Six of us were waiting at each door. So excited -
The leaders laughed as they approached. Red gave us what seemed like the longest lecture of our whole training. I wondered if it was stalling on purpose. We were obviously excited. This was the day we'd been waiting for. No one was going to risk losing out...
After all the classes on pursuit and binding and maintenance, we were completely obsessed. And so hungry for it.
They opened the doors. We raced in. I parked right by his shin. Left shin. I had a great vantage point there.
Taos grunted and yawned. He looked all around, getting worried fast. None of us were visible. But he could feel it - the excitement! We'd been waiting for this.
We were almost too happy. And all the more because he knew we were happy. He started pulling at the cuffs -
White closed the door.
That made him frantic. We drank it in.
He'd been caught again the day before. Laid out for a day in the cuffs. Plenty of time to smoke, while the emoillents soaked in, and remember just why he was here. Play with his restraints. But he couldn't get off his back.
Of course not. With all of us in there, he never had less of a chance of getting away.
We were going to tickle him for the next six hours. Then the other students were going to tickle him for six more hours, while we tickled Cheyenne.
It was the first chance we'd gotten to tickle anyone. The leaders were watchful during our classes. First we had to learn how to immobilize them without giving away what would follow. At that point we weren't even trusted with moisturizers yet.
When we were out on our own, we could drop all the hints we wanted... but first we had to learn how to conceal ourselves and our real plans. It was hard on us. We just wanted to get to it. But the classes were very strict. If we didn't know how to make it a complete surprise, our fun would be quite limited.
That made no sense to us, of course. But the leaders could block us from catching anybody. We had a action-barrier, inside us, that kept us from even touching a guy. So we went along with all of their "rules".
There had only been five groups of students before the one I was in. Each of us had to be recommended by a graduate. I found three of 'em. Two had let me watch. That was all it took - after that, I would have done anything to be a tickler. Calling the shots. Making a man sweat and howl as much as I wanted.
If we followed the instructions exactly, we would learn what the leaders wanted us to know. And a day would come when we'd be set loose on an unsuspecting world full of ticklish guys. To do it our way.
Naturally we were so anxious to get to it that we could hardly stand it.
A month before, I was mocking the leaders as much as any student was. They were so hung up on the tiny little details. Egos that wouldn't quit. But by the time we were finally let into the lab, hanging over Taos, I'd already come to appreciate a few things...
We were being taught how to tickle - and tickle skillfully. When the captures and the tickling were done right, we'd all benefit.
And the one that impressed me most... For all their inflexibility, I saw that the leaders really did want to get us out there, tickling like crazy. We would have to meet their standards during the training, but that was only so that we wouldn't be hurting our victims or leaving them with any useful evidence. They were definitely thinking about the future... And clearly they were driven by the thought of all the prospects that were walking around, at any given moment, instead of being locked away somewhere, laughing monotonously at a never-ending joke.
When the leaders are that committed, you tend to respect what they have to say about, oh, the drawbacks of cheap twine...
Our victim's struggle with the cuffs was already fading. From what they taught us, that wasn't typical -
A-ha. He'd been in this position before.
I forced myself to stop ogling his feet and looked at his face.
Mid-twenties, maybe, but he looked older. Nice, deep laugh-lines. He didn't look confused. So... he knew why he was here. Dreading it, and resigned to it.
There were heavy whiskers on his face, but his body hair was lighter. Armpits and chest in particular. He must've been shaved. And that probably meant - yes. I looked him over... Thick forearms and calves, the visible abdominals, and his tattoos. That gave it away. Solid artwork, but I finally noticed feather motifs between some of the standard biker favorites. Chains wrapping around, rope - snd flames that appeared to come out of the tip of a feather, low on his left bicep.
Oh, yeah. He wasn't new to tickling.
Shadow had figured it out too. We grinned at each other. I remembered a line from Purple's lecture a few days before - our victims thought that tickling was the most unlikely form of torture. Not only did the sensitive ones find it completely maddening, but in their big-man view it was a ridiculous way to suffer, unlikely, frustrating...
Taos was not exceptional to look at. But he'd been broken in well, I suspected. That meant he'd be a lot more ticklish than the first time feathers were used on him.
He had the best audience possible, hanging over such a fine specimen.
Grotesquely ticklish! - that was White's phrase for him. Laid out there for us, stripped and spread wide. It was almost too much. I wanted so badly, as we all did, to be the only one there, over him. Having him all to myself. Just like this...
At that moment it seemed like graduation would never arrive. If it wasn't for the promise of this night - and every day of practice that would come after - I might have never made it...
White knew, of course. And it didn't make us wait any longer. From under the mattress, it pulled out a pair of dice. Selected one, and lobbed it onto Taos' chest.
He jumped a mile. A wonderful sight. It seemed like a very good sign.
The die stopped tumbling. He lifted his head... and it fell by his side.
Four.
Hardball whooped with joy. Taos didn't hear it, because he wasn't meant to - out of his audible range. But his head swiveled... right to where Hardball was! Did he feel its excitement?
White opened the toybox. Hardball snatched a pair of gloves, and struggled to compose itself. It did pretty well, actually. Bringing the gloves up -
He'd been anxious ever since the lid was raised. Shiny cloth floated up from behind the lid -
And Taos panicked! With good reason. Lunging back and forth, yelling...
Hardball pulled the gloves on, as if it had hands. Fairly smooth, considering how wound up it was. It lowered the gloves. Right over his feet.
White counted down. Taos got one more good arch in, and looked again. He couldn't help it. So apprehensive -
Go!
It latched on to his feet, and squeezed.
Taos yelled once and went into motion. Fighting the restraints for all he was worth. A pitiful effort to distract himself from all that satin. Big gloves, controlled by an extremely happy student.
The happiness showed. That first squeeze turned into a vertical stroke. Fingertips scratching up and down, up and down. But satin doesn't scratch. It tickles. Hardball was leaning into it, so it would tickle more.
And Taos went from a low, growling bark to a wailing roar in the space of three seconds. His body tried everything to get away from Hardball's racing fingers. And it failed. And his face - despite the laughter, it looked miserable. His eyes were shut so tight. He wrestled and laughed - so amazingly loud! Passionate laughter. Involuntary.
Hardball played it smart. It kept doing what it was doing. The gloves rose and fell together, rubbing the wonderful material down the length of his straining feet. Magic hands confirming exactly what he was going to get. Industrious tickling.
Well, Taos sure laughed industriously. He squirmed and twisted, and found no relief in it. He couldn't get his feet away!
Seeing it, for real, was mesmerizing. The cuffs would hold him. No defense whatsoever - therefore, twelve hours of the most debilitating tickling we could give him.
And he was going to be kept here until we graduated.
For three whole minutes, Hardball kept it up. Covering his toes and heels, too - and the increase in his level of exertion was another fine surprise.
Then Hardball had the glove's thumbs sit on the outer edge of Taos' arches, and the fingertips land on the far side. And they raced -
His roars went up an octave!
The grip turned slightly as it pumped. Thumbs higher up on the sides, then back down again. Pump, pump, pump, beautifully solid work.
Taos could not stop howling. It was gratifying beyond belief.
Hardball was more delighted than I'd ever known it to be. It didn't pause with those gloves. Speeding along, it dropped the palms down, solidly pressing the satin down as it pumped -
Taos reacted violently. Tears flying through the air, fists shaking...
So Hardball stayed with that for a few minutes. Applying the palms when the mood struck it. The unpredictability seemed to keep him deranged. The amount of satin would suddenly increase, like an endless loop of tickling. A better way to put it was that he was intensely provoked by a belt of satin that hugged his feet, very firmly. And flew.
Taos couldn't hold still. He couldn't stop laughing... as hard as he was able.
And he had no hope of getting his feet away from Hardball's gloves.
It just made him unhinged, and we were all the more eager to get our turns.
Wasting no time, its fingers zoomed on up to his long, lean sides.
Vertical polishing made him screech. Twisting didn't work - the gloves stayed in sync. Both sides, pressing him against the opposing glove. And trying to shift up or down was the same motion Hardball was already causing.
Five phenomenal minutes. Covering a broad area, variable squeezing, twisting over those very ticklish ribs...
And the last three minutes were a blazing attack on Taos' armpits. He couldn't get away. Obvious, sure - but to see it, for the first time... The fierce petting and digging Hardball made him experience... The dwindling of his struggles, as he started to tire, losing that desperate option - left only with the tickling to concentrate on, feeling it with everything he had. Taos had no choice.
For as long as we were allowed to drill him, he would give his full attention to how intense our tickling was. And he was capable of feeling it more than he ever would have believed, back when he was a kid. A tickler had taught him better.
We demanded his attention - to our tickling. How does that feel, Taos? He'd put that question above all others, for as long as he was kept here. Our practice victim. Strapped down just for our enthusiastic use.
White called the time. Hardball let go, and we could feel how reluctant it was to quit...
The leader toweled him off, and forced him to drink some water. We watched his breathing slow back down, heard it become quieter.
Finally, he looked around. His expression was full of dread... and determination, which I hadn't expected. Who's next? I imagined him barking.
White tossed the die.
Handler got to do the first slow round. It eased into the gloves slowly. Teasingly. That made him squirm.
The magic fingertips cruised down to his belly. Tracing, and kneading -
Taos shook his head, and arched his back.
Satin wandered up... and down. Dragging across his skin, to new destinations.
Handler set fingers under his right pec, and brought the thumb on top of his nipple. Lightly squeezing, and twisting...
But our attention, of course, was primarily on the other glove. Raking those satin fingertips through his crotch hair. To the base of his cock. And up.
Enclosing it.
Riding it.
Taos took time out from tugging at the straps to groan. Feverishly.
White got our attention. Gently, there. Go slow. That was timely. The sight of the snow-white hand, closed and creeping up, then back, and up again - well, it brought us back to what we were really training for. A man can be forced to cum a few times - but tickling, done correctly, can last and last.
We were not to get him off yet. The goal was to amplify the tickling - increase the impression we made. Learn how to prolong the effect, and then we'd have the choice of prolonging it or not.
Handler switched pecs, and crept down to his balls. He laughed at that, and squirmed harder. Loud cackles flowed into distracted baying...
The soft fingers slid down, until they were just above his asshole. Handler sent the other hand up to scratch him under the chin. Slowly. Both gloves, crawling, and very firm.
And nothing could have dragged us away. We were finally seeing it first-hand. All the movies in the world couldn't prepare us for the real thing. We were there to begin doing it ourselves.
To describe us as "eager" would be a laughable understatement.
Handler's twenty minutes went by, and we were all floored how at fast it went, when the leader called him off.
Well, Taos wasn't. He was a sweaty mess. But he did pick up his head and look at his cock, and growl through his teeth. Which might have been an attempt to be... threatening -
No. of course not. He proceeded to groan again. Letting his head fall, he made the most soulful, frustrated sound we'd heard out of him. He just wanted to finish his ejaculation - even though he had to know what the tickling would feel like, afterward.
White gave him water, toweled him off...
And rolled again. Handler's number came up two more times. That was funny.
Taos gave up trying to watch the die. Obviously, White would keep throwing the die as many times as it had to.
Pal was up.
Its gloves roamed over him, through the air - and stopped at his knees. We thought that was... dumb.
Until it grabbed on! Taos leaped a few inches off the mattress, and started yelling. Roaring a little louder.
Pal certainly worked him right. Fingers like iron. Nimble, and thorough. Heavyweights. Eventually travelling up his legs, and down...
Locking back on to the underside of his knees. Like it was going to dig through to his kneecaps, as if that were possible with satin.
His reactions were confirmation enough... Including the flood of piss, which White caught with a towel.
Harrier was next, after another rest break. Sliding from his ribs, to his hips, and the a light dance in his crotch. Hips, back to ribs. And so on. Very effective pattern. Harrier was smart enough to adjust it, as it found out how much Taos reacted to the solid hands riding over his hips. It was massaging his balls enthusiatically at the end of that round, sliding back up to press on his ribs before he could pull it together enough to ejaculate. Inspiring, to watch that.
I had been hoping to pull a fast round, for my first contact with him, but the more I saw, the less I cared about that. The lectures made more sense. I wanted to tickle him - wanted! Another insufficient word - I would tickle him...
And I wanted it to last all night. Get him ready, so when he woke up another full night could begin. And another.
Taos was trying to thrust. Harrier leaned on his ribs, grinding with the satin.
I could imagine what a week on him would be like. All to myself. With him responding to every finger, every whim. This was even more exciting than I'd expected.
Next time, the die stopped right in that valley under his adam's apple. My number.
I pulled the gloves on, and looked him over. Started heading for his face.
Over his pecs, I made the gloves pause. It was an sudden impulse - I hadn't planned it. But I realized something. I had the glove-openings right where he could look inside... and see the seams, the utter lack of anything resembling a hand. I slowly curled the fingers into tight fists. Made the knuckles "nod" at him leisurely -
White gave me the signal.
And I made the gloves drop down.
He was good and tense. Trying, so inadequately, to prepare for me to lay into his torso. His teeth were clenched -
But I didn't want him thinking he was smarter than me.
I zipped those gloves down to his feet. And attacked. Targeting the center of his arches - three fingers each. The beautiful sight of those wrinkles, held there, waiting...
His skin was so warm! Thick, but it yielded a little. The satin was a mercilessly good match for ticklish skin. And now I was the one rubbing him.
He screeched at me. At my magic hands.
I laid all five fingers down. Scrubbing, from toes to heels. His reaction wasn't subdued. Obviously I was making as much of an impression as the others had.
In addition, I was noticing something else. The leaders had told us - it had caught my imagination - and here it was. As I moved the satin, I thought I felt a slight pressure in the wake of the satin. A response.
Some of the leaders thought it was a confirmation from the nerve impulses, as they sped up to his beleaguered brain. Others held it was proof that his skin wanted more tickling. Hard or soft.
That was the popular theory, at the time I was trained. Taos' brain was doing all the objecting. Pride, and fear. All the rest of him had "learned", in its primitive way, that we were giving pleasure. Administering it. An excessive amount of pleasure for him to track - but still... Since we weren't actually harming the skin and the muscles, the entire body decided we were safe. So it relaxed, inwardly. Cooperated! Sent the impulses and sensations with greater speed and... purity. Without the distractions of concern and resistance.
Watching Taos' face, though, while the other students had tickled him - I wasn't so sure...
Obviously, that wasn't my main concern just then. I was compelled to tickle him thoroughly - his feet, or anywhere else I wanted! He was going to give it up... so I could learn how to really drive him nuts.
He wasn't going anywhere - so I made another snap decision. I was going to stay on his feet. Coax as much "feedback" as I could. There would be time to drill the rest of him later. Linger over him.
So I didn't divide his attention. Fast laps were only fifteen minutes long, that first day, and I stayed on his feet like they were the strings of a classical guitar.
I massaged between his toes. Polished the balls of his ankle joints. My fingers roamed up the cuffs, from under the heel, and dug around at their edges.
He rewarded me... violently.
Four minutes left. Unbelievable, how it flew. I set the heels of each glove against the outside edge of his feet - a few inches south of his little toes. Opening the nice, big, sweet fingers, I reached across his soles and dragged solidly. Much as Hardball had done, only horizontially.
He started to yelp again. A drunken, guttural whoop...
I pushed the fingers back across - and started to scrub. Right across the soles, at a good clip.
Taos started to hoot. Wild, forceful hoots. He kept it up.
I gained a whole new respect for the cuffs. He was flexing his toes, pulling hard in all directions. Sideways, then up, then pushing down. My gloves rode with him, maybe a half-inch.
He tried to pound his arms instead. I kept scrubbing. I didn't slow down, and I didn't ease up on the pressure.
Taos slammed his head into the pillow a few times, and came out with a long, high-pitched squeak. Then he started to... relax!
In my grip, I felt it. His neck and his triceps showed it too. He had no fight left.
I had more of his attention than ever. Such a simple technique... yet I looked at him, the angle of his head - and I could tell what he was picturing. The same thing he lacked the composure to watch - my fingers, scraping his phenomenal arches.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
At last I understood the appeal of a nonsense phrase that had seemed, before, to cheapen the whole experience. I suddenly wanted to use it myself. With a scary smile... around gritted teeth, if I'd had them. A wide-eyed leer, full of menace. Growling it, to punctuate each unbearable stroke.
Kootchie - kootchie - koooo, Taos ... Kootchie - kootchie - koooooo...
He didn't get to hear me taunt him. My fellow students liked it, though, and most joined in.
I made up other chants.
Take - that - Taos... take that - and that - and that.
Over - and back, and over - and back.
White even had a variation to add when we were done, communicated with that intense, chilling calmness it usually had.
Laugh - mutherfucker... You mutherfucker - laugh.
And he did. He laughed like he never wanted to stop. As though he was going to hit the jackpot if he laughed hard enough.
Tears ran off the side of his head, and he stopped squirming. Just laid there. His feet even relaxed slightly.
He'd lost the ability to wriggle around. Taos was a model of cooperation. He focused as much as he could on the deep, stimulating effect of the satin, laid down as brutally as I dared.
I had another ninety seconds. So I kept my gloves right there, and I scrubbed.
As I pulled off - and it was enormously difficult to break contact - it hit me. I had never been as happy, as I was then.
Tickling his feet as hard as I wanted....
It was far more exciting than I'd dared to hope.
I was fulfilled.
It was difficult to pay full attention to Shadow's technique. Everybody ended up copying me - coming up with their own signature move. Hey there, Taos. Me again. You remember the thrashing I gave you last time? Well, here I come again...
Shadow rubbed the gloves together slowly - it was so corny. But Taos sure didn't like it! His eyes got even wider. We all laughed.
White knew we were all preoccupied. It was expected. The only advice it had given was the reminder to go easy on his meat.
Taos' value had gone way, way up in our estimation. You wouldn't know, to look at him, how much fun he'd be. I certainly wanted him to stay in one undistracted piece. We all did.
The leaders would surely critique other ticklings, but that first open lab was just to turn our aching desires into fact. Letting us enjoy the real thing, without a care...
At that point, I doubt I could have strapped Taos down without spraining at least one of his fingers. My understanding of skin care and his dietary needs were crude. But the leaders, out of the abundance of their knowledge, let us savor that night. They got him all set him up, and hung around to make sure we wouldn't tickle him to death or anything.
I had become a tickler. It still dazzled me, to think about it. Ticklers were teaching me - me! - what they knew.
What our teachers wanted from us was that we'd learn how to do what they did, as carefully as they did it. If they made us cautious about covering our tracks, there would be more and more guys getting tickled. Most of them would be just as fun the second time they got caught, or the tenth...
We had to be taught - don't let your excitement cloud your judgment. Plan well enough, and millions of guys are yours for the taking. Leave no trail, attract no rescuers to play the hero, and keep the guys at optimum efficiency. No clear evidence - they didn't want the other humans to get alarmed, or even curious. As things stood, they'd never believe Taos, if he told them the honest truth about what was happening to him, here. So the best ticklers planned his captures carefully - and his nights. They took incredible care of him. Making him last and last.
And Taos was somebody's pet. That's why he was here. I figured it was White. Cheyenne and six other students were next door, with Red keeping watch. We'd already been practicing takedown and capture skills on Tombstone and Boulder...
There were times when the leaders would want to keep one guy "under the feather", while they started in on another one. So they were on the lookout for the sharpest students, to cover for them when they were setting another trap. Trade fun guys back and forth, help with group captures, and so on.
They really wanted more guys to get what Taos was getting.
The possibilities were endless.
I wanted to do this every night.
Taos got a longer rest, and some food.
We'd started on him a little over three hours ago. And he was only getting provoked for thirty-five minutes out of every hour. Nowhere near what he was used to, when a leader was having fun...
It was about to get nice and grueling for him.
The students who'd drawn slow rounds earlier got to whale on him. Pal and Hardball and me would take the slow rounds - in pairs.
White gave us two challenges. Don't let him come... that was going to call for some self-discipline.
And then it suggested something we wouldn't have understood before the lab started. Don't make him laugh harder, make him feel the tickling more. Aim for effect, not for volume.
It went over to the toolbox. As a big bottle rose into view, above the lid, Taos went ballistic. His eyes got all shiny - with anticipation. He knew, before we students did.
White pulled a box of rubber gloves out of the toybox. Tore it open, and tossed it by his side.
He yanked and tugged. White just opened the bottle, brought it over Taos' feet... and poured.
Thick red oil splashed over his toes. Student oil was red, so we could see if more was needed.
We were riveted by the sight of it. White drizzled oil up his leg, along his side, up his arm and back, across the neck, down the side, over his chest, back across his belly, and down to his other foot. His crotch was conspiciously dry. It wouldn't stay that way... but Shadow could take a hint.
White ripped the box open, and signaled Shadow. It didn't have to prompt again. Taos, who had been rigid while the oil was poured, heard the box move a little. Fearfully - knowingly - he stared...
Shadow picked up the rubber gloves. The latex popped up. Stretched.
Snapped up... and started easing over an imaginary hand.
He wrestled again as another glove was inhabited. But he watched it fill, which pleased Shadow quite a bit. Then he started to shake his head at the hands - so Shadow rubbed 'em together tauntingly. It was such a luxury to tease him like that - making sure he knew how enjoyable tickling was, for those of us doing it. Wearing the gloves.
The more ferocious the tickling, the greater the euphoria. Good restraints made it possible to get our fix. We were just beginning to learn how to make our own fun. But we were motivated.
So was he, in his own way. He watched one glove, then the other, coast to his armpits...
Taos revealed a whole new depth of vulnerability.
We liked the effect of the oil. Liked it a lot. His sensitivity went through the roof, even the way we fumbled around in our inexperience.
Hardball gloved up... and as soon as Taos saw Pal fill another pair, he dropped his head and startled to chuckle. All by himself. Tears streaming down, and weary chuckling. We loved it.
Pal gave him a little wave. Hardball flipped him off...
They were very impressive. They stuck tight to his arms and lower legs. He laughed less, toward the end. They were putting White's advice to good use.
He was making less noise, but it was obviously registering more. Their fingers drove him... inward.
I could detect how much Taos was feeling them - and I wasn't even touching him. And less laughing meant more breathing. Deep, deliberate breaths. That was a puzzling trade-off for us students. We liked to hear him roar.
But more breathing insured more tickling.
Harrier pointed its index fingers and pretended to shoot Taos in the chest. He groaned...
It wound him back up. Way up. Knees, between his toes, and a vicious kneading of his belly. He yelled his laughter, sweating like a horse. A fifteen-minute sprint.
And I was next. Hardball and me. When he was looking, Hardball stuck the gloves' middle fingers up, real cocky. Sayonara, fucker.
I showed him the emptiness of the gloves again, tightened my latex fingers and rocked the knuckles toward his head. White set us loose.
We moved slowly. His eyes darted from one hand to the other. We gave him time to rear back, as far as the straps would permit.
Hardball reached for his cock... in slow-motion. He hated that. The dread was so evident. It was intoxicating! And he watched those solid fingers, all the way down. Couldn't look away.
And I wanted to keep his chest and his ribs throbbing.
Hardball's other hand slid under. Found the crack of his ass -
Taos whooped once... and made a crude noise. Not with his mouth. Hardball barely got its fingers out of the way of the shit he squeezed out.
White tossed an alcohol wipe to Hardball's glove. I dug into his pecs, slowly, and Hardball pumped him at a snail's pace. As White cleaned up the mess on the bed, Hardball teased his butt-cheeks... and gripped more tightly on his shaft, so I could stroke his ribs harder. The addictive texture of latex, good and greasy, tracing bone - activating every nerve ending that was caught in the middle.
He hooted softly. And stopped. Snagged a big breath, and eased it out -
Our reward just radiated off Taos.
I could tell exactly how much more his body was absorbing it. And the fact he was quieter, and moving less... didn't betray the activity going on in his skull. Not conscious thought. Far from it...
Taos was so occupied with what we were doing to him, you could see it. As clearly as if he had been screaming laughs.
Stunned, I lifted the fingers. I saw it rattled Hardball too.
White gave the smallest signal. Ahem... a certain undeserving guy was getting off easy.
We set in on him again, laughing as we did. The last thing we wanted was Taos missing out on any tickling.
He bucked a couple times, and laid still. Consumed by delirium... the tickler's unmistakable equivalent of applause.
Handler pounded one rubber fist into a curled palm. Descending, to severely kick his ass.
Taos' chin quivered...
And his soles were its first targets. They'd been allowed to sit idle for too long, it joked. Mixing up solid buffing and tracing circles and twisting on his heels, squeezing his overstimulated toes between three fingers - surrounding both sides and the top and torturing them one by one... Well, the joke was on Taos. On his feet. Everywhere on his feet.
It had become much harder to just... observe. I had to keep reminding myself I'd have uninterrupted hours later, all to myself. The effect, on me - from the way Taos was so utterly hammered by the tickling - was pivotal. Replaying that feedback he threw off was exquisite.
Preparing what I'd do to him next time... was even better.
Handler was just driven. It finished by giving his neck the best "massage" of the night.
Luckily I didn't have to wait long.
Pal and I started at his knees and neck. Slowly razing our gloves together, vertically, in sync. Me on the right, Pal on the left. We met at his crotch and proceeded to wiggle twenty insistent fingertips all around his cock -
Taos made one soft, endless keening noise, and started to thrust. But we were staying off his meat. He pumped desperately, oozing a little...
We slid the gloves apart, kneading our way back to our starting positions.
And he rewarded us with that raw, high-intensity comprehension of impulses we would come to expect.
The desperation, from all that thrusting, was incredible. At one point he arched and seized up - straining, and grunting... and we thought we'd lost the ejaculation.
Pal detoured to his armpit and did some quick arpeggios. I hurried to match it, under his right arm. He kept pushing for a few seconds, his face tightening up a little bit more.
And he let go, landing heavily. Chuckling.
Even though he hadn't succeeded in ejaculating... the degree of impact from our moderate play in his armpits was a hint of what we'd get from him, in trade, for all the fiery tickling that was about to follow. Very soon.
Our time was up. White grabbed Taos right where it counted, and held tight. He yelled, and thrashed for a while, but it wasn't going anywhere.
He caught his breath. Staring at his cock... hard, and red. Kept from draining by the invisible band White had placed around it, low on the shaft...
White picked up the oil bottle, and soaked Taos' crotch. His feet. And his ribs. It set the bottle down, and told us each to get one glove ready for business. We could skip the gestures - he wouldn't be able to look at anything for a while.
When it gave us the much-anticipated signal, all six of us were to tickle him as hard as we could for five whole minutes! I couldn't believe what I was hearing -
Then White started on his shaft. Still clamping around, it stroked its way up. Light, quick lines -
Suddenly, Taos whooped loud. As if it tickled beyond anything he'd felt that day. Ignore it, White said calmly, he knows. Getting a head-start on what he's about to feel...
He arched again, and cackled. Spittle flew from his lips.
White started scratching under the tip of his cock. Tiny movements. Under the glans -
Taos screamed, ending with throaty barking. His body jerked and pounded.
The micro-tickling dusted his entire glans for sixty infinite seconds.
When he gave up on thrusting... White let go of his shaft.
The cum surged. Taos convulsed, and shot it into the air. As he did, White kept rubbing his glans. Provoking it...
Just as his body started to relax, White lifted off - and signalled us... Get him!
I attacked his left knee and thigh. The others rubbed just as hard.
And the payoff exploded. From him, to us...
We were in a daze when we switched labs.
Cheyenne was wiped out too - just as much as Taos. Gasping like a fish out of water. And they hadn't even gotten half the tickling that was in store for them that day.
Red cleaned him up some, made him eat and drink... Introduced us to the effects of amphetamines. My favorite was the way his pupils shrank...
And then it rolled the die onto his chest.
On to Part 2
02nov01