“You ready? I’ve got her number pulled up.” My roommate Chris said non-chalantly, removing the gym shoe from my face. I gasped for fresh air, the first breath not tainted by his sweat and stink in the last fifteen minutes. He gave me a moment to gather myself before asking again. “Hey, heart-breaker. This relationship isn’t going to end itself. You ready to make the call?” I weighed my options carefully. Though I had been struggling constantly throughout this ordeal, I gave each one of my restraints another tug. The ones at my wrists were the tightest; stretched out in front of and bound to the posts of my bed with jump ropes. I could wiggle my wrists weakly, but that was pretty much it. My feet were a non-starter as well. Bound together at the ankles by a scarf, with Chris’s muscular arm wrapped around for good measure. I squirmed there on my stomach, all 200 pounds of him pressing down me from above, straddling my back and squeezing me from all sides. It made it difficult to breath, much less talk. So, escape was pretty well out of the question. I cursed myself for not being stronger, for not having gone to the gym consistently like I promised myself last New Year. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so easy for Chris to manhandle into this position. We’d have to go another route, then: Negotiation.
“Look, Chris, let’s be reasonable about this. Can you—EEK!” I squealed as his fingers returned to my feet. He worked his index finger in between my toes, a technique he knew I was particularly susceptible too. “Fuck, man!” I whined between laughs. “Stohahahap that!”
“Wish I could, bro. But that didn’t sound like a yes. And unfortunately, these toes are getting played with until I get an affirmative answer, yeah?” I tried to reason with him some more, eking out half-sentences where I could get the words to form. But it fell on deaf ears. Chris the tickle-monster just kept scrapping his nails around without a care in the world, just like so many times before. “She’s just not right for you, man. She’s too…I don’t know, alternative. Goth, and witchy, and that kind of thing. You can’t handle a girl like that, she’d eat you alive.” The second he noticed me becoming desensitized to the toe-tickling, he began running his fingers up and down the length of the sole.
“AHHH!” I screamed at the new sensation, expertly timed to maximize distress, before succumbing to the giggles once more.
“You were just starting to get your grades up, almost got that B in chemistry—and now you think you have enough time for a girlfriend? Sorry man, not going to happen.” He sounded like a stern parent, telling me I wouldn’t be getting a motor bike for Christmas. “Think of all the work we’d be undoing. All the time spent studying. Those late night cram sessions. Not to mention all the tickling you needed to get your act together.” My mind flooded with the memories. Chris had glanced over my shoulder, noticing the C- I scored on the midterm. That one earned me an hour of tickling with his favorite hair brush. “You know how many frat parties I missed because I had to stay home and tickle you into doing your homework? How many dates I didn’t go on so I could stay here, poking your armpits until you cracked open a text book?” He scoffed. “Honestly man, sometimes I feel like you don’t even appreciate what I do for you.”
I don’t, you fucking psycho. I didn’t dare say it aloud, given that it would only make the night much, much worse for me. But, holy shit—I wasn’t thankful enough for being tickled half to death every other day? This guy was a freak of the highest order.
“I’ve been trying to instill some discipline, you know that. That’s why you do my laundry, make my bed, massage my feet after practice.” He lectured, emphasizing each new point with a scrape of my soles. “If you suddenly have a pretty lady in your life, distracting you with her tits and keeping you out late—poof! That’s all gone. We’d basically have to start again at square one. You remember how tough that was, right buddy?” I sure as hell did. Square one was being thrown under Chris’s desk chair while he worked, my hands and wrists bound to the armrests up above me. He would sit there while he watched TV, casually scribbling his fingers across my feet while his own massive size thirteens smothered my face. As I would cough and sputter, trying to breath fresh air, he would reposition them over my mouth and nose, only halting the tickling to snap a quick photo with his polaroid. For documentation. The scrap book. He would say with a wink. This way, we can monitor your progress. Into his photo album it would go, a growing collection of humiliations that documented all the ways he tormented me over the years. March 3rd, 2017. He’d scribble in the margins. Foot punishment—chores not done on time. He insisted it was just for record keeping, a helpful way to keep track of how often I needed “discipline”. But I knew the truth. There was enough blackmail in that photo book to ruin me ten times over. Despite all his cheerful quips, he knew I would never be free of him so long as that book was in his possession. “Last chance, pal. You gonna call her up? We can let her down easy, don’t you worry.” The thought made me sick to my stomach. Beck was literally my first girlfriend. She had approached me a month ago in the library. I had been sneaking glances at her over my textbook for almost an hour, looking down quickly and blushing whenever she caught my gaze. When I looked up to find that she was standing a foot in front of me, a smirk on her beautiful, angular face, I almost had a heart attack.
“You gonna ask me out?” She said brazenly. “Or are you just looking?”
We went on a handful of dates over the coming weeks. I disguised them as trips to the gym, the grocery store, going back home to visit my parents; whatever excuse I could come up with in the moment to mask the budding relationship from Chris and his tickling fingers. I had never, and still have never, met a girl like Beck. She was confident, self-assured, assertive—all the things that I wasn’t. If she hadn’t approached me, there was a 0% chance we ever would have interacted. It turns out a lifetime of being cock-blocked and humiliated in front of women was not conducive to self-confidence. So as we went to coffee shops, and bar-cades, and walks in the park, I quickly found myself falling for her. Chris was right, she was a bit…alt, for lack of a better term. She had two full tattoo sleeves, a septum piercing, a pixie cut dyed bright crimson. She wore all black outfits and combat boots everywhere she went. I found her intimidating, even scary, but despite her counter-culture exterior, she was had thus far been quite sweet to me. Around one week ago, I had finally worked up the courage to ask her to be my girlfriend, exclusivity and all. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I froze up—had I come on too strong? Was it too soon? But to my absolute delight, she just smiled.
“I’d like that.” I detected a faint blushing on her pale face. She laughed as the color came to my cheeks as well. “Thought you were going to have a stroke, dude. Glad you got that out.” She teased playfully, grabbing my hand. “Come on. Let’s go back to mine.” I practically floated back to her dorm room.
We hadn’t known each other that long, and the relationship really was in its infancy. The most we’d done was makeout a little one night after drinking too many seltzers. We hadn’t even come anywhere close to sex, much to my embarrassment. My nerves had always gotten the better of me. She would take off her jacket, revealing a low cut tank top that made my heart jitter. She’d pat the spot on the couch next to her seductively—and I guess I don’t know what “fuck me” eyes look like, but if any one was ever giving them, it was her in that moment. A part of me, a huge, primal urge, wanted to strip off my clothes and have my way with her right then. But just as I would take a step forward, something would lock up inside of me.
I would think of Chris.
It was like a curse. We went to the same high school together, even grew up on the same cul-de-sac. From a tender young age, Chris had always been there, my worst nightmare. Any time a girl had shown any interest in me, he always seemed to be right around the corner, ready to dive in and end any chances of romance. My first kiss? He came up behind me and locked his wiggling fingers under my arms the second our lips made contact. As I stumbled backwards, giggling madly and falling to a heap on the ground, I watched the poor girl’s face transition from shock, to dismay, to the worst of all—laughter. All traces of attraction to me disappeared as Chris tickled relentlessly, yelling cootchie cootchie coo! as I struggled pitifully to tear my armpits free.
“Uhh.” She giggled. “I’ll see you around, Mike. You two have fun, I guess.” And just like that, she turned and awkwardly shuffled past my convulsing body. After a good ten minutes of tickling, Chris finally relented.
“Sorry, bro.” He said, patting my cheek, apparently totally oblivious to his ruining of the situation. “You were wide open, I just had too.” He said with an impish grin. Even at that age, he was much bigger than me, practically 6’3” tall by senior year. He checked his watch. “Aw, shit. I’m running late for my date. I’ll catch you around, man!” He gave my armpits one last tweak, and then was off, leaving me to stew in my humiliated defeat. That was the first time he sabotaged my love life, but not the last by a long shot. It was like he was a metaphysical albatross around my neck, dragging me back down to reality every time my ego got a well-needed boost. I made a shot in pick-up basketball? Chris would be shoving me in a locker after the game, tickling my feet in front of the whole team while they watched and laughed. Answered a math question right in class? He’d be there in the hallway, ready to assault my ribs as people milled about. And if, god forbid, any girls seemed to be getting to friendly? Somehow he’d miraculously appear, ready to turn “handsome love interest” into “giggling pathetic loser”. It was like he was put on this earth solely to keep me from ever losing my virginity.
It was such a bizarre dynamic; he was always outwardly friendly towards me, introducing himself as my “best friend” to any one who’d listen. He invited me to jock parties I’d otherwise be excluded from, helped me with homework, and was generally pleasant. All until the moment where he felt I was getting too cool, too popular. Then he’d put me back into my place with a public tickling session, securing my position as a nerdy, ticklish wimp. It was a devious, maybe even genius tactic, really. I tried complaining about him to teachers, my parents, the guidance counselor, but all they saw was a supportive friend, albeit one who was a little keen on the rough housing. I can’t even blame them; it was a just a little tickling, right? Just a bit of harmless fun, a few innocent pranks. But what Chris and both came to learn was that it was impossible to want to date the guy that gets held down and tickled until he begs like a little girl. It was basically my identity around school. Oh, Mike? The quiet guy who’s really ticklish? His antics even started to catch on. The other football players, these ones without any pretense of being my friend, would occasionally join in on the fun. I’d get held down in free period, tickled to tears by grinning douchebags while a bored teacher snapped at us to keep quiet. Even the weird kids at school, the emos, anime nerds, and rejects would poke me in the sides as they walked past, giggling at my squeals. By that point, all the girls in school knew I wasn’t a real candidate for romance. The only time they even touched me was to see who could make me screech the loudest, a competition to see who could produce the funniest sound. My least favorite time was gym class. They’d mostly leave me alone during, but after wards? I gained a healthy fear of the locker room. I suppose that’s where Chris got his bright idea to use his feet as punishment. One day after soccer practice, some asshole started tickling me as I was changing. Not my favorite experience, but par for the course at that point. I fell to the ground in a heap, much to the delight of all those present. Chris watched from the corner with a grin as he stripped off his jersey, happy to see the guys were having fun at my expense. But this time, the tickling wasn’t enough to satisfy them.
“Why you on the ground, bro?” One of the jocks chided, stripping off his sweaty gym socks. “You’re gonna get trampled down there.” And with that, he clamped his sweaty, stinking feet right onto my face. My reaction was one of visceral disgust, matched only in magnitude by the uproarious laughter from the gathered eighteen year old sadists. I tried to roll away, but in seconds I was pinned to the floor, my face the new stomping ground for the whole locker room. Those who didn’t directly participate were egging on those that were, a real “come together” moment a la my humiliation. I remember that day well: Sweaty socks being dangled above my face, threatening to be dropped unless I sang their favorite songs. The boys taking turns rubbing their sweaty soles on my lips and nose as I struggled wildly to escape, asking me who’s smelled the worst, how I liked being the new gym floor mat. Chris watched on that day, as if entranced, like a new world was opening up to him. This was at least as effective as tickling, if not more so. From that point on, I was as likely to be sniffing Chris’s feet as have my own tickled relentlessly.
Things got worse as senior year ended, if you can even believe that. He managed to trick my parents into telling me what college I was going to, and, what do you know? Chris applied too! Isn’t that great? My best buddy Chris, off to the same school. Together forever, bestie! That’s when he started the “scrap book” as he calls it. At first, it was just to chronicle the good times we were having. Fishing trips, game days, parties. But soon enough, a polaroid of me, begging for the tickling to stop as he twirled his fingers in my pit hair, made it into the book. Then it was me getting tickled by two jocks at a party, then with my face being shoved in a pile of Chris’s dirty socks, and so on and so forth. As the scrapbook grew, so too did the extent of Chris’s torments. He started tying me down just to have a hand free to operate the camera. Jump ropes, exercise bands, whatever he had on hand was used to restrict my movement enough that I had to hold still for the picture. He was rifling through the album a month before we were set to ship off to college. I was biding my time at this point, just waiting for the day I’d be free of him. Well, not free of him, but hey. Close enough. We were going to a big enough university that I was sure I could avoid him. Or so I thought.
“Hey, Mikey.” He said, running his finger over a picture of my hogtied form, his fingers scrabbling over my feet. A favorite memory of his, I suppose. “I got an email this morning. Something about a…roommate request form? They’ll pair you up with someone if you both agree.” He smiled at me expectantly. That’s when the point of the photos became crystal clear to me. I was trapped.
“G-great, man.” I forced a smile. “Bring your Nirvana poster.”
When college started, Chris transitioned from “best bud” to “caretaker”, taking it upon himself to make sure I was the best student I could be. It was the most bizarre switch up in his attitude towards me yet. Who knows where he got the idea from, but somehow he became convinced I would flunk out with his stern hand keeping me in line. I wasn’t the best student, sure, but if you asked him I was always one failed test from being expelled. He become much stricter with me, the tickling sessions rebranded as “discipline” instead of child-like rough housing. I can’t even really explain to you how it developed, how my roommate suddenly became something halfway between a boss and a father. He acted like it was so normal, a totally sensible thing for a roommate to set a curfew, assign chores, check for your homework to be done. I guess to me, it started to become normal. I was trapped; I lived with him. He had mountains of my most humiliating moments immortalized on film. Not to mention, who would I even tell about this? It would involve admitting that for the better part of a year, I was basically the live-in tickle slave of another grown man. Yes officer, that man right there. That’s the one that tickles my tootsies if I skip class. There was no escape for me. The only saving grace is that he kept our sessions private, for the most part, perhaps understanding that ruthless public tickle-torture might have been frowned upon in a place of higher learning.
That was the landscape I grew up in. Every romantic interaction stifled by a flurry of fingers and a storm of laughs, inevitably ending in my embarrassment and a permanent one-way ticket to the friend zone. And so now, even as fully realized college student, every time I was in a position to be with a woman…
Chris.
I could practically feel his fingers on me. Even when he wasn’t in the room, even as Beck leaned forward and exposed her cleavage, biting her lower lip, I half expected him to jump out from the closet and ruin what we had forever. So each and every time I got the opportunity, I would chicken out. I’d make some excuse, I was too tired, or I had a big exam tomorrow, whatever. Beck would just laugh understandingly, no doubt sensing my inexperience in situation like this. She was a good sport about it, bless her heart, and would usually either remind me she’s ok with taking it slow, or ignore my awkwardness entirely and wish me a good night. Then I’d go back to my dorm, kicking myself that I couldn’t just man the fuck up and do it, praying that when I got back Chris would be in a good mood. On the nights that he wasn’t, I was literally getting feet shoved in my face instead of fucking a beautiful woman. Having my pits played with by a man instead of groping a boob. Laughing hysterically against my will while Beck wondered if she wasn’t good enough for me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I started to suspect the worst; Chris had conditioned me into a ticklish, virgin loser.
And then, on one such night of self-inflicted chastity, what I feared the most finally happened. I walked into the dorm, my heart skipping a beat when I saw Chris wide awake, sitting on my bed, cross legged. He looked…displeased.
“Sup, bro.” He said cooly. “Where ya been?”
“Oh, just. Taking a walk. Getting my steps in, you know.” I didn’t make eye contact as I spoke, setting my bag down on the ground.
“Uh huh.” Chris stood up and walked over to me, putting a big arm around my shoulders. “Thing is, buddy. A friend of mine saw you on the quad earlier with…what’s her name? Beck? The goth chick?”
“Oh, uh.” I panicked, scrambling for a reasonable explanation. “Yeah, she’s helping me study for, uh, history of the Middle Ages. Just a study sesh.” Chris just fixed me with a disapproving frown. For a second, he just stared, and I prayed my excuse would hold firm. But then, he sighed, gripping my wrist tight and yanking my arm above my head. Two fingers slipped into my armpit, wiggle wiggle wiggle. The pathetic giggles escaped my mouth immediately.
“W-wait! HEHEHE!” I pleaded as he dragged me over to my bed, throwing me onto my stomach. “I can exheheheplain!” Chris just tutted as my arms were stretched one by one towards the bed posts, the jump ropes already waiting there in a pile.
“This is a bad one, kiddo. We’re going to have to talk about this. A loooong talk.” Before I could protest further, his gym shoe came clamping down around my face, an exercise band wrapped firmly around the back of my head to lock it into place. As I choked on the stench of his feet, I felt my ankles lose their mobility as well, and as my shoes were stripped off, then my socks, I started to realize how badly I’d fucked up.
—
It was a long talk. At least fifteen minutes of constant foot tickling, his fingers scampering back and forth across my helpless body, all while Chris lectured me about the dangerous of relationships, how I should do that poor girl a favor and break things off now.
“Last chance.” Chris said again, holding out the phone in front of my face. “Say the word, and I’ll call her up. Let’s make this easy, yeah?” I thought for a moment.I knew would would happen if I refused. I knew that even if I didn’t, Chris would just tickle me to death in front of Beck anyway, maybe even shove his feet in my face in public, branding me a loser for all time. But the thought of Beck being sad, crying even, of letting her down in any way, gave me resolve I didn’t know was there.
“Fuck. You.” I said through gritted teeth. I could feel the shock from my response in Chris’s posture. I was shocked too; I had never stood up to him that way before. The chance at a real romantic relationship had made me more brave, and perhaps more stupid, than I had ever been. But after a second, he regained his nonchalance.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, re-affixing the shoe to my face. As I was re-imprisioned in the stinking shoe, I immediately regretted my bravery. “We’re doing the pits this time. Thirty minutes, full contact, no breaks. You have to learn your lesson.” As all his finger slipped around my shoulders, making contact with my ticklish hollows, I began to beg for forgiveness. Wait! I’ll do it! I’ll break up with her! Just not the pits, please, not the—HAHAHAHA! He either couldn’t hear me through the shoe gag, or didn’t care. His fingers danced relentlessly, a torrent of scratching nails lightly running through my hair. It was a practiced maneuver, him knowing exactly what kind of tickling would break me most effectively from years of experience. It felt like being electrocuted—a thousand tiny ticklish sensations wracking my body. I bucked as much as my restraints would allow, gasping for air but only breathing in feet. It was hell, true, ticklish hell, the kind of torture that would break a CIA operative. The first five minutes or so passed without so much as a word from Chris, his entire being focused on breaking me. Cootchie coo, tickle-tickle, scratch scratch. The fingers didn’t stop, never stopped, the worst feeling I could ever feel with no chance or hope of stopping it. Five more minutes and I was already broken; I would have run naked through the quad just to make it stop.
But it didn’t. He kept tickling and tickling. Eventually, he began talking to me once more, though I could only make out little bits and pieces through the sound of my screams.
“Sometimes I forget how tickly these little pits are. They might be your worst spot, eh Mikey? We should visit them more often. You don’t have too much hair there, do you? Makes it easy to draaaaag my fingers like this. Feel that?” I felt it with ever fiber of my being. “Couldn’t drag your fingers like that through my pits. No sir, it’s like a forest under there.” He chuckled. “Not that I have to tell you that. I’ve got a whole page of the scrapbook dedicated to you and my armpits. That reminds me, I have to fill out that page a little more…” Twenty minutes had passed, and I was at the brink. It may has well been twenty years. “I wonder if Beck would like to take a peek? See all of our beautiful memories?” He moved closer to me ear, speaking directly into it to make sure I heard every word. “I’m sure she’d get a real kick out of it. Everyone back home did, that’s for sure.” His voice took on a wistfully nostalgic quality, reminiscing through his fondest moments. “There was your birthday that one year—remember, we had the party at my house? You got so drunk, I thought you were gonna piss yourself when I started tickling those toes of yours.” Please. Don’t. Don’t show her. That was the only thought rushing through my head. “Or when Jenny pretended to ask you to prom? That was hilarious! She really had you going with that one. Took so much planning. We waited for like, an hour to ambush you at the door. Jenny’s boyfriend almost tickled you right out of your suit! I think I’ve got one of you walking around barefoot on the dance floor.” He laughed. “Good times. Oh, but my favorite—“ His tickling at my pits intensified, absolutely digging out the center of my hollows with everything he had. “—That picture of me kissing my girlfriend, Deb. And I’ve got you in a headlock. Think your hands were tied behind your back, no? So your face—I mean, it’s just right in my armpit. Just, lodged in there, no room to move. What a classic; one of us kissing a girl, the other kissing pit, right? Classic you and me, the best buds.” My mind went back to that day; it was one of the worst of my life. I spent the better part of the night wedged into that massive tangle of dark black hair, listening to the sound of Chris and Deb flirt and kiss. I didn’t wash that taste out of my mouth for a week. “I’m sure Beck would love to see that one, huh Mikey? If she comes around, why don’t I show it to her? I’d love her to meet the real you.”
—
At some point, the thirty minutes must have been up. The shoe was removed again, but I didn’t even have the energy to gasp for air. I just played there, head pressed to drenched pillow case in front of me. Tears were streaming down my face. It had to have been one of the worst sessions Chris had ever given me; I certainly couldn’t remember being punished in that way in recent memory. Without giving me a chance to recollect myself, Chris laid a phone down on the bed next to me.
“You seeing things from my perspective, buddy?” He asked softly, gently even. “Just make the call. I could easily go another thirty. Another hour, the whole night; I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my best friend.” I could only nod weakly. Any trace of determination had left my body approximately fifteen seconds after the tickling started. He smiled, patted me on the head, and then hit dial. I hardly even remember what I said. I try to forget how she reacted. She was surprisingly hurt, for how brief our relationship had been. It seems she had really seen something in me. It almost sounded like she was about to cry when Chris hung up the phone. I felt numb, even as the bonds at my wrists were loosened, even as Chris climbed off of my back. “Good work, pal. Glad we didn’t have to do things the hard way.” He playfully tussled my hair as he walked to his desk, taking a seat and propping his feet up. “Now come on buddy.” He fixed me with a wide grin. “My feet are killing me. I think it’s massage time.” He wiggled his toes at me.
—
A few weeks passed, and Chris and I went back into our usual routine. Me, trying my best to stay on top of chores and course work, and Chris, dictating my every move and torturing me when I slipped up. I’ll admit that it was hard to think about anything else but Beck. The words on my computer screen would float away as I typed, forming the image of her brown eyes as I tried to conjure any thought that didn’t include how badly I fucked up. I couldn’t face her in person. If I saw her from afar on campus, I’d turn and bolt the other way. There was no way I could explain to her what went wrong, why I dumped her so abruptly, why I sounded so weird on the phone. Ugh. A phone call! Why did he make me do it over the phone! I felt like the world’s biggest loser. Fumbling a tremendous woman just because of some tickling. Really? How could I let another man do this to me? Keep me from ever having a girlfriend, ruin every chance at a relationship that I’ve ever had, torment me with his stinking feet and armpits. It was a new low for me, a valley that made all others pale in comparison. I flitted listlessly from day to day. I took my punishments as they came. Ten minutes of pit tickling for not tidying the room fast enough. Five of toe-fingering for forgetting to submit an assignment. A trip to the dirty sock pile for being out past curfew. I massaged Chris’s sweaty feet, I made his bed, I folded his clothes. It went through the motions like an automaton, a giggling, humiliated machine, new entries to the scrap book being made nearly every day. Chris dutifully marked down each occasion:
Punished for sleeping in — hogtied and foot tickled. My face contorted into hideous laughter, a smiling Chris sitting on top of me.
Cheated on his diet — Mickey’s pits get played with. My sparsely-haired armpits stretch taught above my head, pleading eyes darting to the fingers about to violate them.
Didn’t hit his steps quota — sweaty sock gag. A lump of socks in my mouth, the disgust plainly evident on my face. Chris took this one selfie style, his arm around my shoulder, grinning madly.
It went on like this for some time. Until one day, things changed. I was 10 minutes late one night, losing track of time while I desperately tried to cram for the chemistry final. I knew what awaited me back at the dorm. What would it be this time? My armpits? Feet? Tied up, or perhaps he’d go old school with it, simply wrestling me to the ground, pinning my arms above my head with one hand and going to town on me with the other. My pulse quickened as I walked into our dorm hall. I wanted to turn and run the other way, but ultimately that would just lead to a more severe punishment. So instead, I dutifully marched towards towards the inevitable ticklish retribution, like the good little tickle toy that I was. I took my jacket off even before swiping my key card at the door. Maybe if I gave him easier access to my armpits, he’d factor in my good behavior and let me off easy. Bracing myself for the worst, I meekly swung open the door and stepped inside.
There are so many good contenders for the most humiliating moment of my life. I think that I, more so than possibly any other man on the planet, can say that with confidence. And yet, despite all that I have been through, all the public tickling, foot worship, and cock-blocking, this had to be the worst.
They were laying down. Chris was shirtless, probably fully naked, his sheets draped lazily over his crotch. A muscular arm was resting above his head, his bushy, black armpit on full display. Her bright red hair rested on his chest, her black, manicured nails tracing little circles in the thick patches of hair there. There was a look of tired satisfaction on both their faces that could only be explained by the afterglow of sex. We froze there for a moment, Beck and I, her just as shocked to see me as I was her. I felt nothing at first, my mind completely numb to what I was seeing, just absolutely struggling to put the pieces together. But then the despair came. A crushing, sinking feeling in my chest. It was at once confounding and inevitable to see here there; my only girlfriend, laying in post-coital bliss next to my most sadistic of bullies. The sadness on my face must have snapped Beck back to her senses as well. She grabbed for the sheets, blushing as she pulled them up to cover her breasts. That was actually the first time I had seen them. I saw her tits, not because she wanted to show them to me, but because she had chosen to give her body over to another man. The sheets formerly covering Chris’s cock were torn away by her movement, and for the first time I saw that as well. He was still half hard, an impressively large member silhouetted by massive bush of hair. I must have walked in seconds after they finished. He made no attempt to cover himself, even putting the other arm behind his head, as if proud to be showing off his defined, hairy, masculine form. It almost felt like a taunt, like his huge, hairy body showed me all that was inadequate about myself : This is the kind of body that gets the girl, tickle-bitch.
“Jesus…” Beck scoffed. “Knock much?” Her annoyance seemed forced to me. She appeared more guilty than anything, like she had been caught committing some great sin. Chris just smiled cheerfully.
“Hey kiddo.” He grinned. “Was wondering where you were. You were starting to worry me.” They both waited for a response, but I just stood there, motionless, holding my jacket in one hand so that the man fucking my ex-girlfriend could tickle me more easily. I felt dizzy as the color drained from my face.
“Chris, I thought you said he was staying at a friend’s tonight.” Beck said breathlessly. “I…Mike, I wasn’t…this isn’t…” She trailed off, affixing me with a look of pity that somehow made things worse. It was a nice gesture, I guess, that she felt bad. But it didn’t matter anyway. There were no magic words that could be said that would rescue my ego from this blow. I could feel the change coming over me quickly, fast approaching acceptance, as if my mind was being rewired on the spot to permanently accept my position in the world. My eyes wandered back to Chris’s armpits, to his feet. That was what was in store for me. The woman laying next to him may as well not exist; a hairy pit in my face was what I deserved. Chris was right: Beck was too much for me to handle. As if sharing some psychic connection, Chris seemed to understand. He stretched his arms even further above his head, pushing out the tufts of sweat covered hair. He wiggled his toes, stretching and scrunching them. These are your girlfriends, Mikey. This is your sexuality. Just pits and feet for you, buddy.
“Why don’t you give us a minute, huh my guy? Go wait in the common room, I’ll come get you in a sec.” He said with a wink. Beck looked like she wanted to disappear, and I’m sure the expression on my face was pitiful. Without so much as a word, I drifted outside, shutting the door behind me. I sat down on the couch, head spinning. People milled about around me, discussing Friday plans, what party they were going to, what girl they hoped to take home that night. Normal conversations between normal people, a room full of men that didn’t even know how ticklish they were, that knew what it felt like to be inside a woman, that would never dream of another man’s feet on their face. A few minutes later, Beck emerged. Her makeup was smudged, her hair tussled haphazardly, her clothes not fitting quite right. She looked even more gorgeous, somehow, her post-sex dishevelment revealing a less curated side that, to my horror, caused my cock to stir. She sent a look my way, something halfway between a scowl and sigh. She hung there for a moment, opening her mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it. She turned and walked a few feet away—before abruptly stopping, turning on her heels, and storming over to me with an intensity that made me flinch.
“Just so you know, that was really shitty way to be broken up with.” She huffed, her words coming out in a jumble. “It was a dick move to do it over the phone, it was a dick move that it was so sudden, and honestly, I really fucking hated you for a minute there.” She softened after the last phrase. “But…I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t think you were coming back tonight. I…” Her face was awash with guilt. “…I was just sad, and hurt. And horny.” She blushed. “You kind of left me blue balled for a while there, so that’s partially on you. And…I wanted to get back at you.” She looked up at me with eyes asking for forgiveness. “There. I said it. I know you probably think I’m a bitch, but that’s the truth. So. I’m sorry. I don’t forgive you, but…I’m sorry. That was mean of me.” She turned and stormed away.
Before she had even left the building, my phone buzzed.
Come on back to the room, bro. We should talk about all that.
—
He had put on some underwear, at least. It did very little to hide his bulge, his massive bush even peeking out from the pair of briefs. The rest of him remained uncovered, all 6+ feet of sweat, hairy man. It was entirely clear to me that this was part of his power play. He would apologize to me while his mostly naked body was covered in the stench of sex, tainting the air with his armpits, taunting me with his superior frame. He was still in that same relaxed position, hands interlocked behind his head, feet crossed over one another.
“Sit down, please.” He motioned to the foot of the bed. I did as I was told, like a dog who wanted a treat. I started massaging his feet without even being told to. He nodded in approval. “Listen man, I’ve really got to say s—really use your thumbs, bud. Long day. That’s nice, thank you.” He yawned. “As I was saying, I really am sorry. Wasn’t trying to ambush you with all that. I know things are still fresh with you and Beck.” He paused, prompting me to respond with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s ok.” My voice came out as a whisper.
“That’s my guy.” Chris smiled, patting my cheek with his massive foot. I grimaced, but didn’t dare shoo him away. He continued with his victory lap-styled apology. “It was just one of those things, you know. Totally unplanned, just right place, right time. You’re probably wondering how it happened, huh?”
“No.” I replied. Completely ignoring me, he continued on.
“I ran into her at the coffee shop on campus. She recognized me from some party or something, I don’t know. Hey, take off your shirt for me pal.” I blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He fixed me with a serious look. I pulled my hands away from his feet, pulling the t-shirt off to reveal my nearly hairless chest. Ah. I thought, That’s why. He wanted me to compare myself to him. My skinny, hairless body now exposed, the differences between us were all the more impossible to deny. “I was just coming back from the gym, she was studying for some test. I asked how she was holding up—you know I’m your boy, like. You come first, obviously man. But still, I’m not heartless, I had to make sure she was taking the break up well, you know? Anyway.” He sniffed his armpit. “Whew. She really made me work for it, man.” I felt a twinge of jealousy rise up inside me, mixed with a healthy degree of disgust. “So we got to talking. I have to say, she…did not take the break up well. Like at all. You really broke her heart, Mikey.”
You made me do it. I kept that one to myself.
“She asked about you, of course. Tried to get me to shed some light on the situation; I’m you roommate after all. Had you said anything to me? Some hint you were unhappy?” Noticing the expression on my face, he quickly preempted my response. “Oh, don’t worry dude. I didn’t tell her about all the tickling stuff. That’s a bro code violation right there, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
You literally just fucked her.
“I just evaded the question, you know. Told her you were busy with school, stressed about your grades, that kind of thing. Which is true, by the way—totally in support of your decision. Academics come first, of course. I admire your dedication. But yeah, I was a bit of a shoulder for her to cry on, so to speak. Literally, actually, she put her head right on my shoulder while we talked. And you know, she was sad, she was lonely. Like I said, you really did a number on her. And then….” He paused for a moment. He sat up, scooting closer to me. Before I had a chance to react, his arm was around my shoulder, pulling my face in close to his chest. I put some tension in my neck, trying to resist, but he simply yanked me closer, shoving my face right into the tangle of sweaty chest hair. “Sorry, just want to be closer to you for this part. A heart to heart talk and all that. You can cry if you want to, man. I’m here for you.” My nose wrinkled, and I tried to turn my head away, but his hand gripped the back of my head firmly, guiding my mouth right in between his pecs, his dark curls enveloping my face. He couldn’t just end my relationship, he wasn’t going to stop at fucking me ex right in front of me—no, that wouldn’t be nearly enough. He had to show me what a man he was, put my face in just the same place that Beck’s had been minutes before. It was a fitting punishment, a forced acknowledgment of his superiority, consumed by his masculine form. I felt the tears start to well up in that moment. It wasn’t even about Beck, not precisely. It was a much larger psychological challenge, the almost sexual nature of the contact I was now receiving, the recognition that another man could truly have his way with me at any moment in time. “Well, she kind of brought the conversation to a more…vindictive place. She started talking about what an asshole you were, that you had just played with her heart and left her out to dry. I tried to defend you, but she was persistent. Started saying some real mean stuff, like someone should teach you a lesson and all that. That you didn’t respect women, that she didn’t want you going around hurting other people too. And you know, man,” He ran his hand through my hair, rubbing my face back and forth along his chest. His hair, both coarse and soft, dragged along my nose, tickling me gently. I choked down a sob as a bead of sweat made it past my lips and into my mouth. “I hate to say it, but I really started to agree with her. The way that whole situation played out…its a bad look, bro. You really shouldn’t have ever gotten involved with her. You knew you weren’t ready for a relationship, much less such a hottie like her. So to lead her on like that, knowing that it would never work out…” He gripped a fistful of my curls, yanking my head away from his chest. “It wasn’t cool, man.” He affixed me with a steely gaze, his grip equally hard. He stretched his free arm above his head, and I knew exactly where my face was going next. “I really think I went too easy on you, ya know?”
“Please.” I choked. “Not your pits, Chris. Don’t make me.” His hand pushed me head further, all the straining I could muster not nearly enough. I tried to push him away, but our bodies were too close together for my arms to gain any purchase. Like an unstoppable force of nature, I watched in real time as my face inched ever closer to the forest of thick, black hair, so dense that I couldn’t even see his skin. The smell was overwhelming, the sweat and musk of a real man, hard earned through pleasing a woman.
“It’s gonna happen, bro. Don’t fight it. This is for your own good.” As the tips of his pit hairs made contact with my face, I let out a little sob. “Shhhh. It’s ok. Let it alllll out.” He began running this pit up and down my face in slow, deliberate motions. “You deserve this, man. I told Beck I’d straighten you out. I told her I’d make sure you never hurt another woman again. This is the way we do that—the only way. Just accept it."
Drag, drag, drag. I recoiled in disgust, all my senses being violated at once. Sight, smell, touch, sound; my whole world was hairy armpits.
“Once I said that,” Chris continued, “Beck got a little flirty with me. Handsy, even. She moved her chair a little closer, so close I could smell her perfume. She does smell great, right buddy? Probably a lot better than I do right now. And then she grabbed my bicep, started complimenting me on my muscles, asking me how tall I was, batting her eyes at me.” His armpit hovered ominously in front of me, the force on the back of my head still threatening to plunge me into its stinking depths at any moment I’m only human, Mikey. A girl that pretty? I had to play along. And after a few more minutes of chatting, well…I hate to say it. I really do. She asked to see the dorm.” Chris released his grip on my face. Before I had so much as an instant to wipe the sweat from my lips, he was grabbing me, pushing me down to the bed and wrenching a wrist behind my back. I struggled, the meager amount I could, but it didn’t even phase him. He spoke again as I felt the knot start to be tied. “I wasn’t going to do anything, man, I swear.” His tone was jovial as the other hand was wrestled behind my back as well, joining its rightful place in the tightening jumprope. “Honest, swear to god. But Beck…She’s got a way with her, I’ll tell you what. I was just showing her my posters, see. And I turn around—“ He pulled the knot tight. “And her top was off. Just, totally topless, not a foot from where we are now.” Now that I was completely helpless, Chris began spidering his fingers up my ribs.
“NO! NoohohohhehehHAHAHA!” My childish little giggles couldn’t help but arrive the instant he made contact.
“The most perfect tits I ever saw, bro. A shame she didn’t show them to you. I didn’t want her to feel left out, so, I took my top off too. And from there…well, let’s just say, it’s a shame you two never went further, bud.” He leaned in close, whispering into my ear as I squirmed. “She’s an animal, dude. Gave head like you wouldn’t believe.” The tickling halted momentarily as Chris looped his fingers into my sweat pants. “And her pussy. You know she dyes the hair down there red, too? Just a little landing strip. Felt amazing going in.” He yanked hard, pulling them below my waist. “She jumped right on top of me—I’ve never seen a girl so desperate for some action.”
“What the fuck!” I screamed, panic rising in me. “What are you doing, man?”
“As she was riding me, you know what she kept saying?” Chris met an obstacle at my shoes, but he tore those off as well, sneaker by sneaker, sock by sock, until his path was clear to toss my pants in a heap on the ground. “Are you going to punish him? Are you going to punish Mike for me?” I was acutely aware of my vulnerability, stripped down to my briefs. This punishment was taking on a different tone than any before it. A growing sense of dread was building in me as Chris effortlessly flipped me onto my back. “I told her I was. She liked that. She moaned my name when I said it.” As he climbed onto the bed, my eyes went wide. He was holding his exercise band, the one he had used to lock his shoe into place. “She asked me how I was going to do it. Know what I said, pal?”
“No…” I whispered. He crawled towards me with an estatic grin on his face, the same look he gave me when he ruined that first kiss, a man in bliss at his power over me. He flopped down onto his back at my side. The double bed was hardly big enough for the both of us, and so his massive body was pushed right up against mine, the tip of his cock draped onto my leg. He lifted one big arm above his head, looping the exercise band around my head with the other. We both hung there for a moment, each knowing exactly what was coming next. Me, tears in my eyes, lip quivering; him, smiling like he just won the lottery.
“I said I’d make you sniff my sweaty, hairy pits.” His arm slowly entered into the exercise band, at the wrist, then his elbow, a slow and steady march to the horrific end result. “And you know what she did then?” Chris grinned. “She came.” He plunged his arm the rest of the way in. In an instant, hair filled my vision. It enveloped my entire face, my nose, my mouth, my cheeks, all thrust directly into the center of his massive, cavernous armpit. The musk hit me in a wave, the soft tickling hairs entering into every crevice. Chris threw a huge leg over my waist, anchoring me to his body so there was no chance of escape. “She’s a little freak, huh? She really got off on the idea of you getting punished. It took me be surprise how into it she was—the orgasm was almost immediate. She clenched her pussy around my cock so hard I thought she’d snap it off. Her body was practically vibrating, and her mouth turned into this cute little ‘O’ shape. And the sound—buddy, I thought the police were going to be called. She moaned like a good little slut for me. Make him smell your pits, Chris! Make that bitch smell your pits!” I could see the picture he was painting in my mind, clear as day: Becks petite, pale body, convulsing in bliss at the thought of my humiliation. Chris taking her, experiencing the pleasure I would never know, all while I was forced to smell the aftermath of his ecstasy. His fingers traveled to my armpit, the tiny corner of underarm poking out from underneath my bound shoulder. He started swirling his index finger in the hair, building anticipation for the moment he went all in, the sure-fire recipe to break me that he had taken years to perfect.
“Mmmpf!” I stifled the laugh as best I could, aware that the second my mouth opened it would be full of hair.
“I’m a lot of things, pal, but I’m not a liar. I’ve got to do right by Beck. So tonight, you’re getting the pit punishment.” His finger picked up speed, the ticklish sensations gaining traction in equal measure. “Take a deeeeeep breath in. I want you to smell how good that sex was.” He gently rocked his shoulder back and forth, rubbing the hairs across my face. “How horny she made me.” I started to feel light headed as the pit consumed my airways. “How hard I fucked her.” I held off for as long as I could, but as my lungs screamed for air, I was forced to inhale his musk, a thick, masculine stench that overcame my pathetic mind in an instant. “I want you to think long and hard about what you did, buddy. Just try not to think about Beck sucking my cock while you do, ok? I don’t want you distracted.” His finger forced itself into my enclosed pit, wiggling around the hollow without my consent. As the ticklish sensations began to build, and the first laugh escaped my lips, his massive tuft of sweaty, black hair entered my mouth. I began to cry, my growing, muffled laughter intertwined with sobs.
“Now this, my friend,” Chris said with a grin. “Is going in the scrapbook.”
“Look, Chris, let’s be reasonable about this. Can you—EEK!” I squealed as his fingers returned to my feet. He worked his index finger in between my toes, a technique he knew I was particularly susceptible too. “Fuck, man!” I whined between laughs. “Stohahahap that!”
“Wish I could, bro. But that didn’t sound like a yes. And unfortunately, these toes are getting played with until I get an affirmative answer, yeah?” I tried to reason with him some more, eking out half-sentences where I could get the words to form. But it fell on deaf ears. Chris the tickle-monster just kept scrapping his nails around without a care in the world, just like so many times before. “She’s just not right for you, man. She’s too…I don’t know, alternative. Goth, and witchy, and that kind of thing. You can’t handle a girl like that, she’d eat you alive.” The second he noticed me becoming desensitized to the toe-tickling, he began running his fingers up and down the length of the sole.
“AHHH!” I screamed at the new sensation, expertly timed to maximize distress, before succumbing to the giggles once more.
“You were just starting to get your grades up, almost got that B in chemistry—and now you think you have enough time for a girlfriend? Sorry man, not going to happen.” He sounded like a stern parent, telling me I wouldn’t be getting a motor bike for Christmas. “Think of all the work we’d be undoing. All the time spent studying. Those late night cram sessions. Not to mention all the tickling you needed to get your act together.” My mind flooded with the memories. Chris had glanced over my shoulder, noticing the C- I scored on the midterm. That one earned me an hour of tickling with his favorite hair brush. “You know how many frat parties I missed because I had to stay home and tickle you into doing your homework? How many dates I didn’t go on so I could stay here, poking your armpits until you cracked open a text book?” He scoffed. “Honestly man, sometimes I feel like you don’t even appreciate what I do for you.”
I don’t, you fucking psycho. I didn’t dare say it aloud, given that it would only make the night much, much worse for me. But, holy shit—I wasn’t thankful enough for being tickled half to death every other day? This guy was a freak of the highest order.
“I’ve been trying to instill some discipline, you know that. That’s why you do my laundry, make my bed, massage my feet after practice.” He lectured, emphasizing each new point with a scrape of my soles. “If you suddenly have a pretty lady in your life, distracting you with her tits and keeping you out late—poof! That’s all gone. We’d basically have to start again at square one. You remember how tough that was, right buddy?” I sure as hell did. Square one was being thrown under Chris’s desk chair while he worked, my hands and wrists bound to the armrests up above me. He would sit there while he watched TV, casually scribbling his fingers across my feet while his own massive size thirteens smothered my face. As I would cough and sputter, trying to breath fresh air, he would reposition them over my mouth and nose, only halting the tickling to snap a quick photo with his polaroid. For documentation. The scrap book. He would say with a wink. This way, we can monitor your progress. Into his photo album it would go, a growing collection of humiliations that documented all the ways he tormented me over the years. March 3rd, 2017. He’d scribble in the margins. Foot punishment—chores not done on time. He insisted it was just for record keeping, a helpful way to keep track of how often I needed “discipline”. But I knew the truth. There was enough blackmail in that photo book to ruin me ten times over. Despite all his cheerful quips, he knew I would never be free of him so long as that book was in his possession. “Last chance, pal. You gonna call her up? We can let her down easy, don’t you worry.” The thought made me sick to my stomach. Beck was literally my first girlfriend. She had approached me a month ago in the library. I had been sneaking glances at her over my textbook for almost an hour, looking down quickly and blushing whenever she caught my gaze. When I looked up to find that she was standing a foot in front of me, a smirk on her beautiful, angular face, I almost had a heart attack.
“You gonna ask me out?” She said brazenly. “Or are you just looking?”
We went on a handful of dates over the coming weeks. I disguised them as trips to the gym, the grocery store, going back home to visit my parents; whatever excuse I could come up with in the moment to mask the budding relationship from Chris and his tickling fingers. I had never, and still have never, met a girl like Beck. She was confident, self-assured, assertive—all the things that I wasn’t. If she hadn’t approached me, there was a 0% chance we ever would have interacted. It turns out a lifetime of being cock-blocked and humiliated in front of women was not conducive to self-confidence. So as we went to coffee shops, and bar-cades, and walks in the park, I quickly found myself falling for her. Chris was right, she was a bit…alt, for lack of a better term. She had two full tattoo sleeves, a septum piercing, a pixie cut dyed bright crimson. She wore all black outfits and combat boots everywhere she went. I found her intimidating, even scary, but despite her counter-culture exterior, she was had thus far been quite sweet to me. Around one week ago, I had finally worked up the courage to ask her to be my girlfriend, exclusivity and all. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I froze up—had I come on too strong? Was it too soon? But to my absolute delight, she just smiled.
“I’d like that.” I detected a faint blushing on her pale face. She laughed as the color came to my cheeks as well. “Thought you were going to have a stroke, dude. Glad you got that out.” She teased playfully, grabbing my hand. “Come on. Let’s go back to mine.” I practically floated back to her dorm room.
We hadn’t known each other that long, and the relationship really was in its infancy. The most we’d done was makeout a little one night after drinking too many seltzers. We hadn’t even come anywhere close to sex, much to my embarrassment. My nerves had always gotten the better of me. She would take off her jacket, revealing a low cut tank top that made my heart jitter. She’d pat the spot on the couch next to her seductively—and I guess I don’t know what “fuck me” eyes look like, but if any one was ever giving them, it was her in that moment. A part of me, a huge, primal urge, wanted to strip off my clothes and have my way with her right then. But just as I would take a step forward, something would lock up inside of me.
I would think of Chris.
It was like a curse. We went to the same high school together, even grew up on the same cul-de-sac. From a tender young age, Chris had always been there, my worst nightmare. Any time a girl had shown any interest in me, he always seemed to be right around the corner, ready to dive in and end any chances of romance. My first kiss? He came up behind me and locked his wiggling fingers under my arms the second our lips made contact. As I stumbled backwards, giggling madly and falling to a heap on the ground, I watched the poor girl’s face transition from shock, to dismay, to the worst of all—laughter. All traces of attraction to me disappeared as Chris tickled relentlessly, yelling cootchie cootchie coo! as I struggled pitifully to tear my armpits free.
“Uhh.” She giggled. “I’ll see you around, Mike. You two have fun, I guess.” And just like that, she turned and awkwardly shuffled past my convulsing body. After a good ten minutes of tickling, Chris finally relented.
“Sorry, bro.” He said, patting my cheek, apparently totally oblivious to his ruining of the situation. “You were wide open, I just had too.” He said with an impish grin. Even at that age, he was much bigger than me, practically 6’3” tall by senior year. He checked his watch. “Aw, shit. I’m running late for my date. I’ll catch you around, man!” He gave my armpits one last tweak, and then was off, leaving me to stew in my humiliated defeat. That was the first time he sabotaged my love life, but not the last by a long shot. It was like he was a metaphysical albatross around my neck, dragging me back down to reality every time my ego got a well-needed boost. I made a shot in pick-up basketball? Chris would be shoving me in a locker after the game, tickling my feet in front of the whole team while they watched and laughed. Answered a math question right in class? He’d be there in the hallway, ready to assault my ribs as people milled about. And if, god forbid, any girls seemed to be getting to friendly? Somehow he’d miraculously appear, ready to turn “handsome love interest” into “giggling pathetic loser”. It was like he was put on this earth solely to keep me from ever losing my virginity.
It was such a bizarre dynamic; he was always outwardly friendly towards me, introducing himself as my “best friend” to any one who’d listen. He invited me to jock parties I’d otherwise be excluded from, helped me with homework, and was generally pleasant. All until the moment where he felt I was getting too cool, too popular. Then he’d put me back into my place with a public tickling session, securing my position as a nerdy, ticklish wimp. It was a devious, maybe even genius tactic, really. I tried complaining about him to teachers, my parents, the guidance counselor, but all they saw was a supportive friend, albeit one who was a little keen on the rough housing. I can’t even blame them; it was a just a little tickling, right? Just a bit of harmless fun, a few innocent pranks. But what Chris and both came to learn was that it was impossible to want to date the guy that gets held down and tickled until he begs like a little girl. It was basically my identity around school. Oh, Mike? The quiet guy who’s really ticklish? His antics even started to catch on. The other football players, these ones without any pretense of being my friend, would occasionally join in on the fun. I’d get held down in free period, tickled to tears by grinning douchebags while a bored teacher snapped at us to keep quiet. Even the weird kids at school, the emos, anime nerds, and rejects would poke me in the sides as they walked past, giggling at my squeals. By that point, all the girls in school knew I wasn’t a real candidate for romance. The only time they even touched me was to see who could make me screech the loudest, a competition to see who could produce the funniest sound. My least favorite time was gym class. They’d mostly leave me alone during, but after wards? I gained a healthy fear of the locker room. I suppose that’s where Chris got his bright idea to use his feet as punishment. One day after soccer practice, some asshole started tickling me as I was changing. Not my favorite experience, but par for the course at that point. I fell to the ground in a heap, much to the delight of all those present. Chris watched from the corner with a grin as he stripped off his jersey, happy to see the guys were having fun at my expense. But this time, the tickling wasn’t enough to satisfy them.
“Why you on the ground, bro?” One of the jocks chided, stripping off his sweaty gym socks. “You’re gonna get trampled down there.” And with that, he clamped his sweaty, stinking feet right onto my face. My reaction was one of visceral disgust, matched only in magnitude by the uproarious laughter from the gathered eighteen year old sadists. I tried to roll away, but in seconds I was pinned to the floor, my face the new stomping ground for the whole locker room. Those who didn’t directly participate were egging on those that were, a real “come together” moment a la my humiliation. I remember that day well: Sweaty socks being dangled above my face, threatening to be dropped unless I sang their favorite songs. The boys taking turns rubbing their sweaty soles on my lips and nose as I struggled wildly to escape, asking me who’s smelled the worst, how I liked being the new gym floor mat. Chris watched on that day, as if entranced, like a new world was opening up to him. This was at least as effective as tickling, if not more so. From that point on, I was as likely to be sniffing Chris’s feet as have my own tickled relentlessly.
Things got worse as senior year ended, if you can even believe that. He managed to trick my parents into telling me what college I was going to, and, what do you know? Chris applied too! Isn’t that great? My best buddy Chris, off to the same school. Together forever, bestie! That’s when he started the “scrap book” as he calls it. At first, it was just to chronicle the good times we were having. Fishing trips, game days, parties. But soon enough, a polaroid of me, begging for the tickling to stop as he twirled his fingers in my pit hair, made it into the book. Then it was me getting tickled by two jocks at a party, then with my face being shoved in a pile of Chris’s dirty socks, and so on and so forth. As the scrapbook grew, so too did the extent of Chris’s torments. He started tying me down just to have a hand free to operate the camera. Jump ropes, exercise bands, whatever he had on hand was used to restrict my movement enough that I had to hold still for the picture. He was rifling through the album a month before we were set to ship off to college. I was biding my time at this point, just waiting for the day I’d be free of him. Well, not free of him, but hey. Close enough. We were going to a big enough university that I was sure I could avoid him. Or so I thought.
“Hey, Mikey.” He said, running his finger over a picture of my hogtied form, his fingers scrabbling over my feet. A favorite memory of his, I suppose. “I got an email this morning. Something about a…roommate request form? They’ll pair you up with someone if you both agree.” He smiled at me expectantly. That’s when the point of the photos became crystal clear to me. I was trapped.
“G-great, man.” I forced a smile. “Bring your Nirvana poster.”
When college started, Chris transitioned from “best bud” to “caretaker”, taking it upon himself to make sure I was the best student I could be. It was the most bizarre switch up in his attitude towards me yet. Who knows where he got the idea from, but somehow he became convinced I would flunk out with his stern hand keeping me in line. I wasn’t the best student, sure, but if you asked him I was always one failed test from being expelled. He become much stricter with me, the tickling sessions rebranded as “discipline” instead of child-like rough housing. I can’t even really explain to you how it developed, how my roommate suddenly became something halfway between a boss and a father. He acted like it was so normal, a totally sensible thing for a roommate to set a curfew, assign chores, check for your homework to be done. I guess to me, it started to become normal. I was trapped; I lived with him. He had mountains of my most humiliating moments immortalized on film. Not to mention, who would I even tell about this? It would involve admitting that for the better part of a year, I was basically the live-in tickle slave of another grown man. Yes officer, that man right there. That’s the one that tickles my tootsies if I skip class. There was no escape for me. The only saving grace is that he kept our sessions private, for the most part, perhaps understanding that ruthless public tickle-torture might have been frowned upon in a place of higher learning.
That was the landscape I grew up in. Every romantic interaction stifled by a flurry of fingers and a storm of laughs, inevitably ending in my embarrassment and a permanent one-way ticket to the friend zone. And so now, even as fully realized college student, every time I was in a position to be with a woman…
Chris.
I could practically feel his fingers on me. Even when he wasn’t in the room, even as Beck leaned forward and exposed her cleavage, biting her lower lip, I half expected him to jump out from the closet and ruin what we had forever. So each and every time I got the opportunity, I would chicken out. I’d make some excuse, I was too tired, or I had a big exam tomorrow, whatever. Beck would just laugh understandingly, no doubt sensing my inexperience in situation like this. She was a good sport about it, bless her heart, and would usually either remind me she’s ok with taking it slow, or ignore my awkwardness entirely and wish me a good night. Then I’d go back to my dorm, kicking myself that I couldn’t just man the fuck up and do it, praying that when I got back Chris would be in a good mood. On the nights that he wasn’t, I was literally getting feet shoved in my face instead of fucking a beautiful woman. Having my pits played with by a man instead of groping a boob. Laughing hysterically against my will while Beck wondered if she wasn’t good enough for me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I started to suspect the worst; Chris had conditioned me into a ticklish, virgin loser.
And then, on one such night of self-inflicted chastity, what I feared the most finally happened. I walked into the dorm, my heart skipping a beat when I saw Chris wide awake, sitting on my bed, cross legged. He looked…displeased.
“Sup, bro.” He said cooly. “Where ya been?”
“Oh, just. Taking a walk. Getting my steps in, you know.” I didn’t make eye contact as I spoke, setting my bag down on the ground.
“Uh huh.” Chris stood up and walked over to me, putting a big arm around my shoulders. “Thing is, buddy. A friend of mine saw you on the quad earlier with…what’s her name? Beck? The goth chick?”
“Oh, uh.” I panicked, scrambling for a reasonable explanation. “Yeah, she’s helping me study for, uh, history of the Middle Ages. Just a study sesh.” Chris just fixed me with a disapproving frown. For a second, he just stared, and I prayed my excuse would hold firm. But then, he sighed, gripping my wrist tight and yanking my arm above my head. Two fingers slipped into my armpit, wiggle wiggle wiggle. The pathetic giggles escaped my mouth immediately.
“W-wait! HEHEHE!” I pleaded as he dragged me over to my bed, throwing me onto my stomach. “I can exheheheplain!” Chris just tutted as my arms were stretched one by one towards the bed posts, the jump ropes already waiting there in a pile.
“This is a bad one, kiddo. We’re going to have to talk about this. A loooong talk.” Before I could protest further, his gym shoe came clamping down around my face, an exercise band wrapped firmly around the back of my head to lock it into place. As I choked on the stench of his feet, I felt my ankles lose their mobility as well, and as my shoes were stripped off, then my socks, I started to realize how badly I’d fucked up.
—
It was a long talk. At least fifteen minutes of constant foot tickling, his fingers scampering back and forth across my helpless body, all while Chris lectured me about the dangerous of relationships, how I should do that poor girl a favor and break things off now.
“Last chance.” Chris said again, holding out the phone in front of my face. “Say the word, and I’ll call her up. Let’s make this easy, yeah?” I thought for a moment.I knew would would happen if I refused. I knew that even if I didn’t, Chris would just tickle me to death in front of Beck anyway, maybe even shove his feet in my face in public, branding me a loser for all time. But the thought of Beck being sad, crying even, of letting her down in any way, gave me resolve I didn’t know was there.
“Fuck. You.” I said through gritted teeth. I could feel the shock from my response in Chris’s posture. I was shocked too; I had never stood up to him that way before. The chance at a real romantic relationship had made me more brave, and perhaps more stupid, than I had ever been. But after a second, he regained his nonchalance.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, re-affixing the shoe to my face. As I was re-imprisioned in the stinking shoe, I immediately regretted my bravery. “We’re doing the pits this time. Thirty minutes, full contact, no breaks. You have to learn your lesson.” As all his finger slipped around my shoulders, making contact with my ticklish hollows, I began to beg for forgiveness. Wait! I’ll do it! I’ll break up with her! Just not the pits, please, not the—HAHAHAHA! He either couldn’t hear me through the shoe gag, or didn’t care. His fingers danced relentlessly, a torrent of scratching nails lightly running through my hair. It was a practiced maneuver, him knowing exactly what kind of tickling would break me most effectively from years of experience. It felt like being electrocuted—a thousand tiny ticklish sensations wracking my body. I bucked as much as my restraints would allow, gasping for air but only breathing in feet. It was hell, true, ticklish hell, the kind of torture that would break a CIA operative. The first five minutes or so passed without so much as a word from Chris, his entire being focused on breaking me. Cootchie coo, tickle-tickle, scratch scratch. The fingers didn’t stop, never stopped, the worst feeling I could ever feel with no chance or hope of stopping it. Five more minutes and I was already broken; I would have run naked through the quad just to make it stop.
But it didn’t. He kept tickling and tickling. Eventually, he began talking to me once more, though I could only make out little bits and pieces through the sound of my screams.
“Sometimes I forget how tickly these little pits are. They might be your worst spot, eh Mikey? We should visit them more often. You don’t have too much hair there, do you? Makes it easy to draaaaag my fingers like this. Feel that?” I felt it with ever fiber of my being. “Couldn’t drag your fingers like that through my pits. No sir, it’s like a forest under there.” He chuckled. “Not that I have to tell you that. I’ve got a whole page of the scrapbook dedicated to you and my armpits. That reminds me, I have to fill out that page a little more…” Twenty minutes had passed, and I was at the brink. It may has well been twenty years. “I wonder if Beck would like to take a peek? See all of our beautiful memories?” He moved closer to me ear, speaking directly into it to make sure I heard every word. “I’m sure she’d get a real kick out of it. Everyone back home did, that’s for sure.” His voice took on a wistfully nostalgic quality, reminiscing through his fondest moments. “There was your birthday that one year—remember, we had the party at my house? You got so drunk, I thought you were gonna piss yourself when I started tickling those toes of yours.” Please. Don’t. Don’t show her. That was the only thought rushing through my head. “Or when Jenny pretended to ask you to prom? That was hilarious! She really had you going with that one. Took so much planning. We waited for like, an hour to ambush you at the door. Jenny’s boyfriend almost tickled you right out of your suit! I think I’ve got one of you walking around barefoot on the dance floor.” He laughed. “Good times. Oh, but my favorite—“ His tickling at my pits intensified, absolutely digging out the center of my hollows with everything he had. “—That picture of me kissing my girlfriend, Deb. And I’ve got you in a headlock. Think your hands were tied behind your back, no? So your face—I mean, it’s just right in my armpit. Just, lodged in there, no room to move. What a classic; one of us kissing a girl, the other kissing pit, right? Classic you and me, the best buds.” My mind went back to that day; it was one of the worst of my life. I spent the better part of the night wedged into that massive tangle of dark black hair, listening to the sound of Chris and Deb flirt and kiss. I didn’t wash that taste out of my mouth for a week. “I’m sure Beck would love to see that one, huh Mikey? If she comes around, why don’t I show it to her? I’d love her to meet the real you.”
—
At some point, the thirty minutes must have been up. The shoe was removed again, but I didn’t even have the energy to gasp for air. I just played there, head pressed to drenched pillow case in front of me. Tears were streaming down my face. It had to have been one of the worst sessions Chris had ever given me; I certainly couldn’t remember being punished in that way in recent memory. Without giving me a chance to recollect myself, Chris laid a phone down on the bed next to me.
“You seeing things from my perspective, buddy?” He asked softly, gently even. “Just make the call. I could easily go another thirty. Another hour, the whole night; I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my best friend.” I could only nod weakly. Any trace of determination had left my body approximately fifteen seconds after the tickling started. He smiled, patted me on the head, and then hit dial. I hardly even remember what I said. I try to forget how she reacted. She was surprisingly hurt, for how brief our relationship had been. It seems she had really seen something in me. It almost sounded like she was about to cry when Chris hung up the phone. I felt numb, even as the bonds at my wrists were loosened, even as Chris climbed off of my back. “Good work, pal. Glad we didn’t have to do things the hard way.” He playfully tussled my hair as he walked to his desk, taking a seat and propping his feet up. “Now come on buddy.” He fixed me with a wide grin. “My feet are killing me. I think it’s massage time.” He wiggled his toes at me.
—
A few weeks passed, and Chris and I went back into our usual routine. Me, trying my best to stay on top of chores and course work, and Chris, dictating my every move and torturing me when I slipped up. I’ll admit that it was hard to think about anything else but Beck. The words on my computer screen would float away as I typed, forming the image of her brown eyes as I tried to conjure any thought that didn’t include how badly I fucked up. I couldn’t face her in person. If I saw her from afar on campus, I’d turn and bolt the other way. There was no way I could explain to her what went wrong, why I dumped her so abruptly, why I sounded so weird on the phone. Ugh. A phone call! Why did he make me do it over the phone! I felt like the world’s biggest loser. Fumbling a tremendous woman just because of some tickling. Really? How could I let another man do this to me? Keep me from ever having a girlfriend, ruin every chance at a relationship that I’ve ever had, torment me with his stinking feet and armpits. It was a new low for me, a valley that made all others pale in comparison. I flitted listlessly from day to day. I took my punishments as they came. Ten minutes of pit tickling for not tidying the room fast enough. Five of toe-fingering for forgetting to submit an assignment. A trip to the dirty sock pile for being out past curfew. I massaged Chris’s sweaty feet, I made his bed, I folded his clothes. It went through the motions like an automaton, a giggling, humiliated machine, new entries to the scrap book being made nearly every day. Chris dutifully marked down each occasion:
Punished for sleeping in — hogtied and foot tickled. My face contorted into hideous laughter, a smiling Chris sitting on top of me.
Cheated on his diet — Mickey’s pits get played with. My sparsely-haired armpits stretch taught above my head, pleading eyes darting to the fingers about to violate them.
Didn’t hit his steps quota — sweaty sock gag. A lump of socks in my mouth, the disgust plainly evident on my face. Chris took this one selfie style, his arm around my shoulder, grinning madly.
It went on like this for some time. Until one day, things changed. I was 10 minutes late one night, losing track of time while I desperately tried to cram for the chemistry final. I knew what awaited me back at the dorm. What would it be this time? My armpits? Feet? Tied up, or perhaps he’d go old school with it, simply wrestling me to the ground, pinning my arms above my head with one hand and going to town on me with the other. My pulse quickened as I walked into our dorm hall. I wanted to turn and run the other way, but ultimately that would just lead to a more severe punishment. So instead, I dutifully marched towards towards the inevitable ticklish retribution, like the good little tickle toy that I was. I took my jacket off even before swiping my key card at the door. Maybe if I gave him easier access to my armpits, he’d factor in my good behavior and let me off easy. Bracing myself for the worst, I meekly swung open the door and stepped inside.
There are so many good contenders for the most humiliating moment of my life. I think that I, more so than possibly any other man on the planet, can say that with confidence. And yet, despite all that I have been through, all the public tickling, foot worship, and cock-blocking, this had to be the worst.
They were laying down. Chris was shirtless, probably fully naked, his sheets draped lazily over his crotch. A muscular arm was resting above his head, his bushy, black armpit on full display. Her bright red hair rested on his chest, her black, manicured nails tracing little circles in the thick patches of hair there. There was a look of tired satisfaction on both their faces that could only be explained by the afterglow of sex. We froze there for a moment, Beck and I, her just as shocked to see me as I was her. I felt nothing at first, my mind completely numb to what I was seeing, just absolutely struggling to put the pieces together. But then the despair came. A crushing, sinking feeling in my chest. It was at once confounding and inevitable to see here there; my only girlfriend, laying in post-coital bliss next to my most sadistic of bullies. The sadness on my face must have snapped Beck back to her senses as well. She grabbed for the sheets, blushing as she pulled them up to cover her breasts. That was actually the first time I had seen them. I saw her tits, not because she wanted to show them to me, but because she had chosen to give her body over to another man. The sheets formerly covering Chris’s cock were torn away by her movement, and for the first time I saw that as well. He was still half hard, an impressively large member silhouetted by massive bush of hair. I must have walked in seconds after they finished. He made no attempt to cover himself, even putting the other arm behind his head, as if proud to be showing off his defined, hairy, masculine form. It almost felt like a taunt, like his huge, hairy body showed me all that was inadequate about myself : This is the kind of body that gets the girl, tickle-bitch.
“Jesus…” Beck scoffed. “Knock much?” Her annoyance seemed forced to me. She appeared more guilty than anything, like she had been caught committing some great sin. Chris just smiled cheerfully.
“Hey kiddo.” He grinned. “Was wondering where you were. You were starting to worry me.” They both waited for a response, but I just stood there, motionless, holding my jacket in one hand so that the man fucking my ex-girlfriend could tickle me more easily. I felt dizzy as the color drained from my face.
“Chris, I thought you said he was staying at a friend’s tonight.” Beck said breathlessly. “I…Mike, I wasn’t…this isn’t…” She trailed off, affixing me with a look of pity that somehow made things worse. It was a nice gesture, I guess, that she felt bad. But it didn’t matter anyway. There were no magic words that could be said that would rescue my ego from this blow. I could feel the change coming over me quickly, fast approaching acceptance, as if my mind was being rewired on the spot to permanently accept my position in the world. My eyes wandered back to Chris’s armpits, to his feet. That was what was in store for me. The woman laying next to him may as well not exist; a hairy pit in my face was what I deserved. Chris was right: Beck was too much for me to handle. As if sharing some psychic connection, Chris seemed to understand. He stretched his arms even further above his head, pushing out the tufts of sweat covered hair. He wiggled his toes, stretching and scrunching them. These are your girlfriends, Mikey. This is your sexuality. Just pits and feet for you, buddy.
“Why don’t you give us a minute, huh my guy? Go wait in the common room, I’ll come get you in a sec.” He said with a wink. Beck looked like she wanted to disappear, and I’m sure the expression on my face was pitiful. Without so much as a word, I drifted outside, shutting the door behind me. I sat down on the couch, head spinning. People milled about around me, discussing Friday plans, what party they were going to, what girl they hoped to take home that night. Normal conversations between normal people, a room full of men that didn’t even know how ticklish they were, that knew what it felt like to be inside a woman, that would never dream of another man’s feet on their face. A few minutes later, Beck emerged. Her makeup was smudged, her hair tussled haphazardly, her clothes not fitting quite right. She looked even more gorgeous, somehow, her post-sex dishevelment revealing a less curated side that, to my horror, caused my cock to stir. She sent a look my way, something halfway between a scowl and sigh. She hung there for a moment, opening her mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it. She turned and walked a few feet away—before abruptly stopping, turning on her heels, and storming over to me with an intensity that made me flinch.
“Just so you know, that was really shitty way to be broken up with.” She huffed, her words coming out in a jumble. “It was a dick move to do it over the phone, it was a dick move that it was so sudden, and honestly, I really fucking hated you for a minute there.” She softened after the last phrase. “But…I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t think you were coming back tonight. I…” Her face was awash with guilt. “…I was just sad, and hurt. And horny.” She blushed. “You kind of left me blue balled for a while there, so that’s partially on you. And…I wanted to get back at you.” She looked up at me with eyes asking for forgiveness. “There. I said it. I know you probably think I’m a bitch, but that’s the truth. So. I’m sorry. I don’t forgive you, but…I’m sorry. That was mean of me.” She turned and stormed away.
Before she had even left the building, my phone buzzed.
Come on back to the room, bro. We should talk about all that.
—
He had put on some underwear, at least. It did very little to hide his bulge, his massive bush even peeking out from the pair of briefs. The rest of him remained uncovered, all 6+ feet of sweat, hairy man. It was entirely clear to me that this was part of his power play. He would apologize to me while his mostly naked body was covered in the stench of sex, tainting the air with his armpits, taunting me with his superior frame. He was still in that same relaxed position, hands interlocked behind his head, feet crossed over one another.
“Sit down, please.” He motioned to the foot of the bed. I did as I was told, like a dog who wanted a treat. I started massaging his feet without even being told to. He nodded in approval. “Listen man, I’ve really got to say s—really use your thumbs, bud. Long day. That’s nice, thank you.” He yawned. “As I was saying, I really am sorry. Wasn’t trying to ambush you with all that. I know things are still fresh with you and Beck.” He paused, prompting me to respond with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s ok.” My voice came out as a whisper.
“That’s my guy.” Chris smiled, patting my cheek with his massive foot. I grimaced, but didn’t dare shoo him away. He continued with his victory lap-styled apology. “It was just one of those things, you know. Totally unplanned, just right place, right time. You’re probably wondering how it happened, huh?”
“No.” I replied. Completely ignoring me, he continued on.
“I ran into her at the coffee shop on campus. She recognized me from some party or something, I don’t know. Hey, take off your shirt for me pal.” I blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He fixed me with a serious look. I pulled my hands away from his feet, pulling the t-shirt off to reveal my nearly hairless chest. Ah. I thought, That’s why. He wanted me to compare myself to him. My skinny, hairless body now exposed, the differences between us were all the more impossible to deny. “I was just coming back from the gym, she was studying for some test. I asked how she was holding up—you know I’m your boy, like. You come first, obviously man. But still, I’m not heartless, I had to make sure she was taking the break up well, you know? Anyway.” He sniffed his armpit. “Whew. She really made me work for it, man.” I felt a twinge of jealousy rise up inside me, mixed with a healthy degree of disgust. “So we got to talking. I have to say, she…did not take the break up well. Like at all. You really broke her heart, Mikey.”
You made me do it. I kept that one to myself.
“She asked about you, of course. Tried to get me to shed some light on the situation; I’m you roommate after all. Had you said anything to me? Some hint you were unhappy?” Noticing the expression on my face, he quickly preempted my response. “Oh, don’t worry dude. I didn’t tell her about all the tickling stuff. That’s a bro code violation right there, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
You literally just fucked her.
“I just evaded the question, you know. Told her you were busy with school, stressed about your grades, that kind of thing. Which is true, by the way—totally in support of your decision. Academics come first, of course. I admire your dedication. But yeah, I was a bit of a shoulder for her to cry on, so to speak. Literally, actually, she put her head right on my shoulder while we talked. And you know, she was sad, she was lonely. Like I said, you really did a number on her. And then….” He paused for a moment. He sat up, scooting closer to me. Before I had a chance to react, his arm was around my shoulder, pulling my face in close to his chest. I put some tension in my neck, trying to resist, but he simply yanked me closer, shoving my face right into the tangle of sweaty chest hair. “Sorry, just want to be closer to you for this part. A heart to heart talk and all that. You can cry if you want to, man. I’m here for you.” My nose wrinkled, and I tried to turn my head away, but his hand gripped the back of my head firmly, guiding my mouth right in between his pecs, his dark curls enveloping my face. He couldn’t just end my relationship, he wasn’t going to stop at fucking me ex right in front of me—no, that wouldn’t be nearly enough. He had to show me what a man he was, put my face in just the same place that Beck’s had been minutes before. It was a fitting punishment, a forced acknowledgment of his superiority, consumed by his masculine form. I felt the tears start to well up in that moment. It wasn’t even about Beck, not precisely. It was a much larger psychological challenge, the almost sexual nature of the contact I was now receiving, the recognition that another man could truly have his way with me at any moment in time. “Well, she kind of brought the conversation to a more…vindictive place. She started talking about what an asshole you were, that you had just played with her heart and left her out to dry. I tried to defend you, but she was persistent. Started saying some real mean stuff, like someone should teach you a lesson and all that. That you didn’t respect women, that she didn’t want you going around hurting other people too. And you know, man,” He ran his hand through my hair, rubbing my face back and forth along his chest. His hair, both coarse and soft, dragged along my nose, tickling me gently. I choked down a sob as a bead of sweat made it past my lips and into my mouth. “I hate to say it, but I really started to agree with her. The way that whole situation played out…its a bad look, bro. You really shouldn’t have ever gotten involved with her. You knew you weren’t ready for a relationship, much less such a hottie like her. So to lead her on like that, knowing that it would never work out…” He gripped a fistful of my curls, yanking my head away from his chest. “It wasn’t cool, man.” He affixed me with a steely gaze, his grip equally hard. He stretched his free arm above his head, and I knew exactly where my face was going next. “I really think I went too easy on you, ya know?”
“Please.” I choked. “Not your pits, Chris. Don’t make me.” His hand pushed me head further, all the straining I could muster not nearly enough. I tried to push him away, but our bodies were too close together for my arms to gain any purchase. Like an unstoppable force of nature, I watched in real time as my face inched ever closer to the forest of thick, black hair, so dense that I couldn’t even see his skin. The smell was overwhelming, the sweat and musk of a real man, hard earned through pleasing a woman.
“It’s gonna happen, bro. Don’t fight it. This is for your own good.” As the tips of his pit hairs made contact with my face, I let out a little sob. “Shhhh. It’s ok. Let it alllll out.” He began running this pit up and down my face in slow, deliberate motions. “You deserve this, man. I told Beck I’d straighten you out. I told her I’d make sure you never hurt another woman again. This is the way we do that—the only way. Just accept it."
Drag, drag, drag. I recoiled in disgust, all my senses being violated at once. Sight, smell, touch, sound; my whole world was hairy armpits.
“Once I said that,” Chris continued, “Beck got a little flirty with me. Handsy, even. She moved her chair a little closer, so close I could smell her perfume. She does smell great, right buddy? Probably a lot better than I do right now. And then she grabbed my bicep, started complimenting me on my muscles, asking me how tall I was, batting her eyes at me.” His armpit hovered ominously in front of me, the force on the back of my head still threatening to plunge me into its stinking depths at any moment I’m only human, Mikey. A girl that pretty? I had to play along. And after a few more minutes of chatting, well…I hate to say it. I really do. She asked to see the dorm.” Chris released his grip on my face. Before I had so much as an instant to wipe the sweat from my lips, he was grabbing me, pushing me down to the bed and wrenching a wrist behind my back. I struggled, the meager amount I could, but it didn’t even phase him. He spoke again as I felt the knot start to be tied. “I wasn’t going to do anything, man, I swear.” His tone was jovial as the other hand was wrestled behind my back as well, joining its rightful place in the tightening jumprope. “Honest, swear to god. But Beck…She’s got a way with her, I’ll tell you what. I was just showing her my posters, see. And I turn around—“ He pulled the knot tight. “And her top was off. Just, totally topless, not a foot from where we are now.” Now that I was completely helpless, Chris began spidering his fingers up my ribs.
“NO! NoohohohhehehHAHAHA!” My childish little giggles couldn’t help but arrive the instant he made contact.
“The most perfect tits I ever saw, bro. A shame she didn’t show them to you. I didn’t want her to feel left out, so, I took my top off too. And from there…well, let’s just say, it’s a shame you two never went further, bud.” He leaned in close, whispering into my ear as I squirmed. “She’s an animal, dude. Gave head like you wouldn’t believe.” The tickling halted momentarily as Chris looped his fingers into my sweat pants. “And her pussy. You know she dyes the hair down there red, too? Just a little landing strip. Felt amazing going in.” He yanked hard, pulling them below my waist. “She jumped right on top of me—I’ve never seen a girl so desperate for some action.”
“What the fuck!” I screamed, panic rising in me. “What are you doing, man?”
“As she was riding me, you know what she kept saying?” Chris met an obstacle at my shoes, but he tore those off as well, sneaker by sneaker, sock by sock, until his path was clear to toss my pants in a heap on the ground. “Are you going to punish him? Are you going to punish Mike for me?” I was acutely aware of my vulnerability, stripped down to my briefs. This punishment was taking on a different tone than any before it. A growing sense of dread was building in me as Chris effortlessly flipped me onto my back. “I told her I was. She liked that. She moaned my name when I said it.” As he climbed onto the bed, my eyes went wide. He was holding his exercise band, the one he had used to lock his shoe into place. “She asked me how I was going to do it. Know what I said, pal?”
“No…” I whispered. He crawled towards me with an estatic grin on his face, the same look he gave me when he ruined that first kiss, a man in bliss at his power over me. He flopped down onto his back at my side. The double bed was hardly big enough for the both of us, and so his massive body was pushed right up against mine, the tip of his cock draped onto my leg. He lifted one big arm above his head, looping the exercise band around my head with the other. We both hung there for a moment, each knowing exactly what was coming next. Me, tears in my eyes, lip quivering; him, smiling like he just won the lottery.
“I said I’d make you sniff my sweaty, hairy pits.” His arm slowly entered into the exercise band, at the wrist, then his elbow, a slow and steady march to the horrific end result. “And you know what she did then?” Chris grinned. “She came.” He plunged his arm the rest of the way in. In an instant, hair filled my vision. It enveloped my entire face, my nose, my mouth, my cheeks, all thrust directly into the center of his massive, cavernous armpit. The musk hit me in a wave, the soft tickling hairs entering into every crevice. Chris threw a huge leg over my waist, anchoring me to his body so there was no chance of escape. “She’s a little freak, huh? She really got off on the idea of you getting punished. It took me be surprise how into it she was—the orgasm was almost immediate. She clenched her pussy around my cock so hard I thought she’d snap it off. Her body was practically vibrating, and her mouth turned into this cute little ‘O’ shape. And the sound—buddy, I thought the police were going to be called. She moaned like a good little slut for me. Make him smell your pits, Chris! Make that bitch smell your pits!” I could see the picture he was painting in my mind, clear as day: Becks petite, pale body, convulsing in bliss at the thought of my humiliation. Chris taking her, experiencing the pleasure I would never know, all while I was forced to smell the aftermath of his ecstasy. His fingers traveled to my armpit, the tiny corner of underarm poking out from underneath my bound shoulder. He started swirling his index finger in the hair, building anticipation for the moment he went all in, the sure-fire recipe to break me that he had taken years to perfect.
“Mmmpf!” I stifled the laugh as best I could, aware that the second my mouth opened it would be full of hair.
“I’m a lot of things, pal, but I’m not a liar. I’ve got to do right by Beck. So tonight, you’re getting the pit punishment.” His finger picked up speed, the ticklish sensations gaining traction in equal measure. “Take a deeeeeep breath in. I want you to smell how good that sex was.” He gently rocked his shoulder back and forth, rubbing the hairs across my face. “How horny she made me.” I started to feel light headed as the pit consumed my airways. “How hard I fucked her.” I held off for as long as I could, but as my lungs screamed for air, I was forced to inhale his musk, a thick, masculine stench that overcame my pathetic mind in an instant. “I want you to think long and hard about what you did, buddy. Just try not to think about Beck sucking my cock while you do, ok? I don’t want you distracted.” His finger forced itself into my enclosed pit, wiggling around the hollow without my consent. As the ticklish sensations began to build, and the first laugh escaped my lips, his massive tuft of sweaty, black hair entered my mouth. I began to cry, my growing, muffled laughter intertwined with sobs.
“Now this, my friend,” Chris said with a grin. “Is going in the scrapbook.”
