Others' episodes
 
Cor's episodes
 
News / site info
 

He checks the garage door again to make sure it's locked, and hurries into the house. It's fuckin' cold. The rain stopped for now but the pavement is icing up. The ride home was more slippery than he liked. Good thing he sat out that last joint, or most of it anyway.

"Whoooh," he says to nobody, shutting the kitchen door. His gloves and goggles get dropped on the counter, and he starts another cigarette before his jacket is hung on its peg and his chaps land over the back of a chair. One more beer, then. Maybe two...

Sliding the thermostat thingy to 78, he's glad there's enough heating oil to last out the next few days. The other guys are out of their minds, going to the rally even though there's snow on the way. No way he's up for freezing his ass off when the weather will turn in a few weeks when winter will finally be over, so they could fuckin' open it up for reals.

In the meantime - hey, it's a three-day weekend, he's got a case of beer and ninety bucks' worth of groceries... and that psychotic cocktease was out of his life. And she hadn't called since Tuesday. He can park his ass on the couch, just like this, and leave the TV on ESPN. Smoke without having to go outside, either. Nobody was gonna bitch at him. And that wasn't all he could do.

With a smirk, he looks down at the coffee table. It's got two doors. Inside the left one, under a pile of old cycle mags, he finds it and pulls it out.

Spiral notebook with a ripped green cover. Just seeing it makes his dick wake up.
 

If anybody found out about this, he thinks, it would really suck. He pulls the pencil out of the coiled wire, checks to see if it's sharp enough, and opens the notebook pages about halfway.

There it is. The first dream. His uncle's garage...

We rode in and nobody was there, out of town, all ours. Cool. Both speedin and laughin and we went in and locked the door. Whoa. Bed with shinny black sheets and the rack there and toys, I didnt know Unk was into that but hey we had all night there, and she was on me, big kisses, I pull my leathers off and go for her top. Nice pilow tits. Did it on the bed like there was no time to waste but it was only round one and we had all night.

That feeling really stuck with him. Havin' serious fun, sure... but they had all the time in the world. Instead of his uncle's garage having bike parts piled up everywhere like it really did, they were surrounded with all this kinky sex shit which jingled as he fucked her. Chains and cuffs. The first round was urgent, but so much more was coming.

Sweat, her nails in my shoulder blades, I made hickees on her neck and she clawed me and we both moaned the same way and I shot hard. But we were not done yet. Had some water and smoked, and she goes look around the rack. Pads and cuffs, how kinky, and she gigguld. Looks at me. Okay and I see her hop up and lay out. Are you sure now, raelly sure and she says yeah let's go. So I get the cuffs addjusted and shit she looks hot there. Likes it. I eat her out slow, she sounds real happy, and I keep looking at this shit laying there and pick up a paddel. Heavy and leather and it fels good in my hand, I sneak around and spank her. Eyes wide open, now and she smiles and says do it. Spank spank spank. Gotta hold back on her, but she gettin off and squirming but not for real. Spank spankspank spank. Then I think what else have we got here and I see nice big fether. Laugh. Make her laugh. Bellybuton first and she gassps and after a few secs she grins. So hell I go for it. She is so ticklsih and she cant move. Loves it. On and on and I get anouther fether and get her feet. She so wild. Laughing and moaning and I tickel her pussy too.

He lights another cigarette, calmer but more stirred up inside, and keeps on reading.

Wish I had nore hands, I say - and then I look and see fethers coming in the air to her pits. Two more on her belly. Six tickles at once. Magic fethers help me out. I maker her cum and she is blown away. My turn she says and I dunt know but I really gave it to her but good and what the hell can I say so I let her bukle me down.

It's been a while since he had a chance to read this one. It still gets him all hot, just like it always has. He'd never do anything so stupid for real, but it was a dream and the next part just makes him kinda crazy to think about.

She gets the paddle. Now, ha ha, now you get it good. And wack wack shes not kidding around. But it makes me wanna cum and I didnt think it would, and damn. You are makeing too much noise and she picks up a rubber ball with a strap. No no no no but she twissts my nip and I yell and she gets the ball in my mouth and there it gets bukled and I got a gagg. Shit. She paddels harder and it hurts but I can take it and it is hot. Stuck and I cant get up and she can do stuff. Littel scarey but cool. But she gets a fether and I think o shit, o shit, and I still cant get loose and cant tell her stop it. She gets my pits and then anuther fether and oh fuck I cant stand it and it feels good too. She goes to my feet and that is worse. Then its my turn to get off and she starts on my balls with fethers and I get to buck and moan and thats it. She is in no hurry. I look up and cant beleive it!

This, for some reason, is the hottest part of the dream for him. He worried about that at first, because the sex was so fuckin' perfect and spanking her was cool too, but he decided the fuckin' weirdness of it got him worked up...

Behind her theres this pair of black gloves and they got oil on em. Like somebody is pulling on these gloves and my fuckin feet are locked down there and she is so busy and happy playing with me that she dont even know. And I cant do nuthin so they grab my feet. Worse possible tikling and they re strong. I go nuts, flop like a fish, and she laughs. Does she know or not? Serious fuckin gloves. A long long time and then oh shit 2 more, behind her, and they grab my knees. Its so much that I cant even fight right. Oh fuck. And another long time, she wont let me shoot and I am more ready to cum than ever befor in my whole life - and I feel em in my pits. One finger, sneeking, from under. That many gloves. And she dont know, I feel it so much I cant even cum. But shes happy, and Im gonna go out of my mind it feels so good, what she is doing and the gloves too. Kinky. The more I try to shoot they harder they tikle and she does not see them, fuck, but Iam doing it and here it comes anyway, even if I laugh and laugh, fuck fuck fuck!

And that was the end of the dream, or at least what he remembered. Finally cumming, despite all the fingers ridin' him, and the wild thought he's always had was that he was still cuffed down and gagged after she left him, in the dream - totally stuck for more of the same.
 

That was the longest thing he'd written since high school. It wasn't easy, and it took him about a month 'cause he kept getting too excited to keep writing until he'd jacked off. The appeal of all that weird shit didn't make any sense - at least not during the day. But damn. What if he was there, really havin' no control over what was happening... his whole body getting played with, but deep down it wasn't dangerous shit and he was gonna be okay?

So after a while of thinking about it, he wrote down what could've next in the dream. And that was fuckin' cool too. She gave him a smoke and some water, but left him stuck there. Teased about what else she could do to him - all the fun things she could do. But finally she let him go and they went back to the bed and fucked like bobcats, and he got to do all the things he liked and a couple he'd always wanted to try. Then they fell asleep... and all that was great but for some reason it didn't work him up... like the last part did.

She was gone in the morning but I was stuck. Straped down there and I knew SHE dind't do it and nobody heard me yell. Nobody home except me. I knew why too. Fight with the straps all I wanted and sooner or later - and shit, here they are. MORE gloves this time. They look like somebody is pulling them on thier hands, but invisibul and like they wanna spook me with how theyre really gonna kick my ass. Except not a beating. I cant move. Scary, and I was not used to feeling that, it was new, and allso not just horney but excited all over too and theres not one dam thing I can do to stop em. Just watch the gloves come on down. They realy ran the show now and they start to tickle the fuck out of me all over. I cant stand it and laugh so hard. They got all day too.

What a weird thing to think about. For him, anyway. Being in charge was what he knew, in bed, and there were these smart fuckin' hands floating over him... like they owned him or something. And for that day, or whatever, he guessed they did. They oiled him up and did whatever they fuckin' wanted, for as long as they wanted. Nobody heard him laugh. Yelling laughter, like that. Wild as it gets.

Sometimes a finger would crawl up into his ass. That's one of the reasons he hid the notebook real good. If somebody else reads it they won't fuckin' care if he's talking about something that really happened or not. He'll never live it down. If he has a choice he'd rather burn the house down before letting somebody find this fuckin' writing, so long as he gets his bike out of the garage first.

But shit, he still likes getting into this ol' green notebook. Anything can happen, on paper, and it doesn't mean he's any less tough in real life...

At the moment he's getting worked up right nice. Ready to jerk himself off, definitely, so if he's gonna add anything to the notebook it better happen now. Flipping to the last page with writing on it, he licks the end of the pencil and reads a little more.

This story is hot. Almost as good as the longest one, where the gloves snuck into the motel room after the whore had left and fuckin' took him out to a boat. No way anyone could find out and help - but that was always the way it went in these fantasies. He'd rather die than have somebody see him all bugshit, tied down, and there was no chance of anybody knowing. The gloves were too fuckin' smart. And they usually were out to reform his ass too. Cut his hair, never let him smoke - and for some reason he loved writing about how nuts that made him, begging the hands for one lousy drag off a cigarette. But they were out to turn him into a lop. And sometimes they made it clear they were having fun with him. The boat in the longest story took him to an island. The fuckin' playtime never quit there.

I smeell food. They cooked me more brakefast and I dont even know how many times now they did this. Every time they dig in after. They are gonna fuck me up again today. Quiet cabin. Still cuffed down, so screwed. After I eat they dont give me a smoke and I get to watch 8 gloves in the air. And 8 brushs. They can do whatever they want to me, but I know what they have done for days. I get more now. And all I can fuckin do is watch em bring a clear bottle. Getting soaked, and it drips on my feet. Oil. No, oh hell no, I gotta get loose. They rub my feet and I cant get em away. Feet is just where they start. All over my ass theres gonna be oil. And 4 of the brushs are little wire brushs. Fuckin copper wire - dragged real real soft. But I fly off the damn bed and jump all around, howl like a monkee. Fingers go easy on my gut too. For now. But the damn brushs make me really really nuts. Anuther long day like that and I cant stop it.

Enough for now, he decides, tossing the pencil on the coffee table.

Man, he can just see what those brushes look like. How careful they are. Effective as hell, and it's a whole new world of hurt. Too much tickling, way too much of a good thing. Held by the cuffs, sweating like a pig. Oily fingers on him. Those little points of wire, barely dragging... Another long day, then another, and another.

He hides the notebook and gets up. After pissing, he fires up one more cigarette. In his bedroom he sits down on the foot of the bed and pulls off his boots. A hard drag feels good, so he sucks on the cigarette again, picturing those brushes coasting across red, twitchy soles -

Something jingles next to him. A quiet metal clink.

It happened when he shifted his ass a little. Something must be hitting his lighter... except that it's still in his shirt pocket. Taking another monster drag makes enough light to tell him it's a big, dark thing next to his thigh. He gets his lighter out and thumbs it open.

The flame shows him a big leather cuff, clipped to a one-inch strap.

After a while, he snaps the lighter closed. There's something familiar about this...

He wrote it. The third story in his notebook starts out this way.

If the door gets closed now, he thinks, I'm gonna freak out. He's afraid to look at it. This has to be somebody's idea of a joke. Who the hell would sneak into his house and lay that cuff right here, on his bed? Could it be a coincidence? Fuck, he's gotta think about this -

The door creaks a little. Before he can stop himself, he looks up.

Two bumps are there. He can barely make them out. One is spread out, and the other seems to be curled around the edge of the door. Fingers... and knuckles.
They're just gloves, darker than the door itself, swinging it closed.
 

A really weird feeling comes over him. Thick, almost dizzy. Gloves put the restraints down and waited for him. Now they've shut the door.

I'm sleeping right now, he thinks. This is what I'm dreaming, because I already wrote it and shit like this can't happen when you're awake. He takes another drag, and it feels real enough. Dream or not, he's here. And so are they. If this goes the way he pictured it then this is the last smoke he'll get. For a long time. Fuck...

He really tugs on the cigarette. His hand is shaking real bad, but that makes sense. In the story he didn't know what was coming. It's different now 'cause he's sitting here with no doubt in his mind - and he can't go through it. Not for reals.

A click from behind him turns out to be the sound of his bedside lamp.

Red light glows on a whole lot of fuckin' gloves. Even more creepy than he expected.
 

They float toward him, casting a shadow that gets bigger as they come closer. He hadn't pictured that before. It was almost cool, and a little groan just came out of his mouth all by itself. Scared by the gloves. He did dream up the red light bulb, though.

When he thinks about yelling for help, it's clearer than ever that the Simons place is too fuckin' far away. He can't remember if they gag him in this story or not. Okay, then, the next thing he's gotta do is run. Duck under the gloves and get the fuck out of here.

Starting one last drag, he leans forward -

Hands grab his upper arms. He looks at 'em. Leather gloves, strong... but they look empty. This can't be happening to him. It just can't.

Did they bring feathers? The rubbers, too?

Vibrators. But they're in the trailer. Tomorrow he'll wake up there, if this follows along with the story he wrote. The singlewide that looks all shitty from the outside, but inside it's padded - like a loony bin. All decked out, stocks and slings, way out in the fuckin' trees where nobody will ever wander by and see it. They're gonna work him over in there for months and months.
 

It's on. Just a story - that starts out exactly like this. Dammit, it's not real.

Did they find his notebook? Red light bulb. They brought a red fuckin' bulb, just like he wrote. He can't imagine these fingers tickling him, here, actually starting in on his sides. Hell, no -

He twists back and forth.

More gloves are coming. Two, four, six - and a couple of 'em clamp around his forearms. Ten of the fuckers are here, so far. He tries to get one last drag off his smoke, really needing it right now, but they won't let him move his arm enough to get at it.

"C'mon," he complains.

One of the other gloves dips down and just takes the cigarette away.
 

As they start to rip his shirt off, he reminds himself that it has to be one of those nightmares that seem so fuckin' real. That has to be it. Right in line with what he wrote in the notebook. These fuckers liked it. If they came out of what he wrote, somehow, they're not gonna hurt him - well, not like breaking bones or anything. In a while he'll probably wish they would, though.

Others move on him, like they got a fuckin' right to be alive. In charge, and taking hold of his legs.

"No," he barks. "I don't really wanna do this."

They aren't gonna answer him. There's no reasoning with these bastards - just suffering for 'em. A lucky kick frees his right leg, for a great second or two, but they jump back on. It's like there's iron inside the gloves, and they're way stronger than he is. With the grip they have, it's a good thing he didn't write about getting the shit beat out of him. No, they're all about a torture that'll last a whole lot longer. More pleasure than he can take.

They pull his socks off and shove him down against the mattress. A couple more gloves grab his biceps - and they all drag him backward. Wrestling his arms up, no matter what he tries to get away from 'em. He has to get up right now, this is his last chance, and the first cuff is already closing around his left wrist.

"This isn't... real," he grunts.

The other cuff starts closing up too. His legs are being spread apart...

Son of a bitch.

He's really stuck. The cuffs stretch him out, a little, and there's something totally wrong about doing this to a guy... No matter how busy they get on his feet - and his sides - he can't do a fuckin' thing. This is real bad news for his armpits. His feet rock a little, but his heels can't fuckin' move at all.

"Help," he shouts. "Hey -"

Some of the gloves fly like blurs. One shows him a dark cloth. Another one points at the bandanna, and then at him. Back at the gag again.

"Alright," he barks. His heart is beating a mile a minute. "Just... don't."

"I made this up," he tells a pair of the floating gloves. "But you gotta listen to me. I don't really wanna go through this."

Leather touches his heels.

They're starting...
 

It feels bad. So deep. He's a goner if they keep on -

"No, fuck no. Get off. Look, you can't. Please... Let me go, right now, get off me, oh shit!"

More fingertips press against the middle of his soles. They seem to be oiled.

"You can't," he wails. There's tension building up, very weird. He snorts suddenly, and gasps for air.

The leather starts creeping up... and down.

Gritting his teeth, he growls and throws his head around. Really pulling on the straps, trying to yank his fuckin' legs free - and amazingly it doesn't work. He's really gonna get it now and the cuffs are gonna do their job, alright.

This is kicking his ass a lot more than he imagined. The fire is too much. Ten seconds in and he just can't stand it. A new urge is moving up -

"Hhhh-haw haw haw haw," he bellows. Over and over. They're making him laugh real hard. No matter how much he tries to move, the gloves keep roaming around. His feet are so fuckin' ticklish -

Louder. Laugh harder.

Rubbing under his toes - that gets him thrashing. Crazy. Shouting laughter. The fingers aren't stopping. He has to get his feet away from them... and they'll never, ever let that happen.

Shrieking in a very uncool way, he bounces on the mattress.

The gloves keep right on tickling.
 

It's building up. The feel of all those fingers. He can't laugh as hard...

This is a serious fuckin' problem. They make him laugh so much he can't yell for help, and now he can't howl as loud as he did when they first started. The fuckin' Simons must've passed out already. If they didn't come over when he was really roaring, no way they'll show up now.

He has to end this himself. That gets him struggling again. It doesn't do a damn bit of good.

This is killing him. It feels about a hundred times too good, and he can't stop the fuckin' gloves. Maybe Smash will stop by. Or Glen. It could happen. They were goin' on the ride tomorrow - leaving him right here! - and Smash had to be drunk by now. Too wasted to ride. Glen said he was gonna tear off a piece or two, so he and Danni had to be sawing logs now. If his brothers only knew, they wouldn't care how many gloves there are. But they gotta be sleeping right now, safe and sound.

Dammit, nobody's gonna come out and get him loose. He's just gonna burn up in this unbelievable fire all night long. Fingers are sneaking between his toes, and it's so fuckin' intense he can't even believe it.

Pulling at the cuffs again, he keeps barking laughs. This has to stop right now, dammit. And there's nothing he can do...
 

They just don't let up. An hour must've gone by, and he's feeling it deeper all the time. He pants like a dog, because laughing is just too hard now.

Maybe, he tells himself, just maybe, this is a one-night thing.
 

Oh, hell, they have feathers. This is really too much. Fuck...

Groaning, arching his back, he manages to chuckle a few times as the light edges sweep up his rod. For a second or two, it feels incredible. He's never gonna be able to push hard enough to get off, though. Another soft point crawls around under his balls -

Fingers pick that moment to slide down his soles.

Slamming back down, he can't even laugh. The feathers move back down, so damn slow.

The gloves cover his damn feet. If the other ones don't hurry it up with these feathers he's gonna fuckin' snap.
 

Time keeps crawling by.

He's real loopy now. The creeping feathers, and the mean hands - that's all there is. Nothing else matters. His mind is all weird, like he's slipping away or something, but he never stops feeling what the gloves and the feathers are doing. Everything else is further away...

But the tickling is even harder to take. The impact is worse. Still growing.

He's like putty in their fuckin' hands.
 

Something new shows up, and it takes him a while to think of the word. Water. He sucks it down from the big plastic bottle, wondering how he could be this far gone.

They hang around. Not done with him. This shit isn't gonna stop. He feels like begging the gloves to let him go, and at the same time there's no way it'll do any good. They're getting what they came for, sure as shit.

He watches them and catches his breath. Then they start to move. Coming back down.

"No, no, please," he yells - and his voice is all raspy. So he wrestles around harder. The feathers came back anyway -

And those horrible fuckin' fingers take charge of his feet.
 

They're not stopping.

Fingers are between his toes again, making him crazy. They scratch around his heels, and one keeps rubbing the top of each foot, switching from one to the other.

Once in a while he giggles, and tries to bounce. The sheet is stuck to him. Sweating like it's the fourth of July, but he's pissed a couple times too. He's desperate, absolutely fuckin' frantic, and these sadistic bastards won't let up.
 

What kind of an idiot would ever dream this shit up, write it down and think it was fun? It was already about a hundred times more intense than he imagined...

The feathers make him want to cum so bad - so much worse than anything he can remember - that his eyes are watering. The gloves keep switching around and it totally blows away the fantasies he's trying to concentrate on, just so he can blow his wad. Shit, he wishes he could just scream laughter now.
 

It's almost like somebody else is squirming around, sweating like a horse. That's the outside shit. He's busy, every second, feeling what's going on. These gloves are so fuckin' serious about what they do. The cuffs are still holding him down. Hell, he can't even curl his toes anymore -

Uh-oh. Bad. Very bad. Something's on his ribs...
 

He thought he couldn't laugh anymore. Fuckin' thrash like crazy. His sides are unbelievable, the fingers are in his armpits, and he still can't get away. This is overdrive. It has to be.
 

They roam around. Tickling his belly - hard - and squeezing his thighs. His neck. Knees are impossible, when they fuck with 'em, and even the gloves sliding up and down his shins make him wanna explode. Pass out. Fingers keep dancing over his sides too.

Moving is definitely out of the question. Over-overdrive? But it looks like they can keep turning it up. Way too many fingers to pay attention to, but he's trying.
 

During another rest break - maybe the fifth time they gave him water tonight - he remembers something. Cumming makes him more ticklish... but the really scary part is that he wrote that into some of the stories.

With a whimper, he squints at some of the gloves. One holds a little towel, and it comes down to wipe his face. That's been happening all night, now that he thinks about it. He was just too busy to notice. The towel isn't one if his. It's really white. The gloves thought of everything.

When they finally let him cum, he's really dead. Harder tickling, really gearing up - that's what he wrote in his notebook.
 

The idea that they'd stop tickling, or give him a break, just seems stupid now. His chest hurts, his feet fuckin' throb... but they're still ticklish.

The gloves shift from place to place, more often, on his feet. Each time the fingers start back in again, electricity just races through.

Aw, hell. They have to let him cum. And he's afraid of it too - of what's gonna happen right after.
 

His whole body is getting it. Gloves slide under him, sometimes. They're always busy. The feathers don't leave his dick alone, and new ones take over when the others are too sticky. He's out in the middle of a river that isn't moving. Soaked with tickling, and every move hasn't helped him get out of it.

There's more light.

He yawns, and it hurts. Fuck - he's sore all over. But screw it, he's just gotta beat off -

And he won't if he's still strapped down. He lays there, afraid to find out. After a few seconds he tries to move his right hand...

No good. A low wail comes out of his chest, but it just sounds like a whisper. He can't get himself off, right away - and the gloves are gonna keep right on tickling. Right now he can't figure out which is worse.

He's got a deep, dull mood going on. There are no if's or maybe's left. Done deal. He opens his eyes -

There's a window to his left, with a roller shade pulled down to hide him. This isn't his house. And it smells funny.

I wrote this, he thinks shakily. I know what this is. The gloves got this trailer way out into the forest, somehow, and they brought plenty of food. And oil. Fuck yeah, they did.

He'll get constant, easy tickling all day... and harder tickling at night. That's when most of the kinky shit will happen, too. Starting over, and over, and over.

The gloves are coming. They look shiny. Maybe some kind of cream...

He pulls at the cuffs without too much hope. They're just as snug as they were last night.

12jun05