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Let me tell you about the summer I discovered this incredible elixir...

They were kicked back under a makeshift awning alongside the car when I wandered out of my dungeon.
The backpacker I'd picked up on the interstate two months before was sound asleep, getting ready for more. I was running low on the enhanced nerve-kindling oil anyway, so I really needed to make a trip to get more of the ingredients.
I found out later that they were varsity jocks that just graduated from high school. Wrong highway to be stuck on, no cell coverage even - and according to the map the next town was to the west, about 14 miles!
One of 'em knew it was lonely. His brothers had done the same look-for-America road trip. He's the one who pulled out a blunt. Another went to the cooler for the last six-pack of beer.

I stopped the car immediately. Wow. No way I was giving them a pass.
There was no rope or anything useful in the car I'd stolen. The trunk, though, held a roll of duct tape. A hundred feet away from them, I started tearing off one-meter lengths...
Soon I had twenty pieces right over each jock. They were, helpfully, trying to sleep -
I grabbed their wrists and slammed 'em together. Started wrapping. Grabbed their ankles and brought the tape down.
"What are you... doing?" Snap yawned. Then he figured out what was on his wrists, and his eyes flew open wide.
Crackle was slower on the uptake. His mouth hung open as he watched my tape catch him.

Pop managed to kick free and roll before I got a piece of tape around both ankles. He looked over to his buds. "Aaron. What the fuck -"
"Fight, you assholes," Snap yelled. "Let us go!"
He wasn't going anywhere. Pop edged further back. Scared, confused - but I pegged him as the cool one of the bunch. Just had a feeling.
"Do something, no, naaaAAAAHHHmmmf!" I got tape over Snap's mouth.
Crackle was just blown away. I floated his last piece of tape into position. "Please," he begged.
"Easy," I whispered to him, pushing the tape down. "We're gonna have fun. Promise."
That seemed to help him relax, right off. It also fed his confusion even more. It was clear that they were still caught, so he got determined to bust the tape and get away from me.
Pop watched his friends writhe in the dirt. He'd backed up against a log, half-crouched. Big eyes. I came at him with the tape -
He managed to wheel around and start running. I'd have to double up the cuffs for this one. His friends seemed really happy about that escape attempt.
I grabbed his arm.

"Don't do this," he said. Rather composed, considering what he'd seen. "Party," I assured him. "No damage. No harm. Just... excitement like you wouldn't believe. That's what it takes to make a place this far out in the sticks into a _top_ party pad." I got his other arm and turned him around, marching him back.
Oh, the wheels were turning. He tugged a few times, trying to shake my hands off. "Such as?"
"Great smoke. Cases of booze." I slapped the tape over his mouth. "Big laughs." He went from looking worried, to thoughtful - eyebrows up - to, oh yeah, tense. He stiffened right up, and I just knew it was from guessing what I meant - what I had in store for 'em. This guy might have been tied down and marathon-tickled before. Or he'd chosen to become aware of the fetish, and how many fans of it are also really into bondage. Maybe I was so good at anchoring and binding him with the tape that he, a smart guy, took a very subtle hint, and already knew I wanted to party on 'em. None of them realized yet that I wasn't out to keep 'em for a few days, but for the rest of the summer... and then some, if they had what it takes.
Oh, yeah. Pop started flopping around like crazy, desperate to get away. He had a bad idea, and it made him fight like a wolverine.
This was incredibly complimentary. He acted exactly as if he'd gotten a savagely delirious idea for what I'd do. And he was correct. I just knew it - don't ask me why. He acted like an insanely ticklish dude. I'd keep him "entertained" for the full ride. Right now, though, it pleased me to keep 'em wondering, a little, until the crazymaking truth was impossible to avoid.

I opened the car door and shoved Pop behind the wheel. I taped all of their fingers to their shirts, so any power buttons in the car would be out-of-bounds. Next, I picked up Crackle, then Snap, by their limbs - no enjoyable squeezes yet! - and tossed 'em in the back. They didn't like that...
It was no real surprise that the car wouldn't start. Nobody's kind enough to loaf around anywhere near one of my playrooms. The fuel pump hoses looked fine, and no lines underneath were worn through. Fluids weren't leaking. Fuel injectors were okay, battery wasn't the problem, fuel lines seemed fine -
A-ha. Fuel filter.
Some vehicles just give up trying to run at all, if this fuckin' filter has enough grime to reduce the flow enough. So I filled the filter with gas from the fuel line and shook it. Pop realized just what part I was just shaking, just outside the engine compartment now - and he closed his eyes, looking annoyed. This was useful. He knew now that they had been stranded by something easy to fix, and pretty damn obvious. I'd have a great time teasing 'em about that, over the next red-hot weeks.

The guys in the backseat had managed to sit up, and I had a riveted audience. It wasn't every day they saw car parts moving in midair like that. After two more good shaking sessions, the gas that poured out looked normal. It would do, for now.
I stuck the hoses back on the filter, reinstalled it and shut the hood. They had no way to know that I had a stolen car nearby to get 'em moved to their cage. That was plan B, and I'd have 'em hidden offroad and safely locked inside that playroom before a half-hour had passed.
But they were hoping for a bigger car problem...
I turned the key - nnn-nope, dudes. I revved the engine nice and hard. Perfect transport to the playroom, right now, and I had a great cave that was wide enough to hide this car forever, as sweet as you please.
Oh, I felt great. Gave the taped guys a loud, wild round of laughter. Let 'em chew on that for awhile.

The interior fuse box had a helpful sticker. I pressed the door-lock buttons, and stuck three fuses in the ashtray along with some remnants of blunts there. Naughty, naughty dudes. Now the door locks and horn were out of commission.
Then I rolled down the windows halfway, and made sure their hands were stuck enough that they couldn't lower the windows any further.
Finally, we drove east a few miles.

Pop, in the driver's seat, seemed to be planning... what, to stomp on the brake?
Sheesh. As I drove 'em to crazy-town at about eighty, I taped Pop's ankles to a car seat adjustment-handle that was a thick metal loop. More tape really anchored his wrists to the steering column, under the wheel. Odds were extraordinarily slim we'd see a state mountie until the next shift came on, but my new buds would be hidden and locked in a couple hours before that happened.
We slowed down to take the service road to the north, and after a mile or so it led to to a handy trail uphill that wasn't too rough on the tires.

Seven or eight minutes further - well out of sight of the old state highway hardly any of the locals liked to use - I shut off the car. Pulled the keys... and opened the car door. Gotcha. Hell, they might as well have broken down right here.
They all struggled frantically, yelling as loud as they could into their gags. Actually, they were even further away from the nearest residents now, but they'd figure that out soon enough. The first sign for 'em was pulling the tape-gags now. Pop saw the car keys, and watched 'em float out. I slammed the door...
And took the keys when I zoomed to my dungeon.

Hitchhiker was still asleep. That suited me, since the entry to the nice big playroom would've required hiding him just to haul the three new laughing boys inside. He caught a break today. I had been ready to tickle him all summer...
As I got him dressed, and grabbed a few things, I was pretty much planning to visit his home... maybe around the end of the year, and reel him back in for a much longer top-flight shredding. For now, I gently carried my departing guest down the hill.
Set him down alongside the highway, more than a mile from where the trio of jocks were snuck off-road. I zipped over to the stolen car and brought it over, parking it right next to him. A carton of smokes and a lighter went on the driver's seat, and a bundle of twenties went under 'em for a parting gift. I tucked the car keys in his hand. After I slapped him a few times, and he started to rouse.
At first he kept checking his torso, and looking around for tickle-toys. Didn't seem to believe I wasn't razzing him, promising more chaos today...

His eyes narrowed after a minute. He crawled into the car as fast as he could.
I put a hand on his chest. He groaned, but cut it off before it got loud. He watched the carton of smokes open. I brought a pack to him. Impatient to flee, he tamped the pack against his palm and quickly got one between his lips, looked all around and found the lighter.
Alright. There he is.
I removed my hand. Turned the key...
He reached for the shifter.
As a parting shot, I took a pack of smokes out of the carton and slipped it into the right front pocket of his ratty flannel shirt. I set the carton right alongside his right thigh.
"Keep smokin'. Hard. I get it." He made a point of taking a mammoth drag right then. "This is one of your things. Getting me to start up again. Or else, huh? I get it. Fuckin' hooked good - again. Congratulations."
Hitchhiker sighed hard, pulled the shift lever into Drive, and turned the car around. Toward the nearest town, but I wasn't worried. He wasn't flashy at all, and he didn't look like a felon. I'd heard some of his delirious ravings, and his big fantasy was to get out of the state and closer to Denver as soon as he possibly could. Seemed likely he wouldn't stop until he absolutely had to get gas...
The car was from a back lot of a sad little used car dealership in the biggest city in the state, quite a ways southwest. It hadn't even been visible from the showroom. Covered with dirt, like its neighbors. As of a couple days ago, that dealer still hadn't reported the car's disappearance - could be they hadn't noticed yet, or wanted to avoid a decent look at the car's "legal history."
I was confident that my ticklish backpacker could get all the way to California without trouble. And whether he got popped or not, I'd have a real intense blowout all set for him. It would make my year to snag him again, even if the ride back here was from a jail... to a playroom stocked right for Hitchhiker's long-ass workout, as fuckin' personal as it could get.

I snuck back to the car holding three captured, toned newbies... bringing 'em the car keys and three soaked derms.
Snap never saw it coming. I got the derm stuck to the back of his neck, and the powerful sedative took him down in less than two minutes. By that time Crackle was getting woozy.
Pop watched, with those alert eyes, in the rear-view mirror.
I showed him the derm. Let him look it over...
And pressed it against the top of his right hand.
He nodded.
What the fuck. Approval? Or simple understanding?
His eyes - why, the son of a bitch was smiling.
On impulse I chuckled his sides. He looked around suddenly, gulping. Then he smirked again and fought to keep the cackling quiet. Veteran of hardcore tickling, or something along those lines, uh-huh -
"I like you," I said firmly. Definitely worth the _full_ ride, here. I had high hopes for the other two, from the way they stared as I pressed the tape down around their ankles. Not only disbelief there, but curiosity - which kept fear from overcoming any of them.

Not all men had such promising responses when they were getting caught. Get these guys totally unable to move, and let 'em prove to themselves that they weren't gonna get lucky and snap their restraints...
Pop was spacey, but still grinning. The only reassuring thing he had to wind him down was my compliment, and what it could mean. I'd find out later, but he seemed more likely than his friends to have some marathon tickling in his past... or a suspicion of what the summer was going to be like in my playroom. Maybe both.
An easy sigh slipped out of Pop. Then his eyes closed, and his body relaxed. I sat him up straight, but he didn't react to a half-dozen hands on him...
Well, not yet.

In we went.
Every time, it's such an enormous charge to get the playroom door locked. No one wanders by out there, so anyone outside seeing the dungeon entrance door behind a blanket of thick branches wasn't in the cards.
I got 'em all set for the explosive start of the summer's party here.
Then I peeled their derms off, so they'd be coming around soon. Before that happened I pulled off their clothing and strapped 'em down. Everything they wore would be stashed in a locked trunk, completely out of sight, because no captive of mine gets to cover their ticklish spots... until I'm ready to send 'em on their way.
The men wore bright satin thongs... and first-class restraints.

I laid memory foam down, and put them on it.
Three buff prospects, arms spread wide and bolted down. Their feet were way up in the air. A huge marine chain ran up and around the supporting beam above them. Their toes were almost touching.
Snap, I thought, would really hate being tickled a little bit more by the frantic kicking of his buddies. He had kindled my interest, and increasing his sensitivity looked easy enough. Without too much delay, his workouts would show if he was a star captive. That guy had potential.
Pop stirred, coming around. He was the only one I'd shaved because of the thick body hair on him. Snap had a smooth chest already, and he had a fine six-pack. Proud of his muscles. Any buffed-out torso is probably more ticklish, whooo hoooo! Tighter skin. I had a few big ideas for my new weightlifter here. Crackle and Snap would be blown away by the new universe of impact when I shaved them.
I was hoping the stoner wouldn't disappoint. He opened his eyes - and watching the awareness slam home was hilarious. Oh, yes. You're restrained. So are the only people who know you're caught. This dungeon has sunlight brought to it by fiber-optic lines, which charges the "lanterns" and toys... for three new roaring fools caught tight.

Pop kicked, pulled - and started yelling. He raved, mostly, partial threats and sentence fragments about how damn unlikely the day's events had been. The guy had no idea how unique their introduction to comprehensive tickling would be in a few minutes! He did not like being unable to move, though.
Snap was roused, slowly, by the noise. He put a lot of thoughtful force into snapping the restraints. I had straps wound around the guys' shins and thighs. Their waists, triceps and forearms were pinned down.
No, Snap wasn't going anywhere either.

Crackle woke up quickly. Staring at his feet, trying to move 'em, looking from one of his yelling, cussing friends to the other. He pulled much more sneakily. I've seen that before - he had no doubt, from the get-go, that I wouldn't give them a chance to escape.

"Nah," Snap said. "There has to be... some explanation. A real one."
"Magic," Pop said. "Just take it easy now."
"You got a better - Shit, I guess we'll see," Crackle complained, tugging at his straps again.
"Crazy," Pop said sadly. "What's with the pouches on us?" Snap complained, gesturing toward his package with his head.
"It's a message," Crackle said.
Pop opened his mouth - and did a double-take. He looked quickly from one armpit to the other. The others didn't notice. Pop's eyes got big for a second, a weird smirk came over his face - dread, most of all... but I had the strongest hunch again that I was seeing something positive too. He might be worth a long stay here.
He looked at his feet and tried pulling 'em away from the big chain, turning, pointing his toes... and he took a big, shaky breath. Then he looked at his chest - newly shaved - and back at his left armpit.
That fucker read the hints correctly that I left for him. He closed his eyes, and Pop got that promising expression back again. Yeah, I was gonna seize his attention, and stimulate it day after day.

Let's see... Three athletes - three big hormone machines - with their most ticklish spots exposed and tethered well, caught in a secret place, without much of an idea where they were bring held. No one else knew where they were now. I found nothing in their car or bags that even hinted they had any particular place to be. Their weed inspired thoughts of every kind of pharmaceutical "help" that made it more fun to work 'em over. Try 'em out when they were drunk...
What would the result be when all of their ticklish nerves were awakened? Who would be the first to become incapable of squirming or laughing when two or four zealous hands dug into the right spots? Really, these young gym dogs were gonna become so much more popular with my peers! And damn, I was more than ready to give 'em a long, thorough summer.
I had big plans for Pop, because he might just have been that far ahead of his buddies. The smirk could've come from being able to step back and realize how utterly screwed they were at that moment, thanks to me. The less likely option, since he didn't smile even bigger, was that the bondage had earned his appreciation because he liked being tickled when he couldn't possibly escape from it.
I've flipped a few guys over, and made 'em crave what I crave. Any prolonged, focused tickling increases what the tickle-trained guys "feel," and pretty much prevents monitoring or diverting the stronger flood of reactivity.

"I'm not gonna just lay here," Snap fumed, "and piss all over myself."
"I don't think that's gonna happen," Pop said quietly.
I patted him on the head.
The fucker didn't even react quickly. He was ready for anything. Give that man a drink.
I floated a big bottle of Jack Daniels over the boys' feet.
"Oh. Shit," Crackle said. He was just entranced. I think he had a little thing for... paranormal movies, maybe games and fantasy novels that were kinda heavy on magic. Messing with heroes. He was gonna be delightful to fuck with too.
Snap had a look of disgust on his face. Simplest of all - use up all that endurance and vitality with my favorite form of enterainment for wayward young men. I was prepared to dig in harder and deeper on my angry captive than the others. Teach him there really was no way at all to miss a single minute of getting sensually provoked - by me.
Being caught in the same playroom as a couple of your friends who were more and more convinced that their capacities for pleasure were fifty, a hundred, five hundred times more mind-boggling than before - yeah, I've seen some howlers work to like the hyperstimulation more, focus on the big changes after ten hours of maddening excitement. Pushing, along with me, way past their old boundaries. Besides, I was already getting tired of his bullshit and I hadn't even made Snap beg me at all yet.
Pop grinned as I broke the seal and unscrewed the cap.

"No way, asshole," Snap announced. "I'm not gonna..." And his voice trailed off. He blinked at his cuffed ankles. You're stuck, buddy. Sure you will.
Pop cocked his head, watching the bottle. A quick nod. I'll drink. Good man.
"Aaron. Uh, I don't think we have a whole lot of choice, here." Crackle - sucking up to his captor? Maybe.
As I brought the bottle down to each of them, I lifted the current drinker's head. Snap, of course, tried to be the tough guy. It was simple enough to let go suddenly, clamp a hand over his throat and pick up his head. I bounced it against the foam. He yelled and freaked out, but he had nowhere to go.
I certainly had the other guys' attention now. Pop opened his mouth immediately when I put the bottle to his lips. He took a couple good swallows and tried to pull back. I pushed the bottle in slightly. He grunted and had a couple more belts.
Crackle hesitated a little, then drank about the same amount without a fight. Snap wasn't writhing any more. He looked dizzy. I cupped a hand under his neck and another one behind his head - and lifted it. He blinked at the bottle. I pulled my lower hand away.
"Fucker," he grumbled. I got a big, defiant sigh before he opened his mouth. There we go.

I brought a decent-sized joint and a lighter over to Pop's right... and had to rasp the lighter twice before he looked.
"Guys," he said, chuckling.
Crackle stared, looking worried. "Why is it being nice to us?"
"I'm sure there's a reason," Pop said, taking the joint. I lit him up.
"This is bad," Snap warned. "Get us drunk, get us wasted. In here. For who knows what reason. And what's next? How the fuck is this even possible? Floating shit around like that?"
I messed up his hair. Playful response, again, to major worry.
"Dammit," he muttered, sighing. His eyes closed... he took another breath... And I was so tempted to whisper some facts, but I fought the urge. That could come later. You and your buds will not be injured, I'd assure him. You'll get more pleasure than you ever thought it was possible. You'll do your best to tolerate the increasing stimulation - for weeks. The main priority here is more tickling than you can possibly imagine. Oh, you'll all smoke and get hooked. Drink more than you ever have before. Try a number of other drugs. Smoke pot, regularly. Somewhere between zero and ten cumshots a day.
Pop loaded up like so many scruffy men I grab. Nothing new, here. I was sure he'd get a big laugh out of my bong, later. He held the smoke in...
"Actually, that's... pretty good. The herb."
"Aw. Thanks," I told him.

Crackle grimaced at that - and clearly I had to investigate his fantasy life, to have a truly staggering impact on him. But he was not reluctant to hit on that joint when I brought it to him. If the magician who had 'em all locked in was set on getting 'em stoned... there was no other action that would prevent it, and Crackle was out of complaints and whiny remarks about pot.
"What's the point?" Snap said when the joint came his way. He was mellower too. I predicted he was more of a drinker.
"Gettin' us ready," Pop said. He was totally at ease... but he wasn't smirking any more.
"Dammit," Snap said. Then he took the joint and hit that fucker hard.

A few minutes later, my captives had all settled down.
"Dudes," I greeted 'em. Got all three to jump that time.
"Get us outa here," Snap said, recovering his murderous glare. Pop shook his head very slightly. The man I'd shaved knew better.
"Aw, now, as if you really got a problem with getting fucked up?"
Bullseye. Crackle fidgeted. Pop closed his eyes...
I decided to see if I was right about their schedule. "Nowhere to be. Ready for an adventure."
"Wrong," Snap started to say -
But good ol' Crackle looked amazed. "How did -" And then he shut up and shook his head quickly. He cinched their noose good and tight.
"How did... Maybe, how the hell did I know that?"
Crackle winced good and hard. I laughed at him.
"He didn't know, for sure," Pop sighed, "until you started to ask -"
"What?" Snap said. Yup, he was definitely stoned. "Ben! C'mon!"
"Like he didn't already know?" Crackle shook his head. "Look at us."
"Yo," Pop said. "What do we call you, anyway?"
"Name's Rubdog."

The pause that followed was so terrific that I found it hard not to laugh.
"Of course," Pop said, with that pained-impressed smirk again. Snap closed his eyes and strained hard as he could at the straps.
"You're not human, are you?" Crackle asked, looking around.
"Nope. So I'm an 'it'... not a 'he'."
Snap relaxed. I wondered what gruesome things had been floating through his mind. "Let us go, before you get into real trouble."
"You can call me boss, I think. Or master." He flinched. "Kidding."
"Am I the only one who's hearing this shit?" Crackle said. "I must be really stoned."
"Rubdog," Pop said suddenly. "Got a cigarette?"
Interesting. Was this fucker testing me? Or stalling for time?
I floated a carton out -
"Son of a bitch," Snap growled. He looked behind the smokes - for more in sight, I thought. He seemed to know they'd all be forced to overdo a few things, here. "Like you don't smoke when you're drinking," Pop drawled.

"I swear, Chase - Both of you. Quit saying shit like that out loud."
"Well, I'm dyin' for one," Crackle said.
I brought the first cigarette down to him. Yeah, he tugged on that fucker like he was overdue. Pop was served up next...
"No. Thanks," Snap said.
"Being polite, like that, will save you from a world of hurt. But hey - what here could possibly give you the idea that you have a choice?"
Snap frowned, and lit up.
"There you go," I chuckled. "Look at what I caught. A bunch of fuckin' jocks, who'll smoke. Had some blunts in the car too."
"Muther... fuck," Crackle mumbled to himself.
"Tough guys. Illinois men, in really great shape. What sports?"
There was a pause. One of 'em would crack, though, they always -
"Football," Pop finally said. "Ben's a wrestler. Aaron swam and ran track."
"Dude," Snap said, a warning tone in his voice.
"Fuck off," Pop sassed him back, with a little grin. He didn't even move his head. "Pissing him off - uh, pissing it off - ain't gonna fly here."
"You were up for anything. Right?" I said.
Crackle tensed up immediately, eyes darting around...
And so I brought a feather out. Held it high above Pop.
The change in their expressions was one of those moments that made it all worthwhile.

All the work ahead of time and the planning, cleaning up their piss so the skin in that area would get more and more sensitive...
Doomed. They all had the right idea, though the disbelief was stronger on some faces -
"Fuck. Really?" Pop said immediately. "C'mon."
"What is this?" Snap barked... pulling as hard as he could.
Crackle didn't say anything. He looked at his friends, and ended up staring at Pop.
"This is why you're here, dudes." I laughed at their expressions.
"You're out of your mind," Snap said.
"Funny you should say that," I shot back - bringing up two more feathers. "Real... funny."
"No," Pop finally said. "Aw fuck no."
"I think you're amazing. You really... entertain me," I said, "and I'm determined to return the favor."
"You wouldn't," Snap mumbled, staring at the feathers.
I chucked, bringing one down to Crackle. "How about you, buddy? You like to laugh?"
The other two had given themselves away. Crackle - blown away by all the magic that he'd seen - gulped nice and big. He took way too long to answer. "No."
"Three strong men. Caught, hauled off. Hidden. And now you're locked in my... playroom." No point in scaring 'em completely. Pop started writhing after the word "playroom" anyway. "How cool is that? I have plenty of food for you, smokes, booze and weed. More toys that you've ever dreamed of. And since it looks like you're not going anywhere, I'm gonna have an insane amount of fun."

"This c-can't be happening," Crackle whined. "Not that." Pop was fighting to stay calm, because that cat knew it could happen.
"Oh, yeah. That. In fact, let's up the stakes."
I made a dozen oiled rubber gloves float over my shocked captives.
"Aw, no way," Snap protested. Yeah, he'd be pleading before the others. "Just how long do-"
Pop exploded. "Aaron, dammit, shut up! Right now. Don't answer that."
I sent two gloves over each frantic foot.
"Well, I kicked a guy out today - after I caught you - and he got tickled for... two months. Got off way too easy. And there's three ticklish sons of bitches here now."

"Not possible," Crackle said to the gloves. "Months... of ­that."
"Yup. I've got a nice variety of... furniture to hold you real tight. Get at every spot..." I took their cigarettes. Crackle snuck in a last drag out of habit. "All three of you. This is gonna be hysterical! Count on it."
"Two months," Snap said, trying to wrap his mind around how much fuckin' tickling they were about to endure. "HaaaalllllpppPPPP!" he yelled. "Oh, no way you're gonna..."
"Tickle," I said helpfully. "Oh, yeah. And you're the strongest one. Am I gonna tickle you a little bit?" I allowed myself a few mean chuckles. "Why the fuck would I go to all this trouble -"
"Don't," Pop interrupted. "Please."
"He gets it. He knows. I'm gonna tickle you guys all day. Reeeeeeal hard. Keep you conscious, make you eat - lots of protein, and a whole lot of carbs. You know why? So I can tickle you more."

"Somebody's g-gotta find out," Crackle said, "and get us the fuck outa here!"
"In the movies, sure. There's no houses on this road. Just this place. Cool, huh? Nobody's gonna hear you guys laugh, whoop, cackle, howl... roar. Just me. And that's the way I like it. Tickling you as much as I want."
I paused. They were all breathing heavily. I really didn't expect all three to be this susceptible. They were just horrorstruck.
"Good times," I said, using six gloves to take hold of their feet.

They all fell silent. Eyes wide, mouths open. Would I actually do it?
"Just remember, now... I live for this shit. Taking down a bunch of hardbodies? Hell, yeah! You've never taken care of yourselves like I'm gonna take care of you... so I can have... endless fuckin' fun."
Go. A friendly squeeze -
The guys, chained up as they were, gasped for air more or less simultaneously.

Snap closed his eyes immediately and tensed up, gritting his teeth - fighting not to laugh.
Crackle shook his head, as if was a very big deal to tell me that he didn't want to do this.
Pop tried to lift his body, giggling right away. He was the first to take advantage of the foam I'd placed under them, slamming back down and trying to arch his back, pounding his head a few times... and continuing to chuckle.
I trailed greasy fingertips down to their heels, paused briefly and scooted 'em back up to their toes. Over and over.
Crackle was the next to laugh. I was really pleased to hear him ease out a hysterical wail, breaking up into goofy hoots. He had a very reluctant smirk on his face.
Snap went off seconds later. Roaring angrily from the get-go, fighting the straps with such earnest desperation, he threw his head back and forth and settled into piteous whoops.
I put all twelve gloves to use, crawling on their soles and sides and insteps, around their heels and toes.

Crackle and Pop made eye contact, laughing wildly at each other. Snap was too involved in the excitement already. This was not Pop's first time in a situation like this - forced to feel this comprehensive attack. Interesting... When Crackle squinted up at his trapped feet again, I really dug in. He convulsed in a most satisfying way - slow and easy, because he was just too distracted by the howls that he suddenly pounded out.

Pop's eyes were closing. When I started squeezing and rubbing more quickly, that changed. His eyes flew open at the same time he started belting out hysterical, rowdy laughs. It was just perfect that all three were ticklish... but this dude was getting feverish already.
Cuffed and strapped, the jocks couldn't do a damn thing to escape the lubed hands that drove 'em wild.

I dished out the fastest, hardest tickling yet on Snap the magnificent. He found it harder and harder to move. Mewing laughter steadily, from the gut, I saw the telltale signs of a captive completely overwhelmed, focusing harder - which started the relentless escalation of excitement he couldn't possibly handle.
Crackle quieted down about five minutes later.

The sun was going down, and it was just the kind of scene I like best. Securely immobilized men, sweating buckets - but the room had become quieter. A grunt here, a few distracted chuckles there. This one twitched, that distracted one hooted, the last man rolled his head dreamily...

I gave 'em forty-five minutes.

The light had faded considerably. Crackle became aware of his cigarette first. Still loopy, he looked for a lighter. I chuckled softly and brought a Zippo to help him out.
Snap's thoughts were definitely somewhere else. He still chuckled suddenly, gulping and forcing himself to breathe deeply in order to regain his composure. When he had pulled it together enough to recognize the lighter I held in front of him, he frowned a little. But he didn't risk making the flame wait for more than a few seconds, holding the smoke in as I clanked the lid shut.
He was a mess. Now here was a man who was still reverberating, deep inside... trying to remember how to laugh for me, totally confused about whether this was real or a singularly powerful nightmare. Snap smoked hard, opening his eyes now and then just to check if the gloves were still hanging right there. I left the tickle-hands poised over their feet. Trapped soles, taking a break now - but due for so much more coverage. Such superbly accessible targets.
Pop hadn't looked at all. He was smoking as much as the others, but left his eyes closed. Yeah, he had no delusions left. I was going to shred him again any moment now.

Crackle smoked continuously, but he was calming down. He studied the gloves and gradually got a rebellious expression on his face. "They're f-fuckin'... solid," Crackle said quietly. "Strong."
"Endless energy inss-side," Pop finally growled.
"How is that possible, Chase? Empty gloves?"
"Beats the fuck out of me." He looked over to Snap. "Aaron. Dude. You okay?"
"This is... the worst," Snap finally said.
"I know," Pop said, commiserating.
"The most intense fuckin' thing I ever - shit, I keep trying to wake up and that just ain't happening."
"You guys about done?" I said.

"Oh, no. Not...more," Snap said - stupidly.
I brought three water bottles over from behind 'em. "Finish your smokes."
"And then," Crackle spat.
Pop was devoted to getting nicotine in him.
Hell, I even waited for all of them to completely empty their lungs. But did anybody thank me? No. I lifted their heads while they drank slowly.
Let 'em stew in the anticipation for a few seconds.
"Guess what I'm gonna do now," I said proudly.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Pop chanted to himself.
"Don't. C'mon, please don't... keep doing this," Snap said the gloves, pleading with me. It seemed unfamiliar to him.
Crackle was just too blown away to do anything except shake his head.
"Gonna grab onto some ticklish fuckers who can't do a damn thing to stop me."
I brought twelve new gloves out, and sent four over each of their heads.
"For fuck's sake, no," Pop groaned.
They all got to squirming as I curled the satin around their ribs.
"You can't keep doing this to us," Snap wailed.
"Can it?" Crackle muttered.
The rubber gloves that I'd sneakily re-oiled cruised back down... to their legs. Thighs, calves, around their knees.

As soon as I took hold, Pop started laughing drunkenly. Crackle fought to keep the giggles from escaping his mouth, and rolling his head slowly seemed to be part of the plan. Snap looked frantically from one of "his" gloves to the other, looking more and more alarmed, trying to twist the straps loose with vast longing.
I laughed calmly, easily... and started to "massage" my captives.

After a while I snuck more fingers into their armpits.
Crackle launched himself into a frenzy all over again. It was much more distracted, but I did like the way his laughter fell apart. He shook with his mouth wide open, confirming how much more fun I'd have when he was shaved.
Snap hooted again, yearning to pull away from my gloves. They were long, airy sounds. He'd started begging without words. Speeding up on his feet pushed him back into the fever, where the slowly increasing weight of frustration, distraction and delight held his attention.
Pop was a keeper. He was easy to work with. When I started tracing around in his armpits, he seized up and gave me a few gravelly shrieks. I turned up the heat on his ribs, and within thirty seconds he relaxed. New levels of excitement blotted out everything else.
I'd been varying the tempo on my pothead - compared to the steady bulldozing Crackle was suffering through - because he was definitely further along than the others in believing the truth, here. Few guys did away with the usual forms of denial this early. Pop got entirely into trying to keep up, which they all would within a couple hours under my gloves, and he was done hoping for a lucky break.

I didn't fault him for it. They were stuck tight in a situation that none of 'em ever imagined unless a peer or a family member was a serious tickle freak, and I trusted my attention to detail thoroughly overshadowed any and all previous memories. Arrogant types had less reason to prepare for heavy bondage and barbaric exploration of their hypersensitive spots. One of the reasons I was so completely fascinated, naturally, was that I hadn't found a ticklish man yet who was able to cope completely.
Two of my captives had different responses - one seemed to be determined to step back from sensory input, and another had a rare ability to calm himself down. The hitchhiker I just released had done a fine job with all of that higher consciousness bullshit, too, and so had more inner resources than the average western oaf. I admired their self-discipline, since it presented actual resistance to my plans.
Enough hours of oppressive tickling - fierce little attacks, with irregularly timed breaks - would break 'em down like it had for all the others. They'd surrender to the obvious and become unable to bear the increasing impact.
Pop was way ahead of the other two jocks, there. I snuck his thong off first...

17jan23