasps for breath.
“I have stopped in order to give you an opportunity. The camera is filming you’re ticklish torment. I have noticed the very real panic and breathlessness in your laughter. Were you enjoying the tickling? I want to give you the opportunity to ask me to continue. If you do I will continue at the same intensity as before. I suspect you are having very real difficulty in handling it but I want you to ask me to carry on torturing you like that anyway. I want to hear you say it.” I mulled it over and as I caught my breath I realised the more intense, the more insane he drove me by tickling my crazy sensitive feet… the more I loved it.
“Please carry on tickling me Master!”
“Oh, indeed tickle boy! I shall be as good as my word!”
He launched straight back into it with renewed determination to make me actually pass out from laughing so hard. He scraped his fingernails up and down my soles and sucked and nibbled my squirming toes for another unbearable minute before I felt one of his hands depart the fray and his breathing grew more laboured. I heard the office chair skid backwards as he stood up. Patrick moaned loudly and then I felt ropes of his huge load of warm cum hit my soles. He stroked his cock against them for the last few dribbles and it oozed downwards collecting between my toes to drip to the floor. He could not have held his lust in check any longer. He made no apologies of course.
“Oooohh my god tickle boy, your soles are even more delicious than I remember. We have a fun weekend ahead of us. Did you have fun tickle boy?”
“Oh my god yes master, you are such a great tickler! I couldn’t breathe! I was starting to see stars…”
“Good little tickle toy. I’m going to leave you here to think about how ticklish you are and squish the cum between your toes. Be a good little tickle toy. I’ll be back shortly. We are not done, not by a long shot.”
With that Patrick got up and walked around to the side of the apparatus. He wiped his sticky cock on my bare shoulder, grasped a handful of bare white ass cheek and gave it a playful slap and walked back upstairs switching the lights off as he went.
I purchased my return ticket to Holmwood in the Surrey Hills, the nearest station to Patrick’s house as he had instructed me, and I boarded the train at London Victoria with my weekend bag on my back and thick mountaineering socks on inside my worn old black leather army boots. My feet were overly warm and sweaty for the journey since it was a warm Friday evening in May, but the socks were a stipulation of Patrick’s. When I asked him what else he would like me to wear he replied “Loose baggy trousers you can take off over your boots but other than that whatever you’re comfortable travelling in. I will be stripping you naked almost as soon as you walk in the door anyway.” Reading that had sent a shiver of anticipation up my spine. It had been two weeks since our liaison in the Hotel room in London where Patrick had explored my ticklishness and his hunger for it and we were both eager to do it again. I for my part was playing the role of prey item to the hilt, complying meekly with every instruction my tickle Master gave me. I had been sending him pictures of my feet bare, with jelly candies tucked between my toes, with smears of Nutella on my arches and with ‘Property of Patrick’ and ‘please tickle my feet’ scribbled on them in biro, the latter photo session being sent with an accompanying description of how tickly the biro was on my soft soles.
He had been sending me snaps of the home-made apparatus he had built in the basement of his huge house and assuring me that his nearest neighbour was about 1k away and no-one would be able to hear my screams for help once he had me installed in it. I couldn’t quite make out what precisely it was or how he had built it but I couldn’t wait to see it. We continued sexting each other during the train ride down and as I collected my bag and alighted the train at Holmwood, there stood Patrick leaning on the front of his expensive Range Rover with a flushed look on his face. I walked towards him, excited, scared, thrilled… That wonderful feeling of being the gazelle and knowing the lion has me in its sights. As I neared Patrick he was looking about nervously and he said a simple “Hello” and opened the passenger side door for me. I wondered if I had angered him somehow.
“Hello there little tickle boy. I missed you.”
“I Missed you too Master.” I replied, relieved.
“Was your journey ok? No delays?”
“No, the train was on time Master.”
“Have your toes missed my tongue?” My pulse quickened at that question.
“Yes Master.”
“And has your mouth missed my cock?”
“Yes Master. I can’t wait to suck your cock Master!” I replied eagerly, loving the contrast between my tickle prey persona and the person I was required to be for my working week. It was freeing and exciting to hear myself say it out loud even though it did not come without a great degree of shyness and embarrassment.
As he drove out of the station carpark he revealed that his hot and bothered demeanour was the result of two factors: Lust for me that he could not contain and the desire to not be seen with a young man getting into his car lest he bump into someone he knew and have to explain. The latter proved not to be a problem and we had an entire weekend to deal with the former.
Patrick sped back to his house scantly respecting the speed limit, drove into his drive, past the automatic gate which closed behind us and he parked up outside his front door. He ushered me out and strode for the door allowing me to go first. He carried my bag and held the door for me. Once we were inside he double locked the door behind him and showed me into the huge open plan kitchen and dining area where our progress was interrupted by two huge but affectionate St Bernard’s dogs. He petted and fussed them. He offered me a stool at the breakfast bar and instructed me to sit. He sat opposite.
“Don’t worry about Starsky and Hutch they’re big softies. Please sit down. I want to talk to you a little before you satisfy me tickle boy.”
“Of course Master.”
“I’m so glad we get the opportunity to re-kindle our ‘arrangement’ tickle boy. I’ve spent the last two weeks dreaming about your ticklish feet and your wonderful shrill giggling.”
“I’ve spent two weeks imagining the tortures you have in store for me Master.”
“And you’ve been looking forward to them?”
“Yes Master! I loved it when you tickle tortured me!” Once again my end of the conversation was a little awkward and stilted as I played my role. I was new to it and encumbered by self-consciousness.
“Are you looking forward to seeing what I built for you?”
“Yes Master.” I really was.
“There is something else I wanted to run by you tickle boy. Would you have any objection to my making films of your feet being tickled? They will only be for my own viewing pleasure and I will never show them to anyone else. They will not feature your face if that makes you feel better.”
My instincts were that this might be a problem but it also excited me even further so I gave in to it.
“That’s fine Master, I’d like you to have videos of tickling me.”
“Oh, you are the most adorable little tickle boy.”
Patrick hopped of his stool and moved around to my side of the breakfast bar. He was unfastening his belt as he walked and as he stopped in front of me he pulled out his huge raging hard cock. I hopped off my stool, eagerly kneeled down and began to suck it immediately. Patrick moaned in pleasure as I slid his cock into my mouth, struggling a little with its girth as I had before. I held the huge shaft with both hands and rocked my head back and forth sliding his cock in and out. It was salty and slimy from accumulated pre-cum from all the sexting. It was just as delicious as I remembered. Patrick allowed me to suck him for only about twenty seconds before he pulled out, returned his cock to his pants, reached down to take my hand and led me through his house to the entrance to his cellar.
“Are you ready to see where you’ll be spending most of weekend tickle boy?” I merely nodded.
Patrick opened the door, switched on the light and we descended the stairs, me first. As I walked down the bare wood staircase the large cellar space came into view before me. It was warm and musty and smelled a little like sawed wood. The light was from two hanging ceiling lights but there were other lamps around. There was a workbench along one wall and a free standing solid steel wood-working bench. There was no shortage of sawdust. There were some shelves above and some drawers under the bench. There was a tripod with a camcorder. There was a couch with a coffee table and a mini fridge against the other wall under the stairs as I reached the ground a looked around, and also, most importantly, right in the middle of the room with a wheeled office chair next to it, stood the apparatus.
I walked over to it, mesmerised. It was, at its root, a heavily constructed and heavily modified massage table. Its padded surface of thick wipeable black faux leather was mainly intact, as was the extra padded downward facing face hole in the slightly upwardly inclined head end, but there was an additional hole cut almost directly in the middle, about six inches wide and about twelve inches long. The padding had been gorilla directed down along the edges where it had been interrupted and was securely fixed with upholstery tacks. I was pretty sure I knew what this hole was for. I smiled. The legs had been replaced with four sturdy buttressed wooden legs and the table now stood lower to the ground than I imagined a massage table might. Most noticeably, at the opposite end from the face hole was a set of solid wooden stocks with padded and upholstered holes and a heavy clasp and lock on one side. I was certain I knew what those were for and I broke out into a wide grin. The stocks were mounted on elaborate but equally solid brackets whose height and angle relative to the table appeared to be adjustable. There was even a padded bar on the lower edge of the stocks which could be moved back and forth, flush with the stocks or out to a distance of about eight inches for whatever protruded from the socks to rest on. Draped loosely over the black faux leather were four strong flat straps with ratchet tightening mechanisms of the sort one saw holding luggage onto a car luggage rack. The thing truly resembled a torture device in the basement of a sexual predator, and here I was, it’s willing victim.
I turned and looked at Patrick who stood behind me, breathing heavily.
“I love it Master.”
“Shall we try it out then tickle boy? You had better strip. Can you remove those trousers over the boots? The boots should be the last things to come off and I will take them off.”
“Yes, I think I can Master.” I struggled but with the help of the couch I managed to get my baggy khaki combat trousers off without taking off my boots. My boxers wear a different story so Patrick produced a pair of scissors from a drawer and snipped the off me exposing my erect cock. He smiled a wry smile as he saw it.
“Excited tickle boy?”
“Yes Master”
Once I was naked apart from my boots and socks he walked over to the apparatus and pulled two of the straps to one end and two to the other.
“Lie down on your front tickle boy. You delightful little cock hangs through there.” He said indicating the central hole. I climbed on allowing my cock and balls to hang freely through the hole and I placed my face in the padded face hole which was angled gently upwards so that my face faced forwards a little. It was very comfortable.
“Hands behind your back.” I obediently reached my hands behind my back and I felt Patrick fasten my wrists together with a pair of bondage cuffs. I could feel that he had removed the central link and affixed the two leather cuffs directly to each other inflexibly. This meant that my hands were fastened higher and tighter than normal cuffs would allow. Each of my hands lay against the opposite forearm and both arms lay in the small of my back. Patrick truly had thought of everything. He applied the first two ratcheted straps, one over my shoulders and the other just below my wrist cuffs over the small of my back, positioning them and then pulling them tight to hold me to the table firmly but still comfortably. Then he walked around to my feet. I heard him adjust the stocks to the height and angle he desired and open them. He lifted each of my legs in turn and removed the boot. I heard him take a long inhale of each boot as he slipped them off. He looped the other two straps over onto the backs of my knees, guided sweaty thickly socked feet into position in the central holes of the stocks and closed them, locking the clasp loudly for my benefit. My knees were a little bent raising my legs at roughly a thirty degree angle. He positioned the two straps one over the backs of my knees and the other at mid-thigh and he tightened these. He extended and fixed the padded bar below the stocks so that the tops of my feet rested on it, my soles faced upwards my toes, clear of the bar by about two inches, pointed outwards into the room rather than down towards the floor. I was now totally helpless. I was more thoroughly bound than I could have imagined, I couldn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t even see other than a small field directly in front of my face and a few feet to either side.
“How is that tickle boy? Are you comfortable?”
“Yes Master.” I meekly replied.
“How does it feel now that you’re all trussed up and helpless in my tickle dungeon? It’s lucky for me you didn’t check the drawers, you might have found my array of tickle tools and fled!”
“I feel excited and scared Master. I feel… ticklish…”
Patrick let out a low throaty baritone grunt of lust as I said the word ticklish.
“I’m going to tickle your feet now tickle boy. I have missed my playthings these past two weeks.”
Patrick worked my socks out from the ankle holes of the stocks and wasted no time stripping both of them straight off leaving my feet bare. I felt the warm air of the room on my bare soles and I heard Patrick pull up the office chair. Unbeknownst to me he also started the camcorder rolling and sucked some of the sweaty musk from the end of one of my socks, rubbing it all over his face. Then his fingers arrived on my soles. He was too hot and bothered by now for the airs and graces of building the anticipation any more, he simply need to tickle my feet and his fingers dived in and helped themselves to the generous buffet of ticklish flesh my soft soles offered. I yelped and squealed and burst into loud urgent laughter as his fingers tickled a random pattern over my upturned wiggling soles. He started with just fingertips in light strokes without employing his fingernails, knowing just how to torture me best.
“EEEEK! EEEHEHEHEEEEEEEHEHEHEEE!!! AAAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAAA!! NOOOOHOHOO!!!! MASTER!!”
I couldn’t flap them freely as the padded bar beneath them prevented it but he had not bound my big toes together (yet) so I was able to wiggle my soles laterally a little and my toes relatively freely. It was just enough to offer no relief whatsoever but to provide an alluring spectacle for Patrick’s enjoyment. His plan for the socks had worked and my soles were predictably insanely ticklish and my first thought was that I could not endure this. This was too much! We had no safe word and I knew he would have no mercy. My only hope for sanity was that he was horny enough that he would need to cum before he tickled me out of my mind.
“Oh my god Tickle boy, I love these feet! These feet deserve to tickle tortured forever! Every second they go un-tickled is wasted time! I have to taste them right now!”
I felt Patrick’s mouth envelop the four smallest toes from my right foot and he sucked and worked that eager tongue between my toes to taste the fresh musky sweat now at its strongest. He carried on tickling my soles with his fingers while he worked his mouth along all ten of my vulnerable young toes, tasting… tickling… nibbling gently with his teeth… feasting on them. His tickle assault did not let up as he explored every square centimetre. He remembered from last time precisely where the most ticklish spots were and he regularly went to them making no effort to tease me by being sparing with the torture. I was straight in at the deep end and I was struggling to breathe for laughing. Patrick was letting loose with his appreciative grunts and moans as his lust consumed him.
“Laugh for me tickle boy, just for me. You were born for this purpose, to be my cute little tickly plaything. That is why your beautiful feet are so soft and sensitive.”
“NOOOHOHOO!!! MASTER!! STOP! PLEEEHEHEEASE!!!” I hoped he might detect that my tone was different, more urgent, but I knew that not only was there no audible difference but he wouldn’t care anyway. He would give me a break only when he wanted to. He stopped sucking my toes and tickled them with his fingers, his hands occasionally darting all the way up my soles to my heels and back down again. He was listening intently for subtle differences in the fever pitch of my helpless peals of laughter, looking for signs of even more shrill panicked squealing giggles. It had only been a few torturous minutes before he stopped and let my hysterical laughter subside.
“Tickle boy…”
“Yehehehesss master…” I managed between gasps for breath.
“I have stopped in order to give you an opportunity. The camera is filming you’re ticklish torment. I have noticed the very real panic and breathlessness in your laughter. Were you enjoying the tickling? I want to give you the opportunity to ask me to continue. If you do I will continue at the same intensity as before. I suspect you are having very real difficulty in handling it but I want you to ask me to carry on torturing you like that anyway. I want to hear you say it.” I mulled it over and as I caught my breath I realised the more intense, the more insane he drove me by tickling my crazy sensitive feet… the more I loved it.
“Please carry on tickling me Master!”
“Oh, indeed tickle boy! I shall be as good as my word!”
He launched straight back into it with renewed determination to make me actually pass out from laughing so hard. He scraped his fingernails up and down my soles and sucked and nibbled my squirming toes for another unbearable minute before I felt one of his hands depart the fray and his breathing grew more laboured. I heard the office chair skid backwards as he stood up. Patrick moaned loudly and then I felt ropes of his huge load of warm cum hit my soles. He stroked his cock against them for the last few dribbles and it oozed downwards collecting between my toes to drip to the floor. He could not have held his lust in check any longer. He made no apologies of course.
“Oooohh my god tickle boy, your soles are even more delicious than I remember. We have a fun weekend ahead of us. Did you have fun tickle boy?”
“Oh my god yes master, you are such a great tickler! I couldn’t breathe! I was starting to see stars…”
“Good little tickle toy. I’m going to leave you here to think about how ticklish you are and squish the cum between your toes. Be a good little tickle toy. I’ll be back shortly. We are not done, not by a long shot.”
With that Patrick got up and walked around to the side of the apparatus. He wiped his sticky cock on my bare shoulder, grasped a handful of bare white ass cheek and gave it a playful slap and walked back upstairs switching the lights off as he went.
