show_dont_tell
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This is more of a scene than a story, but I wanted to purge a concept from my mind that has been floating around up there for a while: what is the most brutal, sadistic torture I could imagine that involves only tickling and cock and ball torture. This is Part One, which is slightly more tame than I imagine Part Two will be.
Nick woke to find himself in a nearly pitch-black room, stark naked, facedown, suspended from the ceiling by a series of thick cords: around his wrists, ankles, waist, elbows, knee joints and from one that circled his head like a bandana. A dowel rod was fastened to his wrists, tied to forearms and biceps, and extended behind his back; he couldn’t do more than gyrate his pinned, outstretched arms like a helicopter blade. Black string was wrapped around the tips of his fingers and toes; they yanked each of his stretched digits toward cuffs wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles, leaving their undersides exposed. Unfamiliar with the annoying predicament ascribed to his hyperextended digits, he unsuccessfully tried to wiggle them free. They weren’t going anywhere, though. He guessed that he was around four feet above the rocky, swampy ground. The air was cold, and a trickle of water extended out of view. He figured he was in a sewer.
Standing in front of him was a tall, husky woman in a black, skintight bodysuit that accented the muscular girth of her arms and legs. She wore black lipstick, hair, boots, and thick-rimmed glasses; the only colors on her body were long, red fingernails and a red hourglass on the center of her abdomen. Behind her were three other women, all hugged by black bodysuits that accentuated their lither frames. They bore no colors on their suits, their claws were jet black, and they wore black eye masks. One was a dark-skinned black woman, making her barely visible in the darkness.
“So, Nick,” the husky woman said, “you finally get to meet the elusive black widow. And her lovely assistants, of course. Not in Zurich, or Beijing, or that lovely little café in Nice. But in her hidden underground lair, captured in her web. Poor, poor man.”
She circled him slowly and gently nudged the cords as she approached each. The thick, nylon cords had little pliancy, and Nick’s body barely swayed.
“Do you know why I have you in my web like this, Nick? Of course, you do. When you tell me what I want to know, your agency will expel you, maybe exile you, and I’ll have $100 million in my offshore account. You can imagine how much you are going to suffer for these things to happen, agent.”
She lightly stroked the length of his back with a single fingernail.
“I think you may be surprised by the method of torture, though. You see, I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll feel no physical pain. In fact, you will feel pleasure even you might never have known. Being pleasured while completely vulnerable is a fabulous experience. Pleasure at the hands of a woman – or women – out to torture you is a turn-on that tickles the most primal urges in a man. To escape, fight, attack, but alas, be totally helpless."
She grabbed him under the chin and met his furious, vengeful glare with a stare and smile
.
“You’re quiet. You probably figured you’d just keep your mouth shut while I had someone beat you to a pulp if I caught you. That’s the kind of torture you’re used to, which is why I can’t wait to break you down and watch you cry and beg like a little boy who lost his toys. Let’s see... say I wanted to gently slide these lovely ten fingernails across your ribs like this… the slightest touch, almost indistinguishable from a breeze on cold skin. Maybe I’d get a giggle out of you.”
Nick began to sway, trying to fight the relentless tickles away as they cascaded up and down across his ribcage. He tightened his lip to prevent laughter from escaping him. The black woman circled behind him, and the two others stood on either side.
“And if Heidi stroked at the base of your toes, back and forth, then sliding her fingers like little worms peeking through the gaps between them. Then followed by long, slow circles around your arches, wiggling fingernails feasting on your soles, tracing your heels… Maybe these things will open that ticklish mouth of yours.”
The Black Widow winked, and Heidi’s foot torture began. Nick began thrashing like a wet dog, but he knew he couldn’t hold it in for too long. He despised being tickled: he was incredibly sensitive, and he wasn’t used to being powerless. But laughing for a few hours couldn’t be so bad, could it? She thought she’d get me to talk like this? Give me a break.
“It seems to me,” she said. “That Amber’s and Denise’s eyes are feasting on your naked body. Their greedy fingers are going to grab you somewhere.”
At that, Amber began kneading the insides of his thighs like bread dough. Denise wiggled her fingernails near the goose-pimpled skin around and inside his armpits, only making contact when his now thrashing body swerved into them. Eventually they touched down and relentlessly prodded and squiggled into his armpits. The new sortie of sensations overwhelmed him, and he burst into laughter.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
At the laughter, the Black Widow increased the pace and pressure around his ribs and throbbing belly, groping, grabbing, stroking in unique patterns, tracking which ones did the most damage.
“Much better. Now that we’re all busy and you’re helplessly laughing, let me tell you why you’re going to talk. I know you’re thinking that I’m a moron to think tickling you will get you to squeal. It’s going to be worse, though. Much worse. Also, I’m going to tease, and lick and suck on that hard, throbbing cock of yours while the ladies tickle the unholy shit out of the most vulnerable parts of your body. I’m going to edge it until you cry. And I’m going to stand here, and laugh, and taunt, and scream and tell you exactly what I may or may not do to mindfuck you into insanity, agent. After I milk it, the heightened sensitivity and lack of remaining sexual desire will make it tickle more. And we’re going to do much worse things until that cock gets enough blood to harden again. Then I will nibble on the head, and lick around the base, and run a feather through your ass crack, and milk it again, and yank on the pathetic limp dick like I’m pulling taffy.”
The black widow smacked Nick’s ass, which signaled everyone to stop. Except Heidi, who had learned that playing with his toes was enough to keep him squirming and laughing.
“Let me keep going,” she said. “It won’t interfere. Make it worse, probably.
“True. Ok, Amber, open the hatch.”
Amber walked away, out of sight. A moment later, Nick heard the click of a lever, and watched in horror as a cage lowered and closed around his head, completely immobilizing it. Three platforms extended out from the walls: two toward his ears, one directly at his upper lip. Three giant tarantulas crept out of the darkness, inching closer to Nick. He thrashed his head against the cage and yelped between the paroxysms of laughter that Heidi’s nimble fingertips were forcing from him. He closed his eyes and his head trembled.
“This is the part where a lot of people start to break down, Nick. I can’t blame them. Those are freaking scary spiders headed right toward the most vulnerable holes in your head.”
She set two hooks under his nostrils, yanked them back, and fastened them to the cage. Nick could feel a slight draft blowing on the short hairs inside his nose.
“Remember, though, Nick. I promised no pain. But the spiders made no promises, and they haven’t eaten in weeks.”
Nick tried to avoid shivering, but the horrid thought of spiders munching on his ears and face made him sick. Awful thoughts of egg sacks buried in his ears, dozens of little spiders scurrying across his face…He clenched his teeth so hard he wondered if he’d break his jaw. But suddenly when the spiders reached the end of the plank, they stopped. The Black Widow laughed and slapped the cage, causing his ears to ring.
“Silly, boy. They’re just robots. Denise’s idea, actually, so she gets to control them.. But they do serve a purpose other than to freak the shit out of someone.”
At that they crept toward the edge of the cage. The front two legs of those on the sides began stroking Nick’s ears - barely grazing them, then drilling into the inner canal to caress the hairs designed to protect the ears from the kind of foreign objects that were now wiggling about like silly string. The spider at his face began twirling a leg inside each nostril, lightly, gently, causing Nick to bang his head against the cage like a crazed, rabid animal. A third leg from the face spider tickled the rims of his lips. The final surprise from the horrible monstrosity facing him was the light spray of water aimed at his eyes which forced Nick to involuntarily close them. This twisted, psychotic attack on one side of his body, coupled with the more traditional but still terrible foot tickle at the other end maddened him beyond what he could have imagined. Suddenly, Amber and the Black Widow launched tickle attacks all over his torso and legs, causing him laugh so hard he felt like vomiting.
“How long can you take this, agent? We don’t have to stop. No one will find you. We can go in shifts. The spiders can keep at until their batteries die. We can force food down your throat. Let me begin phase two to show you I’m serious.”
Suddenly, everything stopped: the spiders, the women, the Black Widow. Nick gasped in huge, guttural bursts.
“Ok, that's enough,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
The Black Widow again held him by the chin and looked at him with a wicked grin on her face.
“I want to know why you think I’m stupid. You think I don’t understand this torture game? You start to break down, you feed us a bullshit story, we stop and get lazy. No, we’re going to break you over, and over, and over again. Wild information is going to pour out of your mouth.”
She points to a camera on the wall he hadn’t noticed.
“We’re going to film it all. Then we’ll analyze it later to decide which of your punch-drunk ramblings seems most earnest. If your information is good, we may let you go. But don’t insult my intelligence. There’s too much riding on this. Phase two just got worse for you.”
Nick’s heart pounded as he wondered what Phase Two might be. The women whispered and giggled behind him, but he couldn’t make out the words. The moment of rest reinvigorated his resolve: they would be pausing from time-to-time. The Black Widow wasn’t as relentless as she claimed to be. It would be enough to catch his breath and steel his will, no matter how long they tortured him. He recalled the time he’d been tortured in a Siberian prison. In January. With a steel whip and the fists of a 240-pound Russian bodyguard. What was this next to that?
As he considered these thoughts, a sortie of hands began slathering oil all over his body. His toes, feet, calves, thighs, hips, neck, chest: no inch of bare flesh was left dry. He yelped when Amber’s wet palms slid over his nipples. She smiled and flicked at them with her index fingers like punching bags.
“Ticklish little nipples, huh. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Give me a nice giggle.”
Which of course, being overstimulated, he couldn’t resist.
The Black Widow began sliding her hands all over his slippery torso like a amped-up massage therapist.
“I love to feel a strong man’s body, agent. To slide my palms over his hips and chest, the muscles on his back, to press against them, frictionless, unable to stop the slippery sliding, and unwilling to abandon the softness of the flesh.”
Heidi’s thumbs pressed into the soles of his foot, kneading the tendons and muscles from the base of the ball to the top of the heel. Her other fingers wrapped around to the top of his foot, stroking the slippery, soft skin, pressing into the creases between each twitching metatarsal, to the toes, curlicuing around them like a snake shimmying down a pole. It was the most heavenly foot massage he’d ever had. Amber and Denise each grabbed a leg, stroking it up and down from the base of his ass cheek to his ankles.
The Black Widow drew so close to Nick’s ear that he could feel her breath as she whispered into it.
“Of course, a man loves to feel my fleshy palms and soft fingertips dominating his helpless flesh. Add to it a divine foot massage and leg massage, and you end up with what we see now: a hard cock, throbbing so violently it seems capable of bursting. I love that more. When I see that, I like to dribble oil through that man’s ass crack, tracking my fingers through it like a team of mules exploring a canyon, letting the oil collect around his anus. I enjoy fondling his tight ass, kneading it like bread with my grasping, groping hands. It’s ecstasy to walk my fingers up to the base of his scrotum, the titillation of anticipation – how full will it be? How much cum will explode from the hard cock when I, or we, lick it, and tickle it, and stroke it? Do you think you could bear three tongues sliding across your cock, teasing it while a flurry of fingers exploited the most sensitive parts of your body? How smart would those fingers be after studying your ticklish skin for an hour, taking notes? Another question I often consider is how warm do I want to make a man’s balls as I hold them and flare the body heat of my oily palms against the helpless sacs of cum. Warm, comfortable balls transfer cum more effectively, you know. The heat increases blood flow. Most important to me is how lightly or vigorously do I want to stroke the vein across the back of the shaft: the most sensitive spot of that man’s body. A single, slow stroke back, and forth, might make that man beg, groan, plead, cry, scream… When you’re torturing that man, maybe all! Hilarious at how simple it is to destroy a man with pleasure when you think about it. It’s this desire I’m going to exploit now.”
While the other women continued to stroke him, the Black Widow mounted a tripod just below Nick’s cock. Atop it she affixed a wheel of soft, pink feathers. She wound a string around his cock just below the head to prevent it from quivering and pressed a button on the tripod. The feather wheel began to spin, skating across the bottom of Nick’s shaft. He immediately lurched and grunted, infuriated and exasperated that he couldn’t constrict his thighs around the feathers to quash the devilish tease. On and on the feather wheel turned, uninhibited.
“Okay, now that I’ve got that cock under my control, we should get back to the business at hand. No better way to distract a teased cock than a brutal tickle torture on a fully lubed and naked body, right, agent?”
She flattened her hands over his chest and slowly glided them toward his tummy. When her fingertips reached his nipple, she tickled them as her hands began to rumble again into a fury of strokes and scribbles. Heidi’s massage regressed back to a survey of spidery fingernails gliding across his now softer, squishy feet. Amber grabbed and prodded at his hips, groin, thighs, ass – everything in the neighborhood of a teased cock that might remind it of its ticklish plight.
“Don’t forget, Denise,” the Black Widow said, “wake the spiders before you start. We all need to have fun.”
****
Nick woke to find himself in a nearly pitch-black room, stark naked, facedown, suspended from the ceiling by a series of thick cords: around his wrists, ankles, waist, elbows, knee joints and from one that circled his head like a bandana. A dowel rod was fastened to his wrists, tied to forearms and biceps, and extended behind his back; he couldn’t do more than gyrate his pinned, outstretched arms like a helicopter blade. Black string was wrapped around the tips of his fingers and toes; they yanked each of his stretched digits toward cuffs wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles, leaving their undersides exposed. Unfamiliar with the annoying predicament ascribed to his hyperextended digits, he unsuccessfully tried to wiggle them free. They weren’t going anywhere, though. He guessed that he was around four feet above the rocky, swampy ground. The air was cold, and a trickle of water extended out of view. He figured he was in a sewer.
Standing in front of him was a tall, husky woman in a black, skintight bodysuit that accented the muscular girth of her arms and legs. She wore black lipstick, hair, boots, and thick-rimmed glasses; the only colors on her body were long, red fingernails and a red hourglass on the center of her abdomen. Behind her were three other women, all hugged by black bodysuits that accentuated their lither frames. They bore no colors on their suits, their claws were jet black, and they wore black eye masks. One was a dark-skinned black woman, making her barely visible in the darkness.
“So, Nick,” the husky woman said, “you finally get to meet the elusive black widow. And her lovely assistants, of course. Not in Zurich, or Beijing, or that lovely little café in Nice. But in her hidden underground lair, captured in her web. Poor, poor man.”
She circled him slowly and gently nudged the cords as she approached each. The thick, nylon cords had little pliancy, and Nick’s body barely swayed.
“Do you know why I have you in my web like this, Nick? Of course, you do. When you tell me what I want to know, your agency will expel you, maybe exile you, and I’ll have $100 million in my offshore account. You can imagine how much you are going to suffer for these things to happen, agent.”
She lightly stroked the length of his back with a single fingernail.
“I think you may be surprised by the method of torture, though. You see, I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll feel no physical pain. In fact, you will feel pleasure even you might never have known. Being pleasured while completely vulnerable is a fabulous experience. Pleasure at the hands of a woman – or women – out to torture you is a turn-on that tickles the most primal urges in a man. To escape, fight, attack, but alas, be totally helpless."
She grabbed him under the chin and met his furious, vengeful glare with a stare and smile
.
“You’re quiet. You probably figured you’d just keep your mouth shut while I had someone beat you to a pulp if I caught you. That’s the kind of torture you’re used to, which is why I can’t wait to break you down and watch you cry and beg like a little boy who lost his toys. Let’s see... say I wanted to gently slide these lovely ten fingernails across your ribs like this… the slightest touch, almost indistinguishable from a breeze on cold skin. Maybe I’d get a giggle out of you.”
Nick began to sway, trying to fight the relentless tickles away as they cascaded up and down across his ribcage. He tightened his lip to prevent laughter from escaping him. The black woman circled behind him, and the two others stood on either side.
“And if Heidi stroked at the base of your toes, back and forth, then sliding her fingers like little worms peeking through the gaps between them. Then followed by long, slow circles around your arches, wiggling fingernails feasting on your soles, tracing your heels… Maybe these things will open that ticklish mouth of yours.”
The Black Widow winked, and Heidi’s foot torture began. Nick began thrashing like a wet dog, but he knew he couldn’t hold it in for too long. He despised being tickled: he was incredibly sensitive, and he wasn’t used to being powerless. But laughing for a few hours couldn’t be so bad, could it? She thought she’d get me to talk like this? Give me a break.
“It seems to me,” she said. “That Amber’s and Denise’s eyes are feasting on your naked body. Their greedy fingers are going to grab you somewhere.”
At that, Amber began kneading the insides of his thighs like bread dough. Denise wiggled her fingernails near the goose-pimpled skin around and inside his armpits, only making contact when his now thrashing body swerved into them. Eventually they touched down and relentlessly prodded and squiggled into his armpits. The new sortie of sensations overwhelmed him, and he burst into laughter.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
At the laughter, the Black Widow increased the pace and pressure around his ribs and throbbing belly, groping, grabbing, stroking in unique patterns, tracking which ones did the most damage.
“Much better. Now that we’re all busy and you’re helplessly laughing, let me tell you why you’re going to talk. I know you’re thinking that I’m a moron to think tickling you will get you to squeal. It’s going to be worse, though. Much worse. Also, I’m going to tease, and lick and suck on that hard, throbbing cock of yours while the ladies tickle the unholy shit out of the most vulnerable parts of your body. I’m going to edge it until you cry. And I’m going to stand here, and laugh, and taunt, and scream and tell you exactly what I may or may not do to mindfuck you into insanity, agent. After I milk it, the heightened sensitivity and lack of remaining sexual desire will make it tickle more. And we’re going to do much worse things until that cock gets enough blood to harden again. Then I will nibble on the head, and lick around the base, and run a feather through your ass crack, and milk it again, and yank on the pathetic limp dick like I’m pulling taffy.”
The black widow smacked Nick’s ass, which signaled everyone to stop. Except Heidi, who had learned that playing with his toes was enough to keep him squirming and laughing.
“Let me keep going,” she said. “It won’t interfere. Make it worse, probably.
“True. Ok, Amber, open the hatch.”
Amber walked away, out of sight. A moment later, Nick heard the click of a lever, and watched in horror as a cage lowered and closed around his head, completely immobilizing it. Three platforms extended out from the walls: two toward his ears, one directly at his upper lip. Three giant tarantulas crept out of the darkness, inching closer to Nick. He thrashed his head against the cage and yelped between the paroxysms of laughter that Heidi’s nimble fingertips were forcing from him. He closed his eyes and his head trembled.
“This is the part where a lot of people start to break down, Nick. I can’t blame them. Those are freaking scary spiders headed right toward the most vulnerable holes in your head.”
She set two hooks under his nostrils, yanked them back, and fastened them to the cage. Nick could feel a slight draft blowing on the short hairs inside his nose.
“Remember, though, Nick. I promised no pain. But the spiders made no promises, and they haven’t eaten in weeks.”
Nick tried to avoid shivering, but the horrid thought of spiders munching on his ears and face made him sick. Awful thoughts of egg sacks buried in his ears, dozens of little spiders scurrying across his face…He clenched his teeth so hard he wondered if he’d break his jaw. But suddenly when the spiders reached the end of the plank, they stopped. The Black Widow laughed and slapped the cage, causing his ears to ring.
“Silly, boy. They’re just robots. Denise’s idea, actually, so she gets to control them.. But they do serve a purpose other than to freak the shit out of someone.”
At that they crept toward the edge of the cage. The front two legs of those on the sides began stroking Nick’s ears - barely grazing them, then drilling into the inner canal to caress the hairs designed to protect the ears from the kind of foreign objects that were now wiggling about like silly string. The spider at his face began twirling a leg inside each nostril, lightly, gently, causing Nick to bang his head against the cage like a crazed, rabid animal. A third leg from the face spider tickled the rims of his lips. The final surprise from the horrible monstrosity facing him was the light spray of water aimed at his eyes which forced Nick to involuntarily close them. This twisted, psychotic attack on one side of his body, coupled with the more traditional but still terrible foot tickle at the other end maddened him beyond what he could have imagined. Suddenly, Amber and the Black Widow launched tickle attacks all over his torso and legs, causing him laugh so hard he felt like vomiting.
“How long can you take this, agent? We don’t have to stop. No one will find you. We can go in shifts. The spiders can keep at until their batteries die. We can force food down your throat. Let me begin phase two to show you I’m serious.”
Suddenly, everything stopped: the spiders, the women, the Black Widow. Nick gasped in huge, guttural bursts.
“Ok, that's enough,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
The Black Widow again held him by the chin and looked at him with a wicked grin on her face.
“I want to know why you think I’m stupid. You think I don’t understand this torture game? You start to break down, you feed us a bullshit story, we stop and get lazy. No, we’re going to break you over, and over, and over again. Wild information is going to pour out of your mouth.”
She points to a camera on the wall he hadn’t noticed.
“We’re going to film it all. Then we’ll analyze it later to decide which of your punch-drunk ramblings seems most earnest. If your information is good, we may let you go. But don’t insult my intelligence. There’s too much riding on this. Phase two just got worse for you.”
Nick’s heart pounded as he wondered what Phase Two might be. The women whispered and giggled behind him, but he couldn’t make out the words. The moment of rest reinvigorated his resolve: they would be pausing from time-to-time. The Black Widow wasn’t as relentless as she claimed to be. It would be enough to catch his breath and steel his will, no matter how long they tortured him. He recalled the time he’d been tortured in a Siberian prison. In January. With a steel whip and the fists of a 240-pound Russian bodyguard. What was this next to that?
As he considered these thoughts, a sortie of hands began slathering oil all over his body. His toes, feet, calves, thighs, hips, neck, chest: no inch of bare flesh was left dry. He yelped when Amber’s wet palms slid over his nipples. She smiled and flicked at them with her index fingers like punching bags.
“Ticklish little nipples, huh. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Give me a nice giggle.”
Which of course, being overstimulated, he couldn’t resist.
The Black Widow began sliding her hands all over his slippery torso like a amped-up massage therapist.
“I love to feel a strong man’s body, agent. To slide my palms over his hips and chest, the muscles on his back, to press against them, frictionless, unable to stop the slippery sliding, and unwilling to abandon the softness of the flesh.”
Heidi’s thumbs pressed into the soles of his foot, kneading the tendons and muscles from the base of the ball to the top of the heel. Her other fingers wrapped around to the top of his foot, stroking the slippery, soft skin, pressing into the creases between each twitching metatarsal, to the toes, curlicuing around them like a snake shimmying down a pole. It was the most heavenly foot massage he’d ever had. Amber and Denise each grabbed a leg, stroking it up and down from the base of his ass cheek to his ankles.
The Black Widow drew so close to Nick’s ear that he could feel her breath as she whispered into it.
“Of course, a man loves to feel my fleshy palms and soft fingertips dominating his helpless flesh. Add to it a divine foot massage and leg massage, and you end up with what we see now: a hard cock, throbbing so violently it seems capable of bursting. I love that more. When I see that, I like to dribble oil through that man’s ass crack, tracking my fingers through it like a team of mules exploring a canyon, letting the oil collect around his anus. I enjoy fondling his tight ass, kneading it like bread with my grasping, groping hands. It’s ecstasy to walk my fingers up to the base of his scrotum, the titillation of anticipation – how full will it be? How much cum will explode from the hard cock when I, or we, lick it, and tickle it, and stroke it? Do you think you could bear three tongues sliding across your cock, teasing it while a flurry of fingers exploited the most sensitive parts of your body? How smart would those fingers be after studying your ticklish skin for an hour, taking notes? Another question I often consider is how warm do I want to make a man’s balls as I hold them and flare the body heat of my oily palms against the helpless sacs of cum. Warm, comfortable balls transfer cum more effectively, you know. The heat increases blood flow. Most important to me is how lightly or vigorously do I want to stroke the vein across the back of the shaft: the most sensitive spot of that man’s body. A single, slow stroke back, and forth, might make that man beg, groan, plead, cry, scream… When you’re torturing that man, maybe all! Hilarious at how simple it is to destroy a man with pleasure when you think about it. It’s this desire I’m going to exploit now.”
While the other women continued to stroke him, the Black Widow mounted a tripod just below Nick’s cock. Atop it she affixed a wheel of soft, pink feathers. She wound a string around his cock just below the head to prevent it from quivering and pressed a button on the tripod. The feather wheel began to spin, skating across the bottom of Nick’s shaft. He immediately lurched and grunted, infuriated and exasperated that he couldn’t constrict his thighs around the feathers to quash the devilish tease. On and on the feather wheel turned, uninhibited.
“Okay, now that I’ve got that cock under my control, we should get back to the business at hand. No better way to distract a teased cock than a brutal tickle torture on a fully lubed and naked body, right, agent?”
She flattened her hands over his chest and slowly glided them toward his tummy. When her fingertips reached his nipple, she tickled them as her hands began to rumble again into a fury of strokes and scribbles. Heidi’s massage regressed back to a survey of spidery fingernails gliding across his now softer, squishy feet. Amber grabbed and prodded at his hips, groin, thighs, ass – everything in the neighborhood of a teased cock that might remind it of its ticklish plight.
“Don’t forget, Denise,” the Black Widow said, “wake the spiders before you start. We all need to have fun.”
****
