Back to Part 1
Cheyenne was also fun. Definitely.
Wilder than Taos, and a talker - usually giving us a running commentary of what it was like, what we were doing to him. It was hilarious. A lot of begging - and flattery, to get us to lay off. Cheyenne was younger, and his hair was short. I was puzzled by the absence of tattoos...
The guys' second round was definitely worse than the first. We students were drunk on victory - on mastery. Our captives were full of speed.
I loved the thought of getting better and better at this - drilling a young guy like Cheyenne as much as I wanted. Compared to Taos, his reactions were... bigger. Not as deep. Being new at this, we wanted the fireworks. And he didn't disappoint. He wasn't as blown away as Taos when I did my hard finger-combing across his soles with dark red satin. But he was still fun.
The time raced by, again. We all jam-piled on for his five-minute sprint, after Red dragged one fingertip around his shaft in fiendish spirals, light and slow, until he just couldn't contain himself any more. His body launched a very impressive, rewarding attempt to get away from us...
Afterward, Cheyenne looked like he was ready to sleep for a week. Soon he would be ours, to reserve for one-hour blocks of practice time. I began planning the next few reps I'd lay on him.
One last exhibition for today, and the guys would be allowed to sleep. They had an extra-half day of rest coming, before we got to start in - better for us, so much worse for them. Red broke out the emoillents again, and had Cheyenne fire up a cigar while he waited. I had a pretty good idea of how he'd react under Red's familiar assault. The noise and the fight would go within a few minutes. Breathing, sweating, eyebrows - these would give us his status. Without the tactile feedback of actually doing the tickling ourselves, we'd have to learn how to interpret the subtle nuances of his agony.
I settled back to enjoy the show... and thought of Taos. The contrast wouldn't be as dramatic, when he was tormented by White.
Or would it?
The thought got me moving right out of the lab. In the hallway I passed Festivo. We greeted each other sheepishly, both having the same idea - switch lab rooms.
As I positioned myself near the toybox, White studied me for a long second, and turned back to its exciting task. Taos was cleaned up again, and he'd just drained another water bottle. He looked like he was ready to fall asleep. A cigarette hung out of his mouth, but he pretty much ignored it.
White gave him another drag or two. Then it took his smoke away. We all stared intently.
Before he'd emptied his lungs, White pulled a single pair of gloves on, and cruised on down to him. He pulled feebly and watched 'em head straight for his armpits -
White set the thumbs down well above center, high on the edge of each deltoid. The fingers curled slowly around his biceps until they touched his shoulders.
Before they were done moving, Taos had started to beg. Silently. His head was moving side to side, mechanically, without much enthusiasm. It was obvious, even to us, that his reaction couldn't have been from the contact - it was recognition. White hadn't done anything obvious... but just from the way it zeroed in and taken hold of Taos, he caught on. The wearer of those gloves knew him well. And he didn't seem to think the pleading was going to do any good. I was pretty jealous. Excited, too. It would be great to be feared - and respected - that much...
White gave him a few seconds to protest. Then its fingers started to move.
Taos moved like he was laying on hot metal. The heat was coming from above, though. White massaged his armpits in just the right way to throw him into delirious convulsions - and that was in the first ten seconds.
Barely repositioning the gloves, it stroked down the rim of his armpits and crept back up the center, circling them at a tortuously measured pace.
Taos strained at his restraints all over again, mouth wide open, face contorted. His body tensed, and he pissed on his legs...
It was humbling to watch. Such a profound tickling, from two calm hands.
White wound him up to a point we hadn't even suspected he could reach. After a full day of our coarse tickling, it whipped him into an amazing fever within the first three minutes. The tyranny of White's bliss. They definitely knew each other.
White cleaned up the urine, and slid the gloves down to his hips, and made his legs dance in the cuffs. Over the top of each thigh, and down to his knees -
He started to thrust. Without any direct contact, he was almost ready to ejaculate. Long-remembered history with White, or some unconscious association of what would follow... but Taos arched diligently, with his jaws clamped tight, as the fingers petted their way down past his knees - and reversed course.
He pushed harder. Trying so hard.
But White knew better. The sleek fingers wandered over his scrotum, and down, and alongside. His thrusts became more distracted...
Until it slipped the equivalent of a thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft and held tight.
He froze, taut as a bowstring, and stayed that way. Shoulders up, and off the pad -
White finally rubbed the lower rim of his glans. So gently. Crept, and teased, until his body relaxed.
Only then did it loosen the satin clamp.
Taos did his exploding-fountain thing again, without arching this time. Fairly loose - almost serene about it! - and with the most frenzied, distracted yell I'd ever heard.
White petted his cock-tip through dozens of small contractions. Then the hands let him go.
He didn't watch... Not even as they dived back onto his irresistible feet.
Taos, resensitized again by the climax, laid perfectly still - and trembled. Drool started to creep out of a corner of his mouth.
Compared to his vigorous resistance earlier, his total inability to move said it all.
White kept the fingers moving fast. It addressed us then - if I want him to feel this advanced level of sensitivity for a while yet...
It slowed the gloves down. Way down.
Taos moved his head a little.
But now, it's time for him to pass out -
White drilled his feet solidly.
In less that a minute, his face relaxed, and his breathing changed. Off to dreamland.
Tickled unconscious... a thing we'd never actually seen before. Only having heard stories, it was galvanizing to watch it happen. A day filled with long, hard tickling - and he'd wake up here tomorrow to get some more.
After that, we weren't the same. More dedicated students could not be found...
It surprised me, on a daily basis, that the guys could take what we were putting them through.
We learned more, did the exercises we were ordered... and signed up for open labs.
Cheyenne and Taos stayed in their cells, there for the taking. That was their job. Boulder, Tombstone, Ogden and Wichita were kept in the classrooms, and each had slots when they were available for lab work, too. Our education continued, and we learned the finer details that separate horseplay from virtuoso tickling.
For me, the defining moment occurred a couple of weeks later. I'd been running security and cleanup on Boulder, while Heatmaster and Festivo double-teamed him. It was simple enough to do. I was already thinking about the next hour...
As soon as I could slip away, I raced to my favorite lab room.
White was already in there. Confused, I started to leave -
No, c'mon in, it told me.
It was using feathers. Fifteen or twenty, in Taos' armpits, on his nipples, under his knees.
I must have the wrong time slot, I said.
No, I'm just... warming him up for you.
This was unusual. White noticed my mood, and chuckled kindly. I told Slamm it could play with Ogden, next hour... so we've got Taos for a double slot.
That made up for it. Alright!, I crowed.
White made the feathers drag endlessly, maximizing the surface area of the soft fluff. Taos was sweating hard, grunting now and then. Eyes closed, body too tired to fight.
You spend a lot of time with Taos, White said.
It was true. Gradually, I'd ended up signing up for more slots with him than any of the other guys, even Cheyenne. I had to make myself decide to go after one of the other guys, though once I was in with them, approaching their bound bodies with tools and a plan for their next unspeakably sinister hour - well, no problem.
Why this one? it asked simply. Cheyenne is much more fierce. Wichita is more ticklish.
I know, I mumbled.
So?
I'm not really sure. I looked at Taos' feet, and picked up two red feathers. He wiggled his toes miserably as I started in... Then I said, He runs deeper than the other guys.
Explain, the leader said.
I like him. Well, you know... You keep thinking his limit must be getting close, and there's always a little clue that he's not done yet.
This was true of all the guys, in varying degrees - I was still a student - but I felt like I was really connecting with Taos, when I drilled him. No matter what I did... it was like he was daring me to keep up with him -
Are you imprinted? White asked calmly.
Uh-oh. So that was why it just invited itself to my time slot. The leaders didn't want us getting hooked on a particular kind of guy, before we even graduated. That's why the captives were so different from each other. Sure, we could hunt for whatever prey we wanted... after they cut us loose. But we had to pass muster first.
I told White I didn't think I was imprinted.
Hmmmm, it said, rubbing his nipples between the feather-edges. Taos arched weakly and panted for air. When you tickle Cheyenne, or Tombstone - do you think about Taos? is it an effort to tickle the other guys?
No, I said fiercely. I'm more reluctant to schedule lab time with the other guys - but once I get in position, I love tickling them just as much.
White said nothing. We tickled for a minute or two. Then...
Tell me why we don't want you to get imprinted on Taos, it ordered.
He's just one guy, I said, and I couldn't help but laugh. There's a world full of ticklish victims. You want as many of 'em to get tickled as possible, as much as possible. If we can't appreciate the possibilities - if I pass on excellent oportunities just 'cause they don't remind me of Taos, that's too many guys getting off scott-free.
Very good, it said dryly. Almost word-for-word. Listen - you have to trust us on this one. If you're not imprinted, you're going to enjoy tickling a lot more. More guys get tickled that way. But it starts with you being able to set aside your own desires and preferences for now. You're shaping up to be a exceptionally brutal tickler... and we want jocks to know it too, and art-bohos. Not just bikers like ol' Taos here.
Okay, I said. I admit to playing favorites... But I still think it's because this fucker's got endless levels to bust through.
Well, he does, White admitted. That's why I brought him along. A guy this complex should get tickled at every opportunity. But - see? - I'm just as happy knowing you students are making him howl. It doesn't have to be me tickling him, so long as somebody is...
After a few long seconds sawing the feathers between his toes, I sent a quiet signal of agreement. That makes sense to me.
Good.
I looked at Taos' delirious face. So long as he was getting it...
The best way to insure that was to tickle him myself, I said, but -
But?
Tickling - anybody - is better than not tickling.
That's right. The relief in White's response was unmistakable.
We added more feathers, and took a nice, long half-hour to get Taos off... and enjoy the post-game fireworks.
White? I signalled, as I made him fire up another smoke.
What?
I still want to find this guy's limit.
Good luck, White laughed at me.
Someday, I'm going to push him for as long as it takes -
No obsession there, it said. But its attitude was playful.
Well... You've spent some major time on Taos -
And I throw him to you rookies, it shot right back, don't I? He's not "mine, all mine".
I know, I sulked.
Tell you what, it said. Force yourself to get as harsh on the other guys as you do on Taos. Pick one other lab guy and spend more slots on him. And if you ace your exams... on anything but bikers - then okay.
Okay what?
You can work him over for a nice, long time, White said.
I looked him over...
Is that a promise?
Sure, it said happily. But you have to branch out first. Pick a guy with less depth and max him out. Get creative... And don't you try to bullshit us. We'll know it if you do.
Okay, I said meekly.
Tickle our way now - and later, you'll tickle without limits. If we can count on you to be an all-around champion tickler - our way - you can't imagine how great it will feel...
We worked well together, if I do say so myself. White knew just how hard to push him. I saw so many new things to do I was scared I'd forget some of them before I got an opportunity to try 'em out on my own.
White? I signaled.
Uh-huh.
I know you leaders say that tickling isn't really pain... Then I trailed off, not sure what to say next.
It's okay. Don't ever be afraid to ask questions, it said tolerantly. No one's going to hold it against you.
Good, I replied. Look - their faces don't look like they really enjoy this.
Oh, they don't? But White was mocking again.
A good sign, so I continued. I mean, c'mon. As desperate as they get. Some of the expressions they come up with. Like they were getting electrocuted. It's gotta be... hurting 'em.
What have we taught you?
Uh, I said, stalling. The look of agony is... misleading, and we can't judge what's going on inside by looking at their reaction - their face, or the way they struggle. Not just by that.
So, White said, as it kept squeezing his ribs with the fur mittens, you have a problem with that?
Well, no...
It laughed again. Look. I know it's hard to understand. But we've spent a lot of time testing this. Here -
And it let go of Taos. Take the thumbs of those gloves and press... right there. It indicated where his legs and crotch met.
Here?, I wondered, pressing down.
Down about an inch - and stay right at the joint. Harder.
He knew something was up. Flailing again, trying to kick his legs. I crept down a little further -
Taos whined, and stopped moving.
Keep the pressure on! White ordered.
His face looked like I'd stabbed him. He couldn't seem to move.
That's it, the leader chuckled. Hold him...
It dropped the mittens - and unbuckled his cuffs.
And Taos just laid there.
He's paralyzed, White said, sticking a lit cigarette between his lips.
But... I'm not pressing that hard -
I know. You're not hurting him. It's not pain. What you're causing right now is an overload of sensation, but he wouldn't recognize it as "agony". Now I want you to ease up a little, and massage slowly.
Just with the thumbs? I said doubtfully.
Just the thumbs...
So I did.
Immediately, he started to laugh. He tried to roll around, but it was too much for him to manage.
After another minute, he just laid there, taut as a wire. Grinning around his cigarette, which he'd apparently forgotten about...
Two thumbs, White said approvingly. He can't do much of anything. You could jack him off, and he couldn't even slap your gloves away. He'll be immobilized until he falls asleep naturally, if you want. All that - from two thumbs.
Or two brushes, I guessed.
If they can hit the right spot, and press in enough, it said. Sure. White picked up a pair of gloves and played with his ruddy feet. Extravagant fondling. Other than a few hard twitches, he just laid there and let the gloves tickle him. It added another pair... and he just tilted his head back and took a slow drag. New discovery, after new discovery.
It got a good lock around his ankles and raised 'em a few inches. The glove-fingers posed dramatically - and jumped on. White really stuck it to him!
He hiccuped a few times, and quivered... and then he didn't move anymore.
What I'm saying, White went on, is that you can't jump to conclusions. Sure, they act like they hate it. They run away as quick as they can, they describe it as if it was torture, and so on. But the conclusion that this guy... and it gestured at Taos' face... is in excruciating pain right now is still an assumption. Can you tell me what that hidden assumption is?
I thought hard for a while.
As I did, White took his cigarette and punched it out. Rolled him over, and put his cuffs back on. Then it signaled me again, getting impatient. C'mon. How do we know... that he's telling the truth?
Well - But it's obvious. He looks like he's in pa-
You can pull the thumbs off now, it said quietly. And it sent its own gloves back down. Two rubbed his ass, and the other two pinched his collarbones. Taos started wrestling around and hooting. Physical pain? it hinted.
Yeah.
White laughed, then. Does that include... wounded pride?
Huh?
You know you're not hurting him! Think! If you caress him gently, he's either pissed off... or he's clearly liking it. It's a difference of degree. If you put your thumb on his eye, that would hurt. We've taught you how to recognize when something is hurting him. Rope that's too tight, a gag suffocating him, abraded skin.
I acknowledged all that it had said. Why would his expression be so... similar, when all I'm doing is, say, teasing his armpits?
Find another possible cause, it urged me.
Uh... is that where the pride comes in?
That's where the pride comes in. He's embarrassed to be caught, and tickled. Even if no other human knows. If you're doing your captures correctly, no one else will know - unless you're going to tickle more than one guy at a time. His conquered ego is what you're really seeing. Even if Taos and Cheyenne were in the same lab room for a month - I mean, long after there's nothing left to be embarrassed about - the pained look will show up on their faces. Ooooh, the tickling is just killing me - but when he says that, he doesn't mean actual pain. He can't get over the humiliation.
Because he's used to being his own boss, I say uncertainly.
Exactly. He can't get used to being played with... any more than he can get used to the sensations that shoot through his body when I tickle his big ol' feet like this - and it starting mauling his insteps with ten strong fingers and his heels with ten more, making him jerk around and roar in a way I thought was most electrifying. His smile was so big.
After a few seconds, White pulled off...
His face fell. Weary, unhappy... almost scowling.
What pains him is being a plaything. Again. I've tickled him a lot. And he's been here for other students.
It started in again. He tried to pull and twist his legs... but the cuffs were not going to permit anything like that. White ran its fingers under his toes, down the sides and back up the center -
Taos pounded his face on the pad. When that didn't change anything, he stopped it. he just laid there, howling.
Now, what is different about Tombstone? White asked.
Oh, he likes it, I said right away.
Uh-huh. Do you have any reason to think the physical sensation is not as strong for, say, Tombstone - as it is for good old Taos? It sped up its fingers in their provocative, endless circuit...
Well, uh. No.
No. If I drill Tombstone all night, then come in here and do the exact same thing to Taos all day - and Tombstone never looks like he's in agony - what makes you so sure it really is agony for Taos?
I didn't have an answer.
Try it yourself. A hard hour of, oh, armpit-digging for Tombstone, followed by the same hard hour on any other guy here. Same activity, different reactions. It isn't physical pain. It's something more like embarrassment - which, as we showed you in class, naturally varies from guy to guy. If Taos here won't accept his situation... we'll have our fun anyway. It's his loss.
So - he chooses to be in agony?
Well... And White paused again, looking him over. Probably not. And Tombstone doesn't decide to be ecstatic. My point, here, is that you can't logically defend the notion that one slow finger on his belly is nice, two is hardly bearable... five fingers is painful suffering... and twenty is agony. We're not using a bullwhip on him. Guys don't laugh when they're in pain. It just doesn't make sense.
And White had a point there.
Based on the what the leaders knew, guys like Taos felt "tormented" because they were overwhelmed by the demanding stimulation. If they'd quit thinking of it as "torture", they looked pretty damn happy. Their old mind-set flared up if they thought they could escape... but when they were into it, as Tombstone always was, it made me wonder how they could ever think they were actually... suffering.
It was only logical. Tickling wasn't torture. Not real torture. Maybe it was an instinctive thing about being restrained. Like that was the thing their body objected to. Completely helpless, in our hands.
But if we didn't restrain them, they could hurt themselves. The leaders stressed that a lot. Having next to no experience with guys, it was true enough - for students...
I realized something else. So I communicated it to my leader. They're a lot more ticklish when they're restrained, aren't they?
White chuckled. Try it and see. During a lab. Hold on to his ankles with gloves, and dig in. Then strap 'em down right, and repeat the exact same tickling. See for yourself.
Ah...
You get it? White said.
I think I do -
Then get in here, and tickle his ass!
Well, it didn't have to tell me twice.
On to Part 3 - or go back to Part 1
02nov01