NOTE: This story contains elements of forced foot and armpit worship, non-con, and is generally very dark. If you are not into fairly sadistic stories, do not proceed.
HUSBAND IN TICKLE HELL
"Is he trained?" The gruff voice asked.
"Not entirely." The softer, more feminine voice responded. "I mean," She continued. "He's not broken yet, if that's what your asking." Her tone was clerical, cold. Devoid of any compassion.
"That will lower the price." The man responded. I felt him move closer to me, likely inspecting the product. I imagined what he looked like. He sounded large, grizzled, and serious. His voice boomed with an absolute authority that sent shivers down my spine.
The blindfold made it worse. The fact that I didn't know where the next attack would come from, how and when I would next be violated. I suppose that was the point.
"Oh, come now." She replied. "He's close to broken already. A month with you and he'll be a giggling lunatic. I believe I've proven to you that he can be easily controlled by a more dominant man. You've seen the videos."
"Yes..." He replied. "Impressive work, I'll admit. The man in the videos, the one having his feet and armpits worshiped by the product-- is he your new boyfriend?"
"Yes." My wife replied. "His old boss."
"We can use that." The man sounded pleased. "Cuckoldry, humiliation from a man with power over you. It does wonders for breaking down the ego."
"Exactly." I could feel a sinister smile on my wife's face, even without seeing it. Or ex-wife, I guess. "Consider that bell rung--he's licked my boyfriend's cum off my feet. He's had his face forcibly buried in an armpit while I'm getting fucked. He's been tickled until he pisses himself while I'm being caressed. Do you see that cock cage? Two months and counting, while he watches another man cum every day. Like I said."
My ex-wife leaned forward, whispering in my ear
"He's close to breaking." A tear ran down my face as I recalled all the torments she described. Feathers caressing my aching balls, sobbing as my tongue cleaned another man's toes, the smothering stench of a massive, hairy pit on my face.
"Anything else I should know?" The man continued. I heard his footsteps circling around to my back.
"You're already aware of his intense aversion to men's feet and armpits. Women's are no treat for him either, but given his sexual orientation, a man's will always be the most effective punishment. Hairy and sweaty make it worse for him; we've tested that extensively. We were initially edging him daily--an attempt to build up the frustration--but have since dispensed with that practice. Leaving him in chastity, without any contact on his cock, seems to be the most emasculating. His testicles are plenty ticklish anyhow, so access to the shaft is unnecessary. You'll notice that he is completely shaven. This serves a dual purpose: Without hair, his armpits are more vulnerable to feathers and brushes."
My armpits, stretched taught high above my head, reflexively twitched as she mentioned their sensitivity. I began to shake in my bonds.
She continued, unbothered. "Reason number two is of course to deprive him of another manly characteristic. Hmm, what else?" She pissed for a moment. "Unfortunately, releasing pictures and videos of him in compromising situations has seemingly lost its effectiveness. After the first forced foot worship and tickle torture video was posted online, it was disseminated quite widely. He no longer has any social standing, so there's nothing there to chip away at."
"We will have to test his ticklishness ourselves." The gruff man interjected.
"Of course, of course." She replied. "Have you read his file? I would recommend a mix of brushes and fingers in his pits---a special focus on the hollows--feathers to tease his balls and asshole, and oil and brushes on the feet. With that technique, we could convince him to do most anything in under an hour. Prolonged torture would result in loss of bladder control and unconsciousness in less than three." She rattled off the instructions to destroy me as casually as reading the newspaper.
"Are you telling me how to do my job?" The man replied brusquely.
She laughed. "Of course not, sir. I know you're the expert."
"Take the bag out." He ordered. A moment later, and the duct tape was peeled from my lips. Fingers reached inside, removing my former boss's old gym sock from my mouth. I gasped the first fresh breath in hours.
"...honey, please don't---" I tried to plead.
"Begin."
Within seconds, two hands entered my pits and began scrambling. Five fingers in each hollow, alternating between light spidering touches, hard pokes, scratches, jabs, twists, tickles, all manner of sensations vibrating with ticklish electricity across my flesh.
In the same instant, two stiff brushes began their work on my feet. Up and down the length of my soles, the balls of my feet were polished mercilessly, the bristles even found their way in between my bound toes. Merciless, unrelenting barrages on my feet and pits, my most helpless and unbearably ticklish areas raped with horrible precision.
The sensation was completely unbearable. I couldn't even laugh--my face instead contorted into a picture of silent, ticklish agony, mouth open wide with not a sound escaping. My back arched against the bondage, moving the few centimeters of freedom that my captors allowed me. Every fiber of being being screamed escape, escape the horrible tickling ravaging my nerves endings---
---and with the knowledge that this was impossible, that I had no choice but to feel every sensation these men decided to inflict on me, I felt the tears begin streaming down my cheeks.
After what felt like an eternity, a non verbal command was given for the men to stop.
The probing fingers left my pits, the brushes at my feet giving one last scrape up and down my soles before exiting as well. My body collapsed into the contraption I was bound to, and I could only gasp for air.
"That was five minutes." The voice was mere inches from my face, making me flinch away. "It will last much longer, very soon. That was heaven compared to what we have in store for you."
I could only sob in response.
Soon, a foul smell invaded my nostrils. I knew what it was even through the blindfold. It was a smell I was now well acquainted with.
"Kiss." He ordered.
I did, without any hesitation. Disgust welled up inside me, but I did what I was told. Anything to keep those horrid fingers from my pits, those bristles from my soles. I kissed his bare foot up and down, passionately, like it was the one thing keeping me alive in this world.
"Lick."
And so I licked, hungrily, greedily, running my tongue over all the sweat I could find. Subconsciously, I felt as though I could spare myself from further torment by debasing myself well enough. On some level, I knew that was ridiculous, though.
The foot was retracted away. "A promising start." He grumbled. "He is quite ticklish, I'll give you that. I may have a buyer for him."
"See?" She replied sweetly. "Aren't I a woman of my word?"
"Expect the funds in your account by the end of the day." He replied. "Let's not waste time. This one needs to be properly broken, and I have other clients to see. Anything to say to your hus-- I mean, ex-husband, before he becomes my property? You will never see him again, you understand?"
"Nope." She replied. "That's the idea. You can throw away the key with this one. He's not even a man, just a worthless piece of ticklish meat. I trust you will take good care of him." Not a hint of remorse was in her voice. In fact, she sounded bored.
"Fine. My associate will show you out." He responded.
As the clack of her heels receded into the distance, so too did any chance of my escape. I wanted to cry out, to beg her to change her mind...but it was far, far too late. She had to ceased to be my wife the second she discovered my weakness, my inability to fight back against the man that would take her from me.
The blindfold was lifted off of me. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the harsh fluorescent light. The gruff man stood in front of me, looking precisely how I pictured him. Tall, muscular, with a chisel jaw and cold, unfeeling eyes. He stared at me for a second before speaking, silently communicating his power over me.
"I will say this once, so listen closely: You have been sold into slavery. I represent an organization that procures such commodities for wealthy clients. One client in particular has a penchant for tickling. This is why you have been selected. Your pathetic level of ticklishness will make me a lot of money."
He brought his face close to mine, making me flinch away.
"I will now explain precisely what your life shall compose of from this moment further. You will be tickled mercilessly. Everyday. Every waking moment. Starting in--" He looked at his watch. "Five minutes or so."
"At first, it shall be me and my associates. We will break you. Any thought you have to resist, any ounce of masculine pride you have left--I will dig it out of you, and crush it. I will crush it with feathers on your balls, with fingers in your pits, with brushes on your feet. I will smother you in the hairy armpits of better men, and you will lick them clean and thank me for the privilege. You will be a footstool, a tickle-toy, a sweat rag, or a cock-sucking slave should it be ordered of you. Do you understand?"
I hesitated.
My hesitation was met with the swish of a feather into my open pit.
"Aaah!" I yelped.
"Do you. Understand?" He asked again.
"Y-yes, sir." I replied.
"I don't think you do. You just earned yourself an extra hour of worshiping my stinking armpits." He growled. "Let me tell you something. Tonight, your wife is going to go home. She will get fucked by your boss in your home, in your bed. What will you be doing in that time? Getting tickled. Your colleagues will get promoted at work, they will accomplish things professionally, they will make their wives proud. You will be crying yourself to sleep with my feet in your face. Your friends will go out without you and have fun, they'll go out drinking and making memories; experiencing what it is to be free. Meanwhile you, pathetic excuse for a man that you are, will be feeling a thousand feathers rape every inch of your body." He grabbed me by the face, pulling me in close.
"Do you get it? Every experience you could possibly have--finding love, having a child, succeeding in life--replaced by hairy pits, sweaty feet, and an endless tickling hell." He released my face.
I had no response. My mind went numb as the reality of his words set in. Memories came flooding in. My wedding day. My first day of college. The day I started my career.
It was all over. This was my life now.
"You seem to be getting it." He said. "Good. It will make things easier for you. Marginally." The man stripped off his coat. "I have you for one month. Then your ownership will be transfer to my client." His shirt came off next. As his arms lifted above his head, I saw the place where my face would love for the next month---two massive, black forests of armpit hair, slick with sweat. "I assure you, that what I put you through here will seem like a paradise compared to what he has in store for you."
Two unseen hands places the blindfold back over my eyes, plunging me into darkness.
"Let's begin. Today's session will be six hours. Feel free to pass out---we will just wake you up."
The pit closed tightly around my face. Musk filled my nose, and his dark, sweaty curls poked their way into my mouth.
Flick, flick. Two feathers circled the hollows of my pits. Oil was applied to my feet, the brushes soon behind them.
"Welcome to your new life."
HUSBAND IN TICKLE HELL
"Is he trained?" The gruff voice asked.
"Not entirely." The softer, more feminine voice responded. "I mean," She continued. "He's not broken yet, if that's what your asking." Her tone was clerical, cold. Devoid of any compassion.
"That will lower the price." The man responded. I felt him move closer to me, likely inspecting the product. I imagined what he looked like. He sounded large, grizzled, and serious. His voice boomed with an absolute authority that sent shivers down my spine.
The blindfold made it worse. The fact that I didn't know where the next attack would come from, how and when I would next be violated. I suppose that was the point.
"Oh, come now." She replied. "He's close to broken already. A month with you and he'll be a giggling lunatic. I believe I've proven to you that he can be easily controlled by a more dominant man. You've seen the videos."
"Yes..." He replied. "Impressive work, I'll admit. The man in the videos, the one having his feet and armpits worshiped by the product-- is he your new boyfriend?"
"Yes." My wife replied. "His old boss."
"We can use that." The man sounded pleased. "Cuckoldry, humiliation from a man with power over you. It does wonders for breaking down the ego."
"Exactly." I could feel a sinister smile on my wife's face, even without seeing it. Or ex-wife, I guess. "Consider that bell rung--he's licked my boyfriend's cum off my feet. He's had his face forcibly buried in an armpit while I'm getting fucked. He's been tickled until he pisses himself while I'm being caressed. Do you see that cock cage? Two months and counting, while he watches another man cum every day. Like I said."
My ex-wife leaned forward, whispering in my ear
"He's close to breaking." A tear ran down my face as I recalled all the torments she described. Feathers caressing my aching balls, sobbing as my tongue cleaned another man's toes, the smothering stench of a massive, hairy pit on my face.
"Anything else I should know?" The man continued. I heard his footsteps circling around to my back.
"You're already aware of his intense aversion to men's feet and armpits. Women's are no treat for him either, but given his sexual orientation, a man's will always be the most effective punishment. Hairy and sweaty make it worse for him; we've tested that extensively. We were initially edging him daily--an attempt to build up the frustration--but have since dispensed with that practice. Leaving him in chastity, without any contact on his cock, seems to be the most emasculating. His testicles are plenty ticklish anyhow, so access to the shaft is unnecessary. You'll notice that he is completely shaven. This serves a dual purpose: Without hair, his armpits are more vulnerable to feathers and brushes."
My armpits, stretched taught high above my head, reflexively twitched as she mentioned their sensitivity. I began to shake in my bonds.
She continued, unbothered. "Reason number two is of course to deprive him of another manly characteristic. Hmm, what else?" She pissed for a moment. "Unfortunately, releasing pictures and videos of him in compromising situations has seemingly lost its effectiveness. After the first forced foot worship and tickle torture video was posted online, it was disseminated quite widely. He no longer has any social standing, so there's nothing there to chip away at."
"We will have to test his ticklishness ourselves." The gruff man interjected.
"Of course, of course." She replied. "Have you read his file? I would recommend a mix of brushes and fingers in his pits---a special focus on the hollows--feathers to tease his balls and asshole, and oil and brushes on the feet. With that technique, we could convince him to do most anything in under an hour. Prolonged torture would result in loss of bladder control and unconsciousness in less than three." She rattled off the instructions to destroy me as casually as reading the newspaper.
"Are you telling me how to do my job?" The man replied brusquely.
She laughed. "Of course not, sir. I know you're the expert."
"Take the bag out." He ordered. A moment later, and the duct tape was peeled from my lips. Fingers reached inside, removing my former boss's old gym sock from my mouth. I gasped the first fresh breath in hours.
"...honey, please don't---" I tried to plead.
"Begin."
Within seconds, two hands entered my pits and began scrambling. Five fingers in each hollow, alternating between light spidering touches, hard pokes, scratches, jabs, twists, tickles, all manner of sensations vibrating with ticklish electricity across my flesh.
In the same instant, two stiff brushes began their work on my feet. Up and down the length of my soles, the balls of my feet were polished mercilessly, the bristles even found their way in between my bound toes. Merciless, unrelenting barrages on my feet and pits, my most helpless and unbearably ticklish areas raped with horrible precision.
The sensation was completely unbearable. I couldn't even laugh--my face instead contorted into a picture of silent, ticklish agony, mouth open wide with not a sound escaping. My back arched against the bondage, moving the few centimeters of freedom that my captors allowed me. Every fiber of being being screamed escape, escape the horrible tickling ravaging my nerves endings---
---and with the knowledge that this was impossible, that I had no choice but to feel every sensation these men decided to inflict on me, I felt the tears begin streaming down my cheeks.
After what felt like an eternity, a non verbal command was given for the men to stop.
The probing fingers left my pits, the brushes at my feet giving one last scrape up and down my soles before exiting as well. My body collapsed into the contraption I was bound to, and I could only gasp for air.
"That was five minutes." The voice was mere inches from my face, making me flinch away. "It will last much longer, very soon. That was heaven compared to what we have in store for you."
I could only sob in response.
Soon, a foul smell invaded my nostrils. I knew what it was even through the blindfold. It was a smell I was now well acquainted with.
"Kiss." He ordered.
I did, without any hesitation. Disgust welled up inside me, but I did what I was told. Anything to keep those horrid fingers from my pits, those bristles from my soles. I kissed his bare foot up and down, passionately, like it was the one thing keeping me alive in this world.
"Lick."
And so I licked, hungrily, greedily, running my tongue over all the sweat I could find. Subconsciously, I felt as though I could spare myself from further torment by debasing myself well enough. On some level, I knew that was ridiculous, though.
The foot was retracted away. "A promising start." He grumbled. "He is quite ticklish, I'll give you that. I may have a buyer for him."
"See?" She replied sweetly. "Aren't I a woman of my word?"
"Expect the funds in your account by the end of the day." He replied. "Let's not waste time. This one needs to be properly broken, and I have other clients to see. Anything to say to your hus-- I mean, ex-husband, before he becomes my property? You will never see him again, you understand?"
"Nope." She replied. "That's the idea. You can throw away the key with this one. He's not even a man, just a worthless piece of ticklish meat. I trust you will take good care of him." Not a hint of remorse was in her voice. In fact, she sounded bored.
"Fine. My associate will show you out." He responded.
As the clack of her heels receded into the distance, so too did any chance of my escape. I wanted to cry out, to beg her to change her mind...but it was far, far too late. She had to ceased to be my wife the second she discovered my weakness, my inability to fight back against the man that would take her from me.
The blindfold was lifted off of me. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the harsh fluorescent light. The gruff man stood in front of me, looking precisely how I pictured him. Tall, muscular, with a chisel jaw and cold, unfeeling eyes. He stared at me for a second before speaking, silently communicating his power over me.
"I will say this once, so listen closely: You have been sold into slavery. I represent an organization that procures such commodities for wealthy clients. One client in particular has a penchant for tickling. This is why you have been selected. Your pathetic level of ticklishness will make me a lot of money."
He brought his face close to mine, making me flinch away.
"I will now explain precisely what your life shall compose of from this moment further. You will be tickled mercilessly. Everyday. Every waking moment. Starting in--" He looked at his watch. "Five minutes or so."
"At first, it shall be me and my associates. We will break you. Any thought you have to resist, any ounce of masculine pride you have left--I will dig it out of you, and crush it. I will crush it with feathers on your balls, with fingers in your pits, with brushes on your feet. I will smother you in the hairy armpits of better men, and you will lick them clean and thank me for the privilege. You will be a footstool, a tickle-toy, a sweat rag, or a cock-sucking slave should it be ordered of you. Do you understand?"
I hesitated.
My hesitation was met with the swish of a feather into my open pit.
"Aaah!" I yelped.
"Do you. Understand?" He asked again.
"Y-yes, sir." I replied.
"I don't think you do. You just earned yourself an extra hour of worshiping my stinking armpits." He growled. "Let me tell you something. Tonight, your wife is going to go home. She will get fucked by your boss in your home, in your bed. What will you be doing in that time? Getting tickled. Your colleagues will get promoted at work, they will accomplish things professionally, they will make their wives proud. You will be crying yourself to sleep with my feet in your face. Your friends will go out without you and have fun, they'll go out drinking and making memories; experiencing what it is to be free. Meanwhile you, pathetic excuse for a man that you are, will be feeling a thousand feathers rape every inch of your body." He grabbed me by the face, pulling me in close.
"Do you get it? Every experience you could possibly have--finding love, having a child, succeeding in life--replaced by hairy pits, sweaty feet, and an endless tickling hell." He released my face.
I had no response. My mind went numb as the reality of his words set in. Memories came flooding in. My wedding day. My first day of college. The day I started my career.
It was all over. This was my life now.
"You seem to be getting it." He said. "Good. It will make things easier for you. Marginally." The man stripped off his coat. "I have you for one month. Then your ownership will be transfer to my client." His shirt came off next. As his arms lifted above his head, I saw the place where my face would love for the next month---two massive, black forests of armpit hair, slick with sweat. "I assure you, that what I put you through here will seem like a paradise compared to what he has in store for you."
Two unseen hands places the blindfold back over my eyes, plunging me into darkness.
"Let's begin. Today's session will be six hours. Feel free to pass out---we will just wake you up."
The pit closed tightly around my face. Musk filled my nose, and his dark, sweaty curls poked their way into my mouth.
Flick, flick. Two feathers circled the hollows of my pits. Oil was applied to my feet, the brushes soon behind them.
"Welcome to your new life."
