He's always interesting. Reacting to my tickling, or preparing for it.
Getting to know how his dreams are going will take some time. I find it fascinating - the cues are so subtle. Is he replaying or amplifying what I do to him, or finding a temporary escape from me? Usually I'll let him wake up naturally, unless he seems too relaxed in some dream-place where I don't tickle him. In that latter case I just can't resist setting him straight, sometimes.
Anyway, I like to have his wrists caught together and far enough away from his head, and his ankles cuffed together too. A few slow fingers on his soles or up and down his sides - and he jumps, slightly shocked, and once in a while he still shakes his head. As if that'll do anything but egg me on. Wrong, dude. Another day of it. All fuckin' day. Let's go.
There's a special flavor to his energy from that first minute or two, after he wakes from a sound sleep. It's lighter - squealing and cackling like a little kid. Instead of a forty-year-old tough guy, I tickle... a more elemental male, wriggling and confused, sounding almost as if he's on the verge of absolutely enjoying the impulses which zip through him.
Then a very adult, world-weary toughness slides back over him. The pitch of his voice would drop, when he still had a voice, and we'd be back to the reluctant laughter of a biker who can't stop yukking to save his life. He makes it clear with his tone that it's intolerable, and he doesn't like it at all. Not one damn bit.
After I've loaded him up with water, food, nicotine, maybe a drug or two to heighten the sensation, I get to coax a different energy out of him. It takes nimble fingers or even power tools - racing, leaning in. This is the full-speed fire, and he can't take this for very long. I mean, it's beyond his conception of unbearable - this is how to make him pass out. And that defeats the purpose.
He approaches some kind of physical threshold all too soon. The energy he throws off even feels as if it's threatening to push him too far. I enjoy this level of intensity in smaller doses, surprising him throughout the day.
Then I might play with his dick. Another flavor. Here, it feels like I'm tapping a well that is truly bottomless. This energy-output is closer to the brute barely held in check. He gets this stimulation at precisely the pace I determine, and that throttle seems to make him wordlessly and profoundly hungry for more. It's clear his ego would put a stop to it, but deeper currents have his focus. There's nothing innocent about the drive which radiates off him now.
A different type of reward is given when I combine masturbation and tickling. Two primitive impulses battle with each other... so I like to keep both provocations slow and solid. It's easy, after the first week, to nudge the tickling up just enough when he gets determined to climax. He writhes from two demanding, consuming distractions simultaneously - again, very adult... and nothing for which his experience has even remotely prepared him. Some days I focus on tuning these dual torments, and other times I abruptly alternate them. But what enhances my favorite method is returning him to the state where he's feverish to cum, slowly, often - but he slowly settles in.
That's what I call my favorite energy of all. I hold on and snuggle more. Ease my fingers in and down. This tickling is maybe the most constant and relentless. Slow. Firm enough... Within a minute or two he finds it difficult to laugh. He's locked in a embrace that tortures and teases and aches with pleasure.
Nowhere to go - not while I'm enjoying this so much.
I wipe the sweat off his face, freeze all the gloves in place and make him sip water now and then, maybe take a couple weak drags off a cigarette - and then my hands are starting to move again. There to stay. New ones wrap around different body parts or targets, and old ones slowly peel off.
Eight or ten gloves seems to be optimal on him. All fight and resistance is turned off, no noise will help him cope, and I spend hours and hours activating his nerves just enough. Roll him over, cuff him back down - and settle in again. Bed to rack, to stocks, to swing, and then I usually spice things up sometimes with merciless feathers or a vibrating massager across his belly, a minute to howl and thrash, and then it's the soft lock of masterful pleasure massaging his soles and ribs again - in exactly the way that makes his eyes roll back...
This is what he knows.
I give him a break at least every forty-five minutes. Gulping water, maybe having most of a smoke - and then I settle in again. After meals, after a cigar, after ten minutes of light masturbation. Generally I don't want him shooting his load. That pressure seems to make him so much more anguished that he moans with trapped laughter. Backed-up response. Once or twice a day I do get him off, and we enjoy a few minutes of full-bore fire, then maybe fifteen minutes of half-speed carnage... before my gloves ease it down again.
His days take a long time to pass. The energy - all these different kinds - is thoroughly refreshing. Encouraging, enticing, and I structure each day so that he can reward me with all the sizzling energy he can muster.
After seven weeks of this, he's in ideal condition. The cumulative equivalent of eight or nine cigarettes a day isn't doing a thing to reduce his reliability, his endurance, his sensitivity.
This is perfect, what we've got here. I know him inch by inch, and no obstacle - desensitivity, numbness, becoming physically "worn out," psychosis, discovery from outsiders - is going to threaten that.
Endless energy, all for me.
12july2006