Others' episodes
 
Cor's episodes
 
News / site info
 

"So you're... just alive?" Grant fumed, pulling at the straps.
It was weird enough that a bed was in the old store across the street. He'd paced around the apartment parking lot dozens of times, smoking, and had never seen anyone over here. The invisible force picked him way up in the air, at three in the morning, and flew him over the old building at a good clip. No one was around, he was scared of heights - and when yelling for help finally occurred to him, the phantom was heading down already. The back door swung open...
When it carried him inside his feet were still about a meter off the ground, so he had to duck.
It had everything ready for him. Invisible hands planted him on the bed, and held on. And the restraints... well, shit.

Talking to it didn't seem to have any effect. Some of the gloves kept on double-checking the buckles and straps. Damn, he thought, they really run the show now.
He didn't put it together, looking from one to the other, when they gathered around him. A dozen hands, magically alive -
Then one swept its fingers down his right sole.
Grant jumped - and snorted. The next thought he had was the verb - what had just been done, down there. That was why his ankles were strapped down tight.
"Oh, no... no," he said to the gloves.
He felt another one squeeze his left foot.

Damn, now he knew why they'd brought such thick straps. It was beyond belief -
Fingertips ambled down both soles. Up again, then down, never pausing...
Squirming, he bit back the laughter. There was no way to hold it in forever -
Then another pair joined in!
"Hah hah hah hah haaaa-aaahh!" he barked. Grant's intention had been to yell for help. Someone had to come now and get the straps off. That had to happen. Nothing else was possible. These gloves weren't going to get away with this shit.
He laughed and laughed at the door.
A glove moved...
And closed it.
Grant froze -
"Nooooooo hah hah hah huh nuh nah hah hah!"

The fingers were unbearable.
So many more gloves were close by. If no one came and got him out of this -
He thrashed around. Couldn't move, couldn't cover, no, no, shit, oh no.
Opening his mouth to shout at the gloves, an explosion of laughter came out. He roared at the door.
Fuck, they were gonna get away with this. He was out of his mind already -
Another pair dropped down.
Braying, Grant shook his head frantically.
They curled their fingers over his toes - and straightened his feet.

The others stroked along the sides and positively raced up and down his soles.
He bounced on the bed as wildly as he could, screaming desperate laughs.

Time seemed to pause.
The gloves didn't.
Grant had no idea how long they tickled and tickled.
 

He must've passed out. His clothes were gone, and the restraints were just as snug as before.
Still panting a little, he looked at the gloves. They weren't going anywhere. Hell, no. Their captive was defenseless... and ticklish.
Longingly, he looked at the door. Somebody, anybody, get me out of this.

When he was tugging diligently again, a pair of magical hands floated down -
And they curled around his ribs!
"Please help meeee," he whined. But they started to knead.
Rolling and tugging didn't do a damn bit of good. His arms stayed way up there, and the most paralyzing fire shot through his body, across and up and down.
Roaring nice and loud was out. He was busy just trying to keep up, now, with more murderous touching than he could even comprehend. Grant giggled maniacally but distractedly, and tried to get away from the hands even for a second -
Pressure settled on his biceps.
"Noooooo hoo hoo-oooooo!" he bayed, shaking his head again.
Two more sinister hands were coming... to his armpits.

The impact didn't double. Oh, it was far worse than that. Grant couldn't laugh anywhere near hard enough.
At some point he realized he was hardly chuckling or hooting at all. The fingers just drove him over the edge. Laughing, on purpose, or moving much were beyond him now.
The gloves rocked on.

Tears were streaming down his face. It was an accident - or the bastards waited until he opened his eyes. But he managed a few weak roars.
Another pair of gloves was coming down.
What a nightmare, he thought miserably. They were quite a team.
He could imagine what they'd say. Uh, hey guys. Is he really coming unglued?
Aw, you know it. Look at him. Strapped down tight.
Mind if we join in?
The palms slid under his knees.
Grant convulsed, just screaming laughter. His wails had no real volume. The strength of the gloves' attack had put real howling to rest.

Alright. He didn't know he had it this bad.
And there's so many ticklish places. We're gonna keep moving around to cover them all.
Yeah, that's really gonna blow his mind.

He jumped, and instantly started laughing louder.
Gloves were helping themselves to endless, slippery helpings of his pecs. Grant kicked out a low, growling shriek at them...
They didn't slow down. Of course not. They'd found a good spot.
He was coming unhinged again, and those hands weren't going to quit. It was devastating.

So much worse. Oh, hell...
Like a mirage, hands were coming down. Hey, dudes, check this out.
They started combing his crotch hair. Oil - and the contact, it didn't just register - it screamed. Every finger's trail just sizzled.
He tried to rock, barking laughter all over again. Unbelievable sensation crackled through him. Being unable to move in any effective way made the result of each finger ache so much worse! All of the tickling flared, so many other places...
A finger slid up his cock.
Others oiled up his perineum.
Grant slammed his head on the mattress, over and over. Oh shit, this is too much, it tickles far more and they're not slowing down at all, why don't they see that he can't begin to feel all of the damage they were doing...

He was making crazy noises, sweating like a pig.
Every strap and cuff held him too fuckin' well.

The gloves tickled on.
 

Months later. Years... he looked up, and saw them. Ready to tickle again.
Whining and tugging didn't do a damn thing. So many oily fingers, very serious about making him insane while they danced, and nothing was going to stop them...
Oh, hell. The worst thing in the world.
They were all landing on him now.

He concentrated on curling his toes. It didn't really help at all. The gloves were determined to tickle his entire soles, and they weren't bothered at all by the sad little resistance he could offer. Grant bucked slowly, crowing with aroused misery. Not a single glove was displaced.
Every hand squeezed and trailed...
 

When he roused himself enough to look, the gloves were waiting overhead again.
They'd prepared another surprise for him. He tried to pull, and lifted his head to confirm... that straps were restraining each toe.
"Aw, no, no," Grant groaned, launching into deranged chuckles. His feet were really gonna get it this time.
One of them brought up a bottle of oil.
He started to laugh. Couldn't stop...

After the next break, ten gloves were descending.
Grant pulled frantically, but he had no defense at all.
 
 

"Not again," he begged silently.
His third day in captivity was beginning. He was just as snugly bound as before. He'd get fed in an hour or two - but the gloves were all around him again. Their team had just about doubled.
Indescribably solid tickling.
Grant's head moved almost dreamily, appealing to one glove after another. "No, c'mon, no more, I can't keep up with you, gimme a cigarette, how many days of this crazy shit are you gonna put me through, aw please..."
His erratic pulling on the straps wasn't anything like the full-scale riot of desperation that he threw when they first latched on.
One by one, they got back to it. Another unbelievably long day was starting.
Feet, sides, pits, hips, crotch, neck, belly.

Many fingers covered his feet. They stroked heavily up and down his soles, along his Achilles tendons, around his toes, over his flexing insteps. Always intent. Thorough. This was the most hysterical way to be cruel to a guy, for hours and hours and hours...
 

Trying to set aside the wishful thinking, Grant figured the day wasn't even halfway done. Inside him, the impact from all the stimulation was definitely climbing. The restraints made real sure he couldn't budge.
Gloves made the sensation even more intolerable now. They were busy on his thighs, under his knees, along the bottom ridge of his ass.
So much fiery excitement soaked him now that he'd hadn't been able to tug or laugh in hours. It wasn't any easier to handle... adjusted here and there, fine-tuned, to slam home so much harder. He wasn't going to escape another full day of touch-insanity.
Grant was... more focused than he had ever been in his life. The excruciating pleasure defied all of his attempts to describe or compare it. He laid there and felt the fire, and even that was drastically insufficient - there was too much sensation to handle, always.
But the fingers showed absolutely no sign of ending their assault.
So he trembled and remained completely overcome with the fire.

They won. Dammit. Gloves, making him insane, tickling on and on.
He was defeated, and they had all the power. They could pick their victim, and tickle him as much as they wanted. Did they track their conquests? Was there any chance he wouldn't get hunted down later, and locked away again - by them? Over and over again? These fuckers, or other teams of gloves?
 

Another break. They were letting him rest up so they could tear him apart again. Every time Grant thought he might've been passing out, the miserable bastards slowed way, way down. Waiting for him... and then they slowly picked it up again.

He was squealing and gibbering when he could manage to laugh at all. This is what delirium sounds like, he finally thought.
They were just as enthusiastic as they'd been the first night.
 
 

Grant coughed and yawned. He took a deep breath, held it, and eased it back out. Day number eight or nine was... recently, and it bugged him that he'd definitely lost track. Felt like a year already.
He opened his eyes.
The gloves helped him wake him up in their usual way.

22sep19