Ticklishboy30
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jun 22, 2010
- Messages
- 238
- Points
- 28
Joy City
The moon’s bluish-white beams were so bright that one might think it was still daytime, if not for the multitude of dazzling white stars glittering in the ink-black sky. Shafts of light shone through the windows of the small, one-bedroom apartment, illuminating and lending a hint of life to the dreary, dull brown wallpaper in the multipurpose living/dining room.
Ignatious was more excited than he could ever remember being in his life. His suspicions about the secret identities of Kid Bondage, the brown-haired fairy, and Mr. Smiles had just been confirmed by the facial recognition software on his computer. He had spent all afternoon and most of the evening poring over drone footage, analyzing data from body scans, and devising ways to capture the heroic trio—running their strengths and weaknesses through an algorithm to anticipate every possible scenario that might lead to their success.
While eating and waiting for results, the brunette inventor debated internally about how best to ensure his plan’s success. His final decision: the drones would stake out the apartments and workplaces of his targets. When they were alone and vulnerable, he’d send the androids after them—programmed to subdue and capture each hero by any means necessary, short of death, and bring them to the hideout.
Eventually, his energy began to wane. He stood, stretched his arms, arched his back slightly, and let out a pronounced groan. Ignatious turned off the computers, set the security alarm, and headed into the nearly empty bedroom. There, he shed the rest of his clothing, crawled into bed, and turned on the small TV atop his dresser to catch up on the news.
The news anchor was saying, “As of now, there's nothing new to shed light on who the perpetrators were that held the Millstones hostage. We’re all thankful that Mr. Smiles got them to safety. In other hero-related news, earlier today we received an announcement from the unknown fairy who helped our heroes save the city a few weeks ago. He offers his thanks for the warm welcome Joy City has given him and wants to be known as Pix. Tonight’s final piece of hero news will delight the city’s Kid Bondage fans. Our very own Charles Peterson sat down with the red-haired hero earlier today, and the pair shared quite a few laughs and emotional moments. We’ve even got a quick clip of the city’s favorite blonde reporter getting into a very ticklish situation. Roll the clip.”
The brunette’s eyes widened as he watched the tickling and heard the reporter’s boyish laughter. Now, he was more than one hundred percent sure—Charles and Smiles were one and the same. He turned off the TV, rolled onto his side, and drifted into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of the three ticklish heroes howling with laughter and begging to be released a he played with and tortured them until one of them told him where John Worker was hiding.
At some point, his dreams turned into a nightmare. Ignatious was on his stomach; the man's pale flesh writhed and wriggled against the wrinkled bedsheet. He whimpered and yelped as his head moved up and down on the pillow, his hands gripping its edges. His legs slid back and forth, and the insteps of his feet deeply pressed into the mattress. Sweat poured from his body, soaking the sheets, and he hollered, “Stop! Don't come any closer. I'm going to call the police. No! Don't touch me.”
*****
It was a few years ago, and Ignatious was still employed by Worker Inc.
Ever since John and Dr. Thul began conducting experiments on the meteor hidden in a secret lab, things had grown increasingly strange. Everyone who worked with the space rock was becoming more aggressive and obsessively focused on improving their tickling skills. An oppressive and utterly fearsome atmosphere permeated the building, and John Worker and Dr. Thul were the worst of the aggressors.
Of the two, Thul was by far the more terrifying. That bald man showed no love for his fellow human beings. He was a narcissistic psychopath with blazing, nearly black eyes, and he lived to tickle torture any man he encountered—reducing them to helplessness and placing them under his control.
The young inventor walked into the building, returning from his ninety-minute lunch break. He had spent half of that time at the police station, where he handed over every bit of evidence he’d secretly collected.
Ignatious entered his office, turned on the lights, and screamed like a girl as he jumped into the air. The muscular CEO was sitting at his desk, wearing an amused smirk. His thin, wire-rimmed glasses and neatly groomed mustache complemented his chiseled, masculine features. The light blue button-down shirt clung snugly to his broad shoulders and firm chest. John's meaty, size twelve feet were propped up on the desk—bare of shoes and clad in sheer, see-through socks. Each twitching toe was clearly visible.
“Gee, hope I wasn’t the cause of such a frightened reaction, Iggie.”
The way he delivered the line—combined with the demeaning tone and the humiliating nickname—made the scientist shudder and cringe.
“P… Please, d… Don’t call m… Me Iggie, sir.”
John chuckled. He knew that nickname got under the little guy’s skin. He licked his lips and gazed at the weaker man with an unmistakably predatory glare. “Am I making you nervous, Nate?” he asked.
The younger of the pair cringed, though not as intensely as before.
“Umm… S… Slightly, s… Sir.”
“Well, let me get to the reason for my visit.” John rose from the chair and motioned for his employee to sit. “There now, comfy?” Inside, he was giddy—burning with anticipation for the tickling he was about to unleash.
The inventor gulped as the intimidating Alpha’s hands clamped down on his shoulders. He squirmed and yelped when the fingers squeezed his collarbone like a slowly tightening vise.
“There’s been a lot of unauthorized and sensitive corporate information accessed from—and downloaded to—this computer.”
The statement made Ignatious break out in a cold sweat, his eyes widening in panic.
John smirked and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of terror radiating off the smaller man. He perched on the edge of the desk, leaned in until the tips of their noses touched, and lightly tickled the underside of Ignatious’s soft, pale chin with his fingertips. In a low, gravelly growl, he said, “Now, why don’t you be a good little boy and tell Uncle John everything you’ve done.”
Unable to stop himself, the seated brunette squeaked and giggled uncontrollably, blushing as his bladder gave out. When John saw the accident and laughed like a hyena, Ignatious wanted to fling himself out the window.
“That is not a good sign for you, Iggie.”
Not giving the younger man time to think, John grabbed his bony wrists and pulled him to his feet.
Despite his fear, Ignatious spoke firmly. “What are you doing? Let me go this instant, Mr. Worker. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to report you.”
“By the time I’m finished with you, Iggie, you’ll be too hoarse—and too insane—to report anything.”
John held the slender wrists above the squirming man’s head with one hand, chuckling darkly at the pathetic attempt to escape. Moving with the speed of a cheetah, he released the wrists, wrapped his arm around Ignatious’s pole-like neck, and pulled the frail body back against his muscled chest.
“Ugh… Let… Eep… Me go…”
The toothpick-like legs kicked wildly, and in the struggle, the trapped man somehow managed to remove his own shoes.
“Thank you for making this a little easier, boy,” John growled.
The captor dragged the brunette to the door, locked it, and pressed a button on the wall to lower the blinds. After pressing another, a hidden panel slid open, revealing a padded medical exam table with wide leather cuffs attached at both ends.
The inventor’s jaw dropped. Sweat poured from every gland, soaking his clothes. In desperation, he ran to the door—pulling at the knob, banging his fists against the barrier, and screaming, “Someone, help me! Please… anyone…”
John stepped up to the panicked man, gripped the center of his dingy shirt, and yanked it from both sides. With barely any resistance, the muscled brunette popped every button and tore the flimsy fabric from the skinny frame.
“You’re a sick fucker,” Ignatious fumed, pounding his fists against the rock-hard chest. His effort earned nothing but laughter.
“You have no idea, little man.”
“No… Get away from me…”
The bully’s arm wrapped around his victim’s waist, dragging the slighter man toward the table. Ignatious’s sock-clad heels scraped across the floor.
“Put me down… No… I’m not going to let you strap—No…”
Futile. That’s what the protests and escape attempts were. Ignatious knew it. And within seconds, he was stripped naked and restrained to the table. “No matter what you do, I’ll never tell you a thing, Worker. But I’ll have a nice chat with the police and get a restraining order against you,” he hollered, tugging at the leather cuffs.
“Here’s the thing—there’s nothing we need from you except your screams and laughter.” John’s eyes darkened and narrowed as he leaned forward and slowly licked across the shocked inventor’s lips. “We already know everything you’ve done and where you went today. My prodigy, Fred, uncovered your little intelligence-gathering effort and brought it to my attention. You’ve been under surveillance for weeks, Iggie.”
“Fred? That redheaded geek sold me out?”
John chuckled. “Of course, Fred was tickled—literally—and eagerly released his findings under the expert teamwork of Dr. Thul, the tickle chair, and me.”
Ignatious gasped and closed his eyes in defeat. He knew just how ticklish Fred was, thanks to the frequent, playful tickle attacks he and the redhead had launched on each other. “So what is all this? Why not just fire me and go our separate ways?”
“You can thank the good Dr. Thul for that, Iggie. See, the doctor is very persuasive—and he tickled me into letting him have some fun with you before giving you the axe, as it were.”
“No… You can’t let that monster near me,” Ignatious gasped, his voice trembling like a frayed wire. He sucked in a breath, but instead of pleading, a burst of uncontrolled laughter was tore from his throat—high-pitched, involuntary, almost inhuman. “No… Please… Not my bare feet… Your fingernails are torture!” he shrieked, his body convulsing with uncontrollable cackles.
John’s eyes gleamed with a cruel intensity, like twin embers stoked by malice. He dug in mercilessly, fingers dancing across the tender soles with surgical precision. The small feet flailed helplessly, soft and vulnerable, as if begging for mercy. “I’ll savor every second, watching as Dr. Thul destroys you, boy,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous.
Then, without a glance back, the CEO turned on his heel and strode out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him like a final verdict.
Sweat and tears streaked the helpless captive’s goosebumps, which adorned his clammy skin. Being alone in the office was excruciating—the silence, maddening—and time stood still, or at best, crawled with the torturous pace of a snail whose tail was already in the grave.
“Ah, the scent of pure fear in a man—there’s no sweeter perfume ever crafted. Pair it with the glorious shimmer of sweat, making his skin glisten and gleam, and you have an exquisite tableau no human artist could ever hope to capture.”
The suddenness of Thul's disembodied, dark, and frightening tone—along with his sinister words—triggered the restrained man's ear-splitting scream and the small stream of urine that flowed from the brunette’s body.
*****
The sweat-soaked upper body jolted upright just as a bloodcurdling scream tore through the inventor’s lips. Ignatious panted heavily, swiping buckets of sweat from his bangs and brow.
“It was only a dr—” he began, until he felt the puddle beneath his bare ass cheeks.
“FUCK! Not again.”
His voice dropped to a growl. “I’ll make those heroes beg for the torture to end before they even think about telling me where John Fucking Worker is.”
He rose, muttering curses, and began stripping the urine-soaked sheets, spraying down the mattress to keep the stench at bay.
*****
The sound of lively chatter and pulsing music spilled from Masked Fantasies, while neon pink, green, and blue LED light strips outlined the structure, its roof, and entryways—bright enough to be seen from a galaxy far, far away.
The establishment’s lot was packed, so when Paul Waters pulled his 2024 dark red Porsche convertible into an empty parking space, he was pleasantly surprised. By day, Paul was a hardworking businessman and one of the wealthiest citizens in Joy City. By night, he transformed into Big Daddy—a lover of tickling, leather, and bondage, and a highly respected Dom.
The burly, dark-haired, muscular, bear-like millionaire ran his fingers through his thick mustache and the furry black chest hair proudly displayed on his bare torso. Then he retrieved a black leather vest and a black leather captain’s hat from the passenger seat and slipped them on.
The well-respected forty-year-old Daddy stepped out of his vehicle, closed and locked the door, enabled the alarm, and strode toward his favorite playground.
Tonight, the kink bar was nearly standing room only. Everyone who loved bondage, tickling, and watching a guy pushed to the brink of insanity had gathered for the night’s special event. Jake Masters, the owner of Fantasies, was attempting to beat his record for tickle torture endurance. He would be tickled by Big Daddy, who was also aiming to surpass his own record for making a guy cry uncle. Jake’s best time was thirty minutes; Big Daddy’s was twenty.
Paul was instantly greeted with hugs, kisses, and several guys throwing themselves at him. Each one received his affection in return—plus a few quick tickles that had them squealing, giggling, laughing, and squirming.
Jake stood in front of the bar, reviewing some paperwork. His dark red hair was buzzed on the sides and left longer on top. The hazel-eyed, thirty-year-old entrepreneur stood five foot ten, his slender 165-pound frame defined by toned biceps and leg muscles. He wore a snug green tank top, tan cargo shorts that hugged his waist and accentuated his bubble butt, white ankle socks with gray heel and toe patches, and size eleven black skater shoes.
Paul silently crept up behind his soon-to-be tickle victim, lost in his own world.
Jake yelped and jumped when a pair of muscled arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him backward against a mountainous wall of warm, hairy flesh.
“So, Jakey, are you ready for me to shorten your endurance time?” Paul whispered into the younger man's ear. He chuckled as his captive shivered and giggled like a little boy.
“Sheesh! You know my ears are a major hot spot, Daddy.”
Jake squirmed and wriggled, trying to escape the hold, but it was unbreakable. Of course, he wasn’t trying all that hard. He loved the cat-and-mouse game he and the man—ten years his senior—played every time they were together. His generous manhood was hard, pressing against the front of his shorts.
Paul leaned in closer, deeply inhaling the cologne. Slowly, the tip of his tongue traced along the outer ridge of the redhead’s ear. His cock stiffened at the tremors running through the smaller body, and at the sound of whimpers and giggles.
“You know,” he murmured, “it’s been a long time since my dungeon was graced by your hot, cub body. I think I’ll take you—and this shirt—as my trophy.”
Before Jake could react, his shirt was slipped up and off, revealing a firm stomach and chest dusted with curly reddish-brown hair, and the beginning of a treasure trail.
“Sorry, Daddy Paul,” Jake said, “but I can’t play after closing. I’ve got an important meeting in the morning.”
“Damn,” Paul sighed. “Guess I’ll have to be happy with this shirt until you’re able to come see me.”
"You're lucky I've got another shirt, dirty old Daddy man," Jake teased.
The playful owner giggled as he dodged Paul’s bulky, sasquatch-like arms.
"Nope! You know the rules—no tickling before the contest begins, Papa Bear."
Paul smiled and moved quicker than his younger playmate, trapping him against the bar. He spun the still-giggling male around so he faced the bar, then bent him over it.
"Shit! That totally didn't go the way I planned."
"There are other things I can do to my cub for teasing his Daddy," Paul muttered into the redhead’s ear.
Jake's sneakers squeaked as the soles slid along the shiny floor, and he squirmed and wriggled between the hard surfaces. Being so turned on, he gasped and mewed as the hulking man nibbled and licked his ears and neck. His eyes glazed over from the sensation of strong, meaty fingers gently rubbing his muscular, bare, and hairy stomach before moving to his crotch. Seconds of caressing his seven-inch shaft and ball sack resulted in precum dampening the green thongs beneath his shorts.
“Alright, you two—time to give these boys the show they came for.”
Paul chuckled, and Jake growled at Blake, his giggling bartender.
“Fuck! I'm way too horny to last long tonight,” Jake yelped as his ass was slapped.
“Good luck, Jakey-Cub.”
“Grrr… I’m sooo getting you back for getting me this worked up.”
“You can have fun trying, Kiddo.”
As they walked to the locker room, Jake shared some of his future ideas and plans.
“By the way, I’ve got an idea for a fundraising tickle-endurance event between you, Kid Bondage, and Mr. Smiles.”
Paul’s eyes lit up with excitement. “That would be an amazing contest. I’m in.”
“If they’re not able or willing to participate, my backup choices are Luke Drewford, Phoenix Ash, and Charles Peterson.”
“Wow! Why not see if you can get them for a different night and do two separate fundraisers?”
“I’ve also got a plan to set up a ‘Most Eligible and Ticklish Bachelor’ auction, where guys can bid on an evening with a hero—Drewford, Ash, and Peterson. Of course, it’ll be separate bids.”
“Looks like the charities will be getting a lot of my money.”
Paul and Jake hugged and shared a kiss before heading up to the stage.
“Good luck,” they said to each other.
Behind the curtain, Jake—clad in nothing but black thongs—climbed onto the St. Andrew's Cross. His wrists and ankles were secured with padded cuffs, bolted to the extended arms of the frame.
Blake Wright, the bartender from earlier, boomed over the speakers.
“Alright, men and boys, the time has come for the long-anticipated rematch between Big Daddy and Jake Masters. Will this power bottom and lee, and dominant top and expert tickler be able to beat their own records?”
The curtain parted, and the crowd erupted. Shouts of encouragement pierced the thunderous response, barely audible but fiercely felt.
“You can do it, Jake!”
“C’mon, Big Daddy—make this boy squeal and beg!”
As the large digital stopwatch lit up above the contestants, the audience fell silent, eager to catch every giggle and plea from the helpless redhead.
Jake closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, anxiously bracing for the first wave of tickles to roll through him.
“Shit, Daddy’s not gonna give Jake any fighting chance,” Blake muttered.
“What do—” Jake began, but stopped when a sleep mask was slipped over his eyes. “Aww, shit. C’mon, Daddy, not the mask.”
“Oh, not just the mask, my pretty little ticklish boy.”
Another voice nearly hollered, “Fuck! Jake’s totally screwed.”
Paul chuckled as he placed a pair of noise-canceling headphones over the captive’s ears.
Jake’s head jerked side to side. He squirmed as much as the restraints allowed, feet twisting and toes scrunching, forming soft wrinkles across his pale, creamy soles.
“Can’t let these cute piggies do that anymore either.”
Jake jumped, squeaked, and let out a string of high-pitched giggles as his toes were lightly tickled. Tiny loops of rope slipped over them, and he gasped when they were pulled back.
Five minutes had passed since the clock started, but to Jake, it felt like hours—maybe even days. He couldn’t see or hear a thing. I’m soooo fuckin’ screwed, he thought.
Without warning, something soft and wide slowly stroked along the redhead’s sweaty ass crack and the damp, slightly hairy inner cheeks—his second most ticklish spot. Though he couldn’t hear them, the bar owner felt every muscle spasm from the uncontrollable squeals and shrieking giggles he knew were echoing through the audience. “Fuck! Shit! That’s just so wrong to start with this, Daddy!” he screeched.
“Damn! I should've gotten some popcorn,” a patron said, prompting laughter from the others gathered around him.
The clock read ten minutes. Paul set down the wide-rimmed paintbrush. His eyes reflected the flames of desire burning within him—his steel-rod-like manhood a testament to it.
Jake was breathing heavily, beads of sweat pouring from his bangs and mixing with the saliva streaking his face.
“Time to let you hear yourself, my squealing Cub,” the tickler said, removing the headphones.
Suddenly, five fingers kneaded and dug into both sides of the warm, damp, fleshy spot just above Jake’s hips, sending the helpless, ticklish man into a round of boisterous, howling laughter. His limbs pulled furiously against the restraints, and his midsection bucked.
“Please, not that spot, Daddy!”
“That’s it, my adorable Cub—plead and beg for the audience. All you have to do is say ‘Uncle.’”
Jake knew his resolve was deteriorating quickly, but he wanted to hold out a little longer.
Paul looked up. “We’re at fifteen minutes.” He grabbed two gloves that resembled furry bear paws with fake claws. “Time for your feet to enjoy my claws.”
Behind the mask, Jake’s eyes bulged.
“Fuck! FUCK! NOT THE BEAR CLAWS!”
Seconds after the claws lightly raked along his defenseless bare soles, shrieks and screeches flew from Jake’s mouth. His senses overloaded, and snot, saliva, and sweat flung everywhere as the cross creaked and rattled.
“I… GIVE… UNCLE…”
The clock stopped at 19 minutes, and the crowd went wild.
“Big Daddy just bested his record by one minute. Jake’s new record is19 minutes!”
Jake was released. He panted, his sweat-drenched body scooped up into Paul’s arms and carried to the locker room.
“Fuck! I’ll have to get my endurance back up.”
“Don’t you dare feel bad about this outcome, baby boy. I’m very proud of you,” Paul said firmly.
Jake smiled when Paul kissed him, their tongues massaging one another.
“I’m far from feeling bad about my time, Daddy. Tonight, I lasted longer than I did the last time we had fun together.”
Paul laughed and gave the younger man a bear hug that lifted the redhead off the floor.
“You, Jake Masters, are one of the baddest-ass lees I’ve ever had the pleasure of tickling.”
The men shared a hot, steamy shower, and gave each other a mind blowing blow job.
The moon’s bluish-white beams were so bright that one might think it was still daytime, if not for the multitude of dazzling white stars glittering in the ink-black sky. Shafts of light shone through the windows of the small, one-bedroom apartment, illuminating and lending a hint of life to the dreary, dull brown wallpaper in the multipurpose living/dining room.
Ignatious was more excited than he could ever remember being in his life. His suspicions about the secret identities of Kid Bondage, the brown-haired fairy, and Mr. Smiles had just been confirmed by the facial recognition software on his computer. He had spent all afternoon and most of the evening poring over drone footage, analyzing data from body scans, and devising ways to capture the heroic trio—running their strengths and weaknesses through an algorithm to anticipate every possible scenario that might lead to their success.
While eating and waiting for results, the brunette inventor debated internally about how best to ensure his plan’s success. His final decision: the drones would stake out the apartments and workplaces of his targets. When they were alone and vulnerable, he’d send the androids after them—programmed to subdue and capture each hero by any means necessary, short of death, and bring them to the hideout.
Eventually, his energy began to wane. He stood, stretched his arms, arched his back slightly, and let out a pronounced groan. Ignatious turned off the computers, set the security alarm, and headed into the nearly empty bedroom. There, he shed the rest of his clothing, crawled into bed, and turned on the small TV atop his dresser to catch up on the news.
The news anchor was saying, “As of now, there's nothing new to shed light on who the perpetrators were that held the Millstones hostage. We’re all thankful that Mr. Smiles got them to safety. In other hero-related news, earlier today we received an announcement from the unknown fairy who helped our heroes save the city a few weeks ago. He offers his thanks for the warm welcome Joy City has given him and wants to be known as Pix. Tonight’s final piece of hero news will delight the city’s Kid Bondage fans. Our very own Charles Peterson sat down with the red-haired hero earlier today, and the pair shared quite a few laughs and emotional moments. We’ve even got a quick clip of the city’s favorite blonde reporter getting into a very ticklish situation. Roll the clip.”
The brunette’s eyes widened as he watched the tickling and heard the reporter’s boyish laughter. Now, he was more than one hundred percent sure—Charles and Smiles were one and the same. He turned off the TV, rolled onto his side, and drifted into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of the three ticklish heroes howling with laughter and begging to be released a he played with and tortured them until one of them told him where John Worker was hiding.
At some point, his dreams turned into a nightmare. Ignatious was on his stomach; the man's pale flesh writhed and wriggled against the wrinkled bedsheet. He whimpered and yelped as his head moved up and down on the pillow, his hands gripping its edges. His legs slid back and forth, and the insteps of his feet deeply pressed into the mattress. Sweat poured from his body, soaking the sheets, and he hollered, “Stop! Don't come any closer. I'm going to call the police. No! Don't touch me.”
*****
It was a few years ago, and Ignatious was still employed by Worker Inc.
Ever since John and Dr. Thul began conducting experiments on the meteor hidden in a secret lab, things had grown increasingly strange. Everyone who worked with the space rock was becoming more aggressive and obsessively focused on improving their tickling skills. An oppressive and utterly fearsome atmosphere permeated the building, and John Worker and Dr. Thul were the worst of the aggressors.
Of the two, Thul was by far the more terrifying. That bald man showed no love for his fellow human beings. He was a narcissistic psychopath with blazing, nearly black eyes, and he lived to tickle torture any man he encountered—reducing them to helplessness and placing them under his control.
The young inventor walked into the building, returning from his ninety-minute lunch break. He had spent half of that time at the police station, where he handed over every bit of evidence he’d secretly collected.
Ignatious entered his office, turned on the lights, and screamed like a girl as he jumped into the air. The muscular CEO was sitting at his desk, wearing an amused smirk. His thin, wire-rimmed glasses and neatly groomed mustache complemented his chiseled, masculine features. The light blue button-down shirt clung snugly to his broad shoulders and firm chest. John's meaty, size twelve feet were propped up on the desk—bare of shoes and clad in sheer, see-through socks. Each twitching toe was clearly visible.
“Gee, hope I wasn’t the cause of such a frightened reaction, Iggie.”
The way he delivered the line—combined with the demeaning tone and the humiliating nickname—made the scientist shudder and cringe.
“P… Please, d… Don’t call m… Me Iggie, sir.”
John chuckled. He knew that nickname got under the little guy’s skin. He licked his lips and gazed at the weaker man with an unmistakably predatory glare. “Am I making you nervous, Nate?” he asked.
The younger of the pair cringed, though not as intensely as before.
“Umm… S… Slightly, s… Sir.”
“Well, let me get to the reason for my visit.” John rose from the chair and motioned for his employee to sit. “There now, comfy?” Inside, he was giddy—burning with anticipation for the tickling he was about to unleash.
The inventor gulped as the intimidating Alpha’s hands clamped down on his shoulders. He squirmed and yelped when the fingers squeezed his collarbone like a slowly tightening vise.
“There’s been a lot of unauthorized and sensitive corporate information accessed from—and downloaded to—this computer.”
The statement made Ignatious break out in a cold sweat, his eyes widening in panic.
John smirked and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of terror radiating off the smaller man. He perched on the edge of the desk, leaned in until the tips of their noses touched, and lightly tickled the underside of Ignatious’s soft, pale chin with his fingertips. In a low, gravelly growl, he said, “Now, why don’t you be a good little boy and tell Uncle John everything you’ve done.”
Unable to stop himself, the seated brunette squeaked and giggled uncontrollably, blushing as his bladder gave out. When John saw the accident and laughed like a hyena, Ignatious wanted to fling himself out the window.
“That is not a good sign for you, Iggie.”
Not giving the younger man time to think, John grabbed his bony wrists and pulled him to his feet.
Despite his fear, Ignatious spoke firmly. “What are you doing? Let me go this instant, Mr. Worker. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to report you.”
“By the time I’m finished with you, Iggie, you’ll be too hoarse—and too insane—to report anything.”
John held the slender wrists above the squirming man’s head with one hand, chuckling darkly at the pathetic attempt to escape. Moving with the speed of a cheetah, he released the wrists, wrapped his arm around Ignatious’s pole-like neck, and pulled the frail body back against his muscled chest.
“Ugh… Let… Eep… Me go…”
The toothpick-like legs kicked wildly, and in the struggle, the trapped man somehow managed to remove his own shoes.
“Thank you for making this a little easier, boy,” John growled.
The captor dragged the brunette to the door, locked it, and pressed a button on the wall to lower the blinds. After pressing another, a hidden panel slid open, revealing a padded medical exam table with wide leather cuffs attached at both ends.
The inventor’s jaw dropped. Sweat poured from every gland, soaking his clothes. In desperation, he ran to the door—pulling at the knob, banging his fists against the barrier, and screaming, “Someone, help me! Please… anyone…”
John stepped up to the panicked man, gripped the center of his dingy shirt, and yanked it from both sides. With barely any resistance, the muscled brunette popped every button and tore the flimsy fabric from the skinny frame.
“You’re a sick fucker,” Ignatious fumed, pounding his fists against the rock-hard chest. His effort earned nothing but laughter.
“You have no idea, little man.”
“No… Get away from me…”
The bully’s arm wrapped around his victim’s waist, dragging the slighter man toward the table. Ignatious’s sock-clad heels scraped across the floor.
“Put me down… No… I’m not going to let you strap—No…”
Futile. That’s what the protests and escape attempts were. Ignatious knew it. And within seconds, he was stripped naked and restrained to the table. “No matter what you do, I’ll never tell you a thing, Worker. But I’ll have a nice chat with the police and get a restraining order against you,” he hollered, tugging at the leather cuffs.
“Here’s the thing—there’s nothing we need from you except your screams and laughter.” John’s eyes darkened and narrowed as he leaned forward and slowly licked across the shocked inventor’s lips. “We already know everything you’ve done and where you went today. My prodigy, Fred, uncovered your little intelligence-gathering effort and brought it to my attention. You’ve been under surveillance for weeks, Iggie.”
“Fred? That redheaded geek sold me out?”
John chuckled. “Of course, Fred was tickled—literally—and eagerly released his findings under the expert teamwork of Dr. Thul, the tickle chair, and me.”
Ignatious gasped and closed his eyes in defeat. He knew just how ticklish Fred was, thanks to the frequent, playful tickle attacks he and the redhead had launched on each other. “So what is all this? Why not just fire me and go our separate ways?”
“You can thank the good Dr. Thul for that, Iggie. See, the doctor is very persuasive—and he tickled me into letting him have some fun with you before giving you the axe, as it were.”
“No… You can’t let that monster near me,” Ignatious gasped, his voice trembling like a frayed wire. He sucked in a breath, but instead of pleading, a burst of uncontrolled laughter was tore from his throat—high-pitched, involuntary, almost inhuman. “No… Please… Not my bare feet… Your fingernails are torture!” he shrieked, his body convulsing with uncontrollable cackles.
John’s eyes gleamed with a cruel intensity, like twin embers stoked by malice. He dug in mercilessly, fingers dancing across the tender soles with surgical precision. The small feet flailed helplessly, soft and vulnerable, as if begging for mercy. “I’ll savor every second, watching as Dr. Thul destroys you, boy,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous.
Then, without a glance back, the CEO turned on his heel and strode out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him like a final verdict.
Sweat and tears streaked the helpless captive’s goosebumps, which adorned his clammy skin. Being alone in the office was excruciating—the silence, maddening—and time stood still, or at best, crawled with the torturous pace of a snail whose tail was already in the grave.
“Ah, the scent of pure fear in a man—there’s no sweeter perfume ever crafted. Pair it with the glorious shimmer of sweat, making his skin glisten and gleam, and you have an exquisite tableau no human artist could ever hope to capture.”
The suddenness of Thul's disembodied, dark, and frightening tone—along with his sinister words—triggered the restrained man's ear-splitting scream and the small stream of urine that flowed from the brunette’s body.
*****
The sweat-soaked upper body jolted upright just as a bloodcurdling scream tore through the inventor’s lips. Ignatious panted heavily, swiping buckets of sweat from his bangs and brow.
“It was only a dr—” he began, until he felt the puddle beneath his bare ass cheeks.
“FUCK! Not again.”
His voice dropped to a growl. “I’ll make those heroes beg for the torture to end before they even think about telling me where John Fucking Worker is.”
He rose, muttering curses, and began stripping the urine-soaked sheets, spraying down the mattress to keep the stench at bay.
*****
The sound of lively chatter and pulsing music spilled from Masked Fantasies, while neon pink, green, and blue LED light strips outlined the structure, its roof, and entryways—bright enough to be seen from a galaxy far, far away.
The establishment’s lot was packed, so when Paul Waters pulled his 2024 dark red Porsche convertible into an empty parking space, he was pleasantly surprised. By day, Paul was a hardworking businessman and one of the wealthiest citizens in Joy City. By night, he transformed into Big Daddy—a lover of tickling, leather, and bondage, and a highly respected Dom.
The burly, dark-haired, muscular, bear-like millionaire ran his fingers through his thick mustache and the furry black chest hair proudly displayed on his bare torso. Then he retrieved a black leather vest and a black leather captain’s hat from the passenger seat and slipped them on.
The well-respected forty-year-old Daddy stepped out of his vehicle, closed and locked the door, enabled the alarm, and strode toward his favorite playground.
Tonight, the kink bar was nearly standing room only. Everyone who loved bondage, tickling, and watching a guy pushed to the brink of insanity had gathered for the night’s special event. Jake Masters, the owner of Fantasies, was attempting to beat his record for tickle torture endurance. He would be tickled by Big Daddy, who was also aiming to surpass his own record for making a guy cry uncle. Jake’s best time was thirty minutes; Big Daddy’s was twenty.
Paul was instantly greeted with hugs, kisses, and several guys throwing themselves at him. Each one received his affection in return—plus a few quick tickles that had them squealing, giggling, laughing, and squirming.
Jake stood in front of the bar, reviewing some paperwork. His dark red hair was buzzed on the sides and left longer on top. The hazel-eyed, thirty-year-old entrepreneur stood five foot ten, his slender 165-pound frame defined by toned biceps and leg muscles. He wore a snug green tank top, tan cargo shorts that hugged his waist and accentuated his bubble butt, white ankle socks with gray heel and toe patches, and size eleven black skater shoes.
Paul silently crept up behind his soon-to-be tickle victim, lost in his own world.
Jake yelped and jumped when a pair of muscled arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him backward against a mountainous wall of warm, hairy flesh.
“So, Jakey, are you ready for me to shorten your endurance time?” Paul whispered into the younger man's ear. He chuckled as his captive shivered and giggled like a little boy.
“Sheesh! You know my ears are a major hot spot, Daddy.”
Jake squirmed and wriggled, trying to escape the hold, but it was unbreakable. Of course, he wasn’t trying all that hard. He loved the cat-and-mouse game he and the man—ten years his senior—played every time they were together. His generous manhood was hard, pressing against the front of his shorts.
Paul leaned in closer, deeply inhaling the cologne. Slowly, the tip of his tongue traced along the outer ridge of the redhead’s ear. His cock stiffened at the tremors running through the smaller body, and at the sound of whimpers and giggles.
“You know,” he murmured, “it’s been a long time since my dungeon was graced by your hot, cub body. I think I’ll take you—and this shirt—as my trophy.”
Before Jake could react, his shirt was slipped up and off, revealing a firm stomach and chest dusted with curly reddish-brown hair, and the beginning of a treasure trail.
“Sorry, Daddy Paul,” Jake said, “but I can’t play after closing. I’ve got an important meeting in the morning.”
“Damn,” Paul sighed. “Guess I’ll have to be happy with this shirt until you’re able to come see me.”
"You're lucky I've got another shirt, dirty old Daddy man," Jake teased.
The playful owner giggled as he dodged Paul’s bulky, sasquatch-like arms.
"Nope! You know the rules—no tickling before the contest begins, Papa Bear."
Paul smiled and moved quicker than his younger playmate, trapping him against the bar. He spun the still-giggling male around so he faced the bar, then bent him over it.
"Shit! That totally didn't go the way I planned."
"There are other things I can do to my cub for teasing his Daddy," Paul muttered into the redhead’s ear.
Jake's sneakers squeaked as the soles slid along the shiny floor, and he squirmed and wriggled between the hard surfaces. Being so turned on, he gasped and mewed as the hulking man nibbled and licked his ears and neck. His eyes glazed over from the sensation of strong, meaty fingers gently rubbing his muscular, bare, and hairy stomach before moving to his crotch. Seconds of caressing his seven-inch shaft and ball sack resulted in precum dampening the green thongs beneath his shorts.
“Alright, you two—time to give these boys the show they came for.”
Paul chuckled, and Jake growled at Blake, his giggling bartender.
“Fuck! I'm way too horny to last long tonight,” Jake yelped as his ass was slapped.
“Good luck, Jakey-Cub.”
“Grrr… I’m sooo getting you back for getting me this worked up.”
“You can have fun trying, Kiddo.”
As they walked to the locker room, Jake shared some of his future ideas and plans.
“By the way, I’ve got an idea for a fundraising tickle-endurance event between you, Kid Bondage, and Mr. Smiles.”
Paul’s eyes lit up with excitement. “That would be an amazing contest. I’m in.”
“If they’re not able or willing to participate, my backup choices are Luke Drewford, Phoenix Ash, and Charles Peterson.”
“Wow! Why not see if you can get them for a different night and do two separate fundraisers?”
“I’ve also got a plan to set up a ‘Most Eligible and Ticklish Bachelor’ auction, where guys can bid on an evening with a hero—Drewford, Ash, and Peterson. Of course, it’ll be separate bids.”
“Looks like the charities will be getting a lot of my money.”
Paul and Jake hugged and shared a kiss before heading up to the stage.
“Good luck,” they said to each other.
Behind the curtain, Jake—clad in nothing but black thongs—climbed onto the St. Andrew's Cross. His wrists and ankles were secured with padded cuffs, bolted to the extended arms of the frame.
Blake Wright, the bartender from earlier, boomed over the speakers.
“Alright, men and boys, the time has come for the long-anticipated rematch between Big Daddy and Jake Masters. Will this power bottom and lee, and dominant top and expert tickler be able to beat their own records?”
The curtain parted, and the crowd erupted. Shouts of encouragement pierced the thunderous response, barely audible but fiercely felt.
“You can do it, Jake!”
“C’mon, Big Daddy—make this boy squeal and beg!”
As the large digital stopwatch lit up above the contestants, the audience fell silent, eager to catch every giggle and plea from the helpless redhead.
Jake closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, anxiously bracing for the first wave of tickles to roll through him.
“Shit, Daddy’s not gonna give Jake any fighting chance,” Blake muttered.
“What do—” Jake began, but stopped when a sleep mask was slipped over his eyes. “Aww, shit. C’mon, Daddy, not the mask.”
“Oh, not just the mask, my pretty little ticklish boy.”
Another voice nearly hollered, “Fuck! Jake’s totally screwed.”
Paul chuckled as he placed a pair of noise-canceling headphones over the captive’s ears.
Jake’s head jerked side to side. He squirmed as much as the restraints allowed, feet twisting and toes scrunching, forming soft wrinkles across his pale, creamy soles.
“Can’t let these cute piggies do that anymore either.”
Jake jumped, squeaked, and let out a string of high-pitched giggles as his toes were lightly tickled. Tiny loops of rope slipped over them, and he gasped when they were pulled back.
Five minutes had passed since the clock started, but to Jake, it felt like hours—maybe even days. He couldn’t see or hear a thing. I’m soooo fuckin’ screwed, he thought.
Without warning, something soft and wide slowly stroked along the redhead’s sweaty ass crack and the damp, slightly hairy inner cheeks—his second most ticklish spot. Though he couldn’t hear them, the bar owner felt every muscle spasm from the uncontrollable squeals and shrieking giggles he knew were echoing through the audience. “Fuck! Shit! That’s just so wrong to start with this, Daddy!” he screeched.
“Damn! I should've gotten some popcorn,” a patron said, prompting laughter from the others gathered around him.
The clock read ten minutes. Paul set down the wide-rimmed paintbrush. His eyes reflected the flames of desire burning within him—his steel-rod-like manhood a testament to it.
Jake was breathing heavily, beads of sweat pouring from his bangs and mixing with the saliva streaking his face.
“Time to let you hear yourself, my squealing Cub,” the tickler said, removing the headphones.
Suddenly, five fingers kneaded and dug into both sides of the warm, damp, fleshy spot just above Jake’s hips, sending the helpless, ticklish man into a round of boisterous, howling laughter. His limbs pulled furiously against the restraints, and his midsection bucked.
“Please, not that spot, Daddy!”
“That’s it, my adorable Cub—plead and beg for the audience. All you have to do is say ‘Uncle.’”
Jake knew his resolve was deteriorating quickly, but he wanted to hold out a little longer.
Paul looked up. “We’re at fifteen minutes.” He grabbed two gloves that resembled furry bear paws with fake claws. “Time for your feet to enjoy my claws.”
Behind the mask, Jake’s eyes bulged.
“Fuck! FUCK! NOT THE BEAR CLAWS!”
Seconds after the claws lightly raked along his defenseless bare soles, shrieks and screeches flew from Jake’s mouth. His senses overloaded, and snot, saliva, and sweat flung everywhere as the cross creaked and rattled.
“I… GIVE… UNCLE…”
The clock stopped at 19 minutes, and the crowd went wild.
“Big Daddy just bested his record by one minute. Jake’s new record is19 minutes!”
Jake was released. He panted, his sweat-drenched body scooped up into Paul’s arms and carried to the locker room.
“Fuck! I’ll have to get my endurance back up.”
“Don’t you dare feel bad about this outcome, baby boy. I’m very proud of you,” Paul said firmly.
Jake smiled when Paul kissed him, their tongues massaging one another.
“I’m far from feeling bad about my time, Daddy. Tonight, I lasted longer than I did the last time we had fun together.”
Paul laughed and gave the younger man a bear hug that lifted the redhead off the floor.
“You, Jake Masters, are one of the baddest-ass lees I’ve ever had the pleasure of tickling.”
The men shared a hot, steamy shower, and gave each other a mind blowing blow job.
