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(thanks, JP):
 

(I just found out Stan and Will are leaving for a week. Mark thinks he will have a break from his constant torment, but I have been snapping photos. I can't wait to get my hands on those smooth-looking feet. I bet I can get him screaming faster than Stan.)

Mark got his running gear on. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. He was relaxed, glowing with energy to burn off - and nothing to fear.

Everything was perfect.

When he opened the door to leave, I had a big black feather waiting at eye-level.

The look on his face! Bulging eyes, absolutely horrorstruck. Oh, yeah.

I brought a dozen leather gloves into view - six from each side of the door frame. Going somewhere, Ticklish? Guess again.

I grabbed his arms and clamped a strong palm over his mouth. Leather was the right message. I'm much bigger than you are, and I'm not putting up with any of your bullshit. I brought the feather inside his apartment... to make it absolutely clear. Yes, Mark. I know your secret.

Hauling him backwards, I followed up with two huge tool-boxes and a coil of rope. Then, so slowly, I closed the door.

He squealed and lunged with undisguised panic. Mark knew he was going to stay inside, where no one could find him, and there was no doubt he knew why.

A week, I thought sternly. Seven full days.

My rope whipped around his wrists as I dragged him into his room.
 

Within three minutes I had a terrified Mark pulling for all he was worth. The rope was half-inch nylon, new and soft - yet it held tight. His limbs were spread toward the corners of the bed as hopelessly as I could wish. My toolboxes were alongside him and open, showing a sweet variety of concentrated hysteria. A plain black bandanna from one of them was muffling his screams.

He was so fuckin' desperate to get loose.

I kept the gloves hanging overhead, like vultures, to make sure he knew one thing above all others... that there was no chance of escaping a single moment of the diabolical tickling I had planned.

One full week. Staying home - with me.
 

He skipped right past the shock and confusion. Magical hands had him trapped - and they knew his weakness. Oh, they were really gonna let him have it now. Just one simmering day after another.

I was determined to guard his privacy, and keep anyone else from suspecting a thing... while he felt the best assault I could deliver.

Already the knowledge was there in his expression. All of that pulling and wailing wouldn't stop me.
 

I had him stretched and tied, right next to all kinds of tools. Food could be stockpiled later - while he was unconscious. Heavy sleep, filled with dreams of what he'd been through, would prepare his body for another ten or twelve hours of the same lusty, unending buzz. So long as he woke up with no capability of resisting the reactions which exploded so passionately, growing and deepening...

It was a pure delight to wear 'em out before I put the big-league restraints to use. It underscored how serious I am, just what degree of tickling they could expect - more and more hours in my grasp, as my experience guaranteed that the sensation would continue to increase.

Mark was sweaty. Almost hyperventilating -

It was high time to float two calm, unstoppable gloves down to his ribs.
 

He was addictive.

Inexhaustible.
 

I loved to watch him laugh... while he stared vacantly at the door.

Aw please, pleeeeeze, somebody get in here and help me. The tickler's got these cuffs, see, and I've tried everything I can think of. But I'm still caught. So there has to be somebody else coming, any second now, to discover what a torturous nightmare serious tickling can be. Or else it'll just keep on happening.

What he was enduring was far too exciting to take, so his addled brain longed for some assistance to make me stop. Mark squinted at the door with obvious yearning. There was no other chance of escaping my fingers. After a day and a half in my clutches, he knew that through and through.

They've just gotta break in. And soon...

Apparently he forgot how careful I was. No one would bust in and stop the fun.

But he still watched the door, waiting for the only relief he could imagine...
 
 

A quiet, cozy morning lured him out of sleep.

I really enjoyed watching that change, whether he was peaceful and still - or surfacing from dreams of the most delirious tickling I'd shown him. Usually there was a low grunt, a few moans, maybe a yawn or two. And his eyes would open.

His bedroom greeted him. The open toolboxes. All was prepared to continue his torture, again, until long after dark.

He winced - slowly. The first three mornings I heard a few slurred words of pleading. Begging me. No more tickling, please, c'mon.

Everything was set, and fuck - I was more enthusiastic than ever. Let's boogie. That's what Mark had coming to him, alright, for being so damn fun...

I had feathers start tracing, very lightly, up the inner sides of each leg.

 

Oh, fuck, I wanted him to suffer. My way - feeling more sweet stimulation than he could ever possibly handle.

Blinding agony for a full night is a rush. With a little effort it can be prolonged for a week, then another...

But that was just ridiculously inadequate for ol' Mark, here.
 

He could take more than his roommates ever suspected. I know how to think big. Mind-blowing, with the impact on the rise, sticking it to him every possible moment. He was more than worth the trouble.

I got to be the one to order up each instant of hysterical torment.
 

"No," he pouted, sounding like he was about six years old. "Noooooooo-waah hah hah haaaah..."

I made willful fingers keep on petting and combing his feet. That rest break was over. It was time for him to suffer and laugh it up again.

Strong hands fondled his ribs. I'd covered all the gloves with lubricant, and that just made the reaction hit an impressive flash point. Redundant leather straps were in place, to make absolutely sure he remained right there for every second of full-body tickling.

My gloves traced his ass-cheeks, clutched the back of his neck, roamed up and down his thighs.
 

His laughter was filled with the sounds of torment - rattled distress - and the only thing that made it better was that I got to cover his greasy, ticklish spots for as many hours as I liked...
 
 

Fingers poised and ready - for about the two-hundreth time - I paused to let him squirm.

Mark exceeded my expectations. He was getting more reactive each and every day.

Gotcha -

Oh, yeah, the way his body jumped each time was pure gold.
 
 

This can't end yet, I decided. He was so much more fun than I expected. Five and a half days, and it didn't seem like I'd even scratched the surface... of his sensitive hide. It's ideal when I catch one who gives me more ideas than I can count. Endless hours of carnage. Nights.

He was ready to get away from those sadistic roommates, too. Didn't I know it.
 
 
 

I'm so torqued. He's waking up...

And looking all around the walls of my brand new tickle prison.

Mark has moved out. Only I know his new address.

The time I've already spent on his rewarding body hasn't been anywhere near enough.

He's got a crazy look in his eyes. This just can't be possible, right? Finding himself in a chamber all set up for one thing.

I pick up a few brushes. The way I see it, the only thing that's ridiculous and unbelievable is that a stud who's so frantically ticklish was allowed to roam free.

This is where he belongs, enduring what I like best.
 

Writhing, and moaning, he squints at the brushes that I drag all over his belly. Then the first involuntary giggles puff out - and Mark lets his head fall back, closing his eyes, no longer even protesting at all. There's no point, and it makes me proud to see that he understands. Hidden away, and ever more skittish... with no end in sight now. Period. I mean it.

21mar06