Mitch
the Ticklish Cop
by Luxanox
Andres Fuentes Escobar
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Mitch
walks up to me while I'm waiting for my luggage to come around on
the carousel.
I don't recognize him at first because he's in uniform, and I think
he's an airport security cop. Plus, I'm intent on grabbing my suitcase
the instant it comes around on the conveyor belt. His deep voice
startles me as he says, "Hey, Barry. You look just like your
picture in the e-mail you sent me."
I turn around to face him, my suitcase forgotten for the moment.
I look up into his smiling face, and my breath leaves me. God, he's
even more gorgeous in person! And he looks so sexy in his uniform.
His arm and pec muscles make his uniform blouse tight in all the
right places. He offers me his hand to shake, and I reach out to
grasp it in mine. I have a firm handshake, but Mitch's grip threatens
to crush the bones in my right hand. My God, he's strong! For a
few seconds I'm at a loss for words. Finally I manage to answer
him. "Hey, Mitch. Thanks for coming to pick me up."
He releases my hand. "No probs, man. I'm glad you could come.
Although I'm not so sure I'm gonna be able to say that in a couple
of hours!" He laughs, but it's a nervous laugh.
I try to put him at ease. "Don't worry, dude. I've never lost
a patient yet!"
He grins back at me. "Better get your bag so we can get out
of here."
I turn around just as it's going by. I grab the heavy suitcase and
pull it off the belt. Mitch takes it from me. He carries it like
it weighs nothing.
We walk to the short-term parking lot. Mitch says, "I came
to get you in an unmarked police car. Didn't think you'd want to
ride in the back seat of a marked police cruiser!"
"Thanks for that, man. You're right. Wouldn't want people to
think I was under arrest!"
Then another thought occurs to me. "Speaking of being under
arrest, I didn't want to risk taking my tickle-toys in my carry-on
bag, so I sent them on ahead. Did you get the package?"
"Yeah, it came yesterday. It's waiting for you at my place."
"How long will it take us to get there?"
"About two hours, give or take, depending on the traffic. But
you got here at a good time of day."
For the next two hours, we carry on a pleasant conversation. Mitch
is easy to talk to, as long as I keep my mind on what we're talking
about. If I let myself think about how handsome and well-built he
is, and how scrumptious he looks in that uniform, I won't be able
to follow the drift of our discussion!
In due time we pull into a well-maintained apartment complex, and
after a couple of turns Mitch pulls the car into a parking spot.
"Here we are."
He gets my bag from the trunk. I follow him up a flight of stairs
and wait while he opens the door of his apartment. "Welcome
to my humble abode."
I step inside. The apartment is big for a one-bedroom, and it's
neat and nicely furnished, although maybe a little on the Spartan
side. Mitch puts my suitcase down beside an end table with a familiar-looking
package on it -- my tickle-tools.
"Would you like something to drink?" Mitch is being a
good host, but I can tell he's trying hard not to show me how nervous
he is. He's almost like a skittish colt that might bolt at any second.
"No thanks." I put my arm on his shoulder. "Just
relax, Mitch. We'll take this slowly." Now that we're alone,
I let my hand move down from his shoulder to his arm. I can feel
the definition of his biceps muscle, even without his flexing it.
Taking my explorations as a cue, Mitch raises both arms in the typical
bodybuilder's pose, displaying both biceps muscles. I feel them
appreciatively. All I can say is, "Wow!"
Suddenly I move my hands downward and poke Mitch in the ribs on
both sides. He breaks into laughter and pulls his arms down instinctively
to protect his sensitive ribs. "Dude, don't do that! I'm too
ticklish!"
"Hey, you have no idea what kind of control it took for me
not to do that while you were driving here for the past two hours!"
Mitch laughs again. Is it my imagination, or did I see some movement
in the front of his uniform pants?
It's time to take the bull by the horns. I put both hands on Mitch's
shoulders and look him square in the eye. "You look great in
your uniform, Stud, but I'd really like to see what those muscles
look like without a shirt covering them." Mitch swallows. "Umm,
okay." He starts to reach for the top button of his shirt,
but I stop him.
"Let me do it." He nods his assent. Before I start to
unbutton his uniform blouse, I run my hands over Mitch's hard pecs.
"Nice," I murmur. Slowly I unbutton the blouse all the
way down, pulling the shirttail from his uniform pants in the process.
Mitch shrugs his way out of the shirt, which I then place carefully
on the back of a dining-room chair. He takes his undershirt off
over his head in one fluid motion, and I get a tantalizing glimpse
of his armpits. He's now bare to the waist.
Mitch stands immobile, waiting for me to say something. I circle
him slowly, getting my first close look at his pecs, his abs, his
arms, his shoulders and his back. My sweet Jesus, he's sooooo much
better-looking in person! My dick is already at half-staff, and
I haven't even touched his bare torso yet!
His hungry eyes search my face, wanting my approval, my admiration.
I give it gladly. "Mitch, dude, your body is phenomenal! The
pics you sent me didn't do you justice. You're fucking built like
a brick wall, man! And your muscles are as hard as bricks, too!"
He smiles (looking relieved, it seems to me) and moves into the
familiar double-biceps pose again. His arms are amazing! I've just
got to touch them -- but as I reach out to do so, Mitch lowers his
arms defensively and takes a step back. I need to reassure him.
"Chill, dude. I was just gonna feel your arm muscles! I won't
tickle you yet, I promise."
He swallows hard and take the pose again. That's good. It shows
how much he trusts me. My hands move all along his biceps and triceps
muscles and up to his deltoids. I feel nothing but solid muscle.
"Damn, Mitch. You're unbelievable. These arms -- well, I don't
even know what to say. They're incredible. And you are fucking HOT!"
Mitch's chest swells with pride. "Thanks, man. That means a
lot. I work out hard to keep my body in as perfect condition as
I can."
"Well, it shows, dude. Great work. Your body is fucking perfect!"
Time to move on, I tell myself.
"Now strip down to your boxers. I want to see those leg muscles,
too."
Mitch doesn't hesitate. He unlaces his patent-leather shoes, and
takes them off. I get a whiff of foot sweat mixed with leather.
It's intoxicating. He peels off one sock and then the other. His
bare feet are nicely formed, and his toenails are neatly trimmed.
He quickly unbuckles his belt, removes his uniform pants, and places
them neatly on the couch.
"Drop and give me fifty push-ups." Mitch obeys. He does
the push-ups effortlessly, then stands back up. His breathing isn't
even slightly labored.
"Now lie down and give me 200 crunches."
Good -- he's doing them the hard way, lacing his hands behind his
head. I devour his deep, hairy pits with my eyes. My dick is fully
hard and leaking. Mitch starts to bend his knees so he can put his
feet flat on the floor, but I shake my head no. "I want to
see the bottoms of your feet, too. Keep your legs straight out in
front of you. I'll hold your ankles for you."
Mitch follows my instructions exactly. He extends his legs all the
way out, and I see his smooth, uncallused soles for the first time.
They are fucking beautiful. I have to use all my powers of concentration
to keep myself from tickling them right here and now!
But I force myself to count out loud while Mitch completes his crunches.
As he does them, his abs become even more defined and sexy. Good
God Almighty!
"195 -- only five more to go, dude! -- 196 -- 197 -- 198 --
two more! -- 199 -- 200! Great job, Mitch! Way to go!"
Mitch is breathing heavier and sweating now, and his hairless chest
and stomach glisten. He wipes his forehead with his hand and wipes
the sweat on his boxers.
I can't stand it any longer. I hold both his ankles with my left
hand, while I lightly tickle the soles of his feet with the fingers
of my right hand. Mitch laughs and tries to pull his feet away,
but I quickly sit on his knees and continue tickling his feet with
both hands. He is nearly in hysterics. I start the tickle-talk:
"Hey, Mitch, it's just a little tickling! A big, strong, muscular
guy like you should be able to take a few tickles! Tough it out,
Mitch! Take it like a man! Fucking deal with it!"
I stop tickling his feet after five minutes. When I do, Mitch remains
on his back, still giggling involuntarily, too weak to move. His
cock is hard as a rock, and there's a big wet spot on the front
of his boxers. He's getting off on this as much as I am.
"I think it's time to move this into the bedroom, Mitch. Let's
get you tied down and get started on the REAL tickling, dude!"
Mitch is still grinning and giggling, but his face turns pale as
he stands up and we move toward his bedroom....
_________
Under my arm I have the package containing my tickle-tools, which
I picked up just before we started down the hall to your bedroom.
My dick is hard, too -- not only from the tickling I've just given
your soft, sensitive feet, but also in anticipation of the more
intense tickling to come!
As we enter your bedroom, I take stock of your bed. It's not as
big as my king-size, but it'll do. I'm already mentally figuring
out how I'll restrain you so that you'll be unable to move. As strong
as you are, I know that if you can get free, you might decide to
beat the shit out of me. Got to make sure that doesn't happen....
You stop at the foot of the bed. "So anyway, here it is. Nothing
fancy, but I'm a financially-challenged bachelor."
"Hey, no worries, Mitch. We can make this work just fine. Now,
while I get this box open and get my things organized, I want you
to move the top mattress completely off the bed, so we can get things
set up."
You nod and get to work. It takes you only a few seconds to get
the job done. Instead of opening my box, though, I watch your muscles
flex as you easily lift the top mattress and set it on its side.
Your beautiful, muscular body reminds me of the Greek myths I used
to read about Hercules and the labors he had to perform.
I finally get the box open and begin to set out my restraints and
ropes. Your eyes widen when you see them, but you manage to stay
calm. You even help me get the ropes tied together so they'll be
the right length for your height. Once we get the ropes arranged,
I ask you to move the top mattress back onto the bed, and you do
so easily.
"Good work, man. Now it's time for you to lose the boxers."
Without a moment's hesitation, you slip them off and drop them beside
the bed. I have to remind myself to breathe. Your body is so goddamned
perfect. I can't believe I get to tickle YOU!!
And now, at long last, it's time to begin! "Okay, Mitch, now
I want you to lie down on the bed, face-up, with your arms and legs
spread." I can tell you're nervous -- you hesitate for just
a moment before you comply. "Yeah, that's it. Show me how a
big, strong cop like you can man up and get ready to be tickled
out of his fucking mind!"
I quickly fasten the restraints around your wrists and ankles, before
you have a chance to think about it too much. I definitely don't
want you to change your mind now!
Once the wrist and ankle cuffs are all secured, I can take my time
making sure everything is tight enough, but not too tight. Immobility
is a good thing; cutting off your circulation is not.
"Okay, Mitch, I think we're about ready to get started. I want
you to test the restraints for me. Flex like you used to for David
and Kent during wrestling practice, and see if you can break free
of the ropes."
You flex and squirm and pull in an effort to get loose. My cuffs
and ropes hold. After a few minutes of struggling, you say, "Nope,
it's no good. I'm not going anywhere until you decide to let me
go." Good. Excellent.
"Are you positive, Mitch? Because I want to make sure you can't
escape once the tickling gets intense. Try again, dude. Try to power
your way out of the restraints!"
You try your best to get free. Once again, I'm encouraged that my
bondage is secure. I also note that your dick, which became soft
during the preparations, is starting to plump up again. You're getting
excited by the helplessness you feel.
"Are you ready, Mitch? I'm going to spend the next three or
four hours tickle-torturing you, dude. I'm going to take you to
the brink of insanity. I'm going to explore and exploit every ticklish
inch of your muscular body, until you beg me to have mercy on you.
And then I'm going to take your hard, hot dick in my hand, and I'm
going to make you beg me to let you cum -- but you'll only get to
cum when I say. For the next few hours, my friend, your hot, muscular
body is all MINE!!"
I bring my hands to within a few inches of your face, and I wiggle
my fingers in a slow, wave-like motion. "Are you gonna be able
to handle this, Mitch? Are you enough of a stud to take everything
I'm going to dish out? Answer me!"
"Yes, Sir, I can take it. I'm a stud. I can handle it. Bring
it on!"
"Very well, Mitch. We'll soon see how much of a man you are.
I'm going to start with a quick survey of your ticklishness, from
head to toe. This will give you just a glimpse of what you're going
to go through in the next 3 or 4 hours."
I walk to the head of the bed, where your left hand is cuffed. I
open your hand with my right hand, while with my left hand I begin
the softest, lightest tickling motions in the palm of your right
hand. You jump in surprise; you didn't realize that the palms of
your hands could be ticklish! But they are. Already you're mouth
is twitching, and you're fighting back a giggle.
"You're kidding me, right? That's the lightest possible tickle
there is! I thought you said you could take it, Mitch. You need
to man up and fucking take it, dude!" But while I'm speaking,
my fingers are continuing their light tickling movements, slowly
moving downward to your wrist and the inside of your right forearm.
It fucking tickles! You squirm, but you're gritting your teeth,
determined not to laugh.
My tickling fingers are crawling toward the inside of your elbow,
where that tender crease is. And as my wiggling fingers tickle you
there, you can't help but release a small giggle against your will.
"So, this is how tough a cop is in Springfield, Missouri, eh?
Your police force must be a bunch of wussies if they're all as giggly
as you are, Mitch. Be a man, dude! If you can't take this, how are
you gonna take the really BAD tickling later? You need to show me
how tough you are, man. Fucking man up and take it!"
My insidiously tickling fingers creep onto your triceps muscle,
moving by degrees closer to the supersensitive skin just abpve your
armpit. By now you're giggling constantly but softly, trying to
hold it in so I won't hear it. You want to be a man, you want to
show me what a tough stud you are, but your body is already betraying
you....
"Do you think I can't hear you giggling, Mitch?"
"I know-ho-ho-ho you can hee-hee-hear me."
"I thought you were a big, tough man. Guess I was wrong."
"I AM ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I'm a big, tough man!"
"Then prove it to me! No more giggling, Mitch! Fucking take
it like a man!"
You set your jaw, determined not to make another sound.
"I'm gonna help you out, Mitch. Maybe tickling you so close
to your armpits, which is one of your most sensitive areas, isn't
fair right at the beginning. So I tell you what -- I'm gonna start
with your feet."
You take a couple of deep breaths, desperately trying to regain
your control as I move to the foot of the bed. You almost chanting
to yourself, "I can do this. I'm a man. I can handle this.
No more laughing. I'm gonna fucking take it like a man."
That resolve lasts until you feel the almost electric shock of my
index finger stroking the tender sole of your right foot from heel
to toes. You jerk involuntarily and almost yelp out loud. An identical
stroke on the sole of your left foot finds you barely holding on
to your control. And when I use both index fingers to stroke both
soles at the same time, you let out a little screech, totally against
your will. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!" I hear you saying
to yourself. I smile.
"I guess you really ARE fucked, Mitch. See, we're just getting
started. Wait until I tickle both feet with ALL of my fingers at
once! And from what you've told me, your feet aren't even one of
your most ticklish spots. Yeah, Mitch, I'd say you're royally screwed."
"Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man...." you keep repeating
under your breath.
"Let's get started then, my great big muscular cop friend.
Which foot shall I start with?"
You close your eyes tightly. "I don't care, I don't want to
know. You choose."
You don't know it, but because you've closed your eyes, you're going
to feel the tickling even more intensely, just because you can't
see where I'm about to tickle and therefore can't prepare yourself
for it. Sure enough, you lose it the moment I start tickling your
right foot again.
Oh God oh God oh God NO-O-O-O-O-O!! Plee-hee-hee-hee-hease STOP
stop stop stop, I'm BEGGING you-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! I can't fucking
TAKE this ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
"Dude, you're really disappointing me here. Fight it, Mitch!
Come on, man, you've got to fucking FIGHT IT. Just like you used
to do when David and Kent tickled you, remember? Fucking flex your
way through it, dude. Prove to me what a tough son-of-a-bitch you
are!"
"Oh God oh God I'll TRY but it tickles so-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho fucking
BAD ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I don’t know-ho-ho-ho-ho
if I can TAKE this oh shit shit shit!"
I stop the foot tickling for a few seconds to give you a chance
to get a few deep breaths and to give you yet another shot at fighting
the awful ticklish feelings. But suddenly I start up again wth all
five fingers going crazy on the sole of your left foot. Your hot,
muscular body is covered in a sheen of sweat from all the squirming
and flexing. I can tell you're trying to fight the sensations with
all your might, but it's not going very well....
And then I look up to see that your dick is as hard as a rock and
glistening with pre-cum!
You had told me that being tickled by your wrestling coaches made
you hard, but seeing it in person surprises me. As vehemently as
you're protesting my tickling you, your body is telling me how much
you want it, how intensely you crave it, and how turned on by it
you are.
My own face is flushed with the sexual rush of tickling you. I'm
getting uncomfortable in my sweaty clothes, so I quickly strip them
off and throw them on the floor behind me. My hard dick sways heavily
from side to side. I visually compare our hard dicks and find that
yours is bigger, but not by much.
"Wow -- awesome boner, Mitch. Guess you really are a stud!
So let's see what kind of self-control you have. I wonder if you
can keep yourself from cumming...."
With those words, I wrap my left hand around the wet and still-leaking
knob of your dick. I spread your natural lube all over the knob
and down the shaft, moving slowly and deliberately. Your eyes grow
even wider than before. Your lips part in an involuntary moan of
pleasure.
"Tell me, Mitch, are you a stud? Are you a real man?"
"Yes! I'm a real man. I'm a stud! I can control myself. I can
keep from blowing my load, you'll see!"
Your mouth closes in a determined line. I can see you clenching
your jaw. You're so sure that -- unlike with the tickling -- you
can win, you can dominate, when it comes to your sexual reactions.
But what you don't realize is that I'm even more determined to MAKE
you shoot your wad!
"Yes, Mitch, you're right -- I will see. And you're doing well
at controlling yourself so far. But I have many ways to break you,
my friend. Shall I show you just one of them?"
"Yeah, show me, man. Do your worst! You're not gonna make me
shoot my load. NO FUCKING WAY!"
"I hear you, Mitch. Well then, show me your control when I
do this!"
My right hand moves up your chest and finds your left nipple. I
rub and stroke it gently, and once again your body betrays you.
The nub of your sensitive nipple responds to my stroking. It grows
pinker in color and hardens between my fingertips. Your hard dick
spurts out more pre-cum.
"Ohhh, man, that is SO unfair!"
"Hey, I told you that I was going to do my best to make you
cum. And this is just the beginning, Mitch. You said you could handle
this! Are you losing control already? Maybe I can help you out a
little, you know? Maybe I can do something to help you forget how
good this feels. You want me to do that, Mitch?"
"Hey, dude, I CAN handle this! You'll see! You do whatever
you fucking want to me. I am NOT gonna fucking cum, because I AM
a fuckin’ stud!"
“Whatever you say, Mitch. I'll just keep going,
then, since you say you can take it."
My left hand moves back up your shaft to the knob of your hard-on,
and with a twisting movement of my hand I continue to spread your
pre-cum and further stimulate the sensitive area just underneath
your piss slit. Your body writhes in response to my touch.
Now you're talking to yourself again, giving yourself a pep talk.
"Come on, man, you can take this! You're a man, you're a stud,
you can handle -- oh, FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
That outburst is the result of my right hand's moving across your
chest to your right nipple and giving it the same treatment I gave
the left one. In mere moments it's as hard as its twin. I watch
as your jaw clenches and unclenches. You've closed your eyes, and
you're repeating a desperate mantra: "I will NOT cum! I will
NOT cum! I will NOT cum!'
"You know, Mitch, I can see you're fighting a losing battle
here. So I'm gonna help you out. I'm gonna take your mind off of
your dick and how fucking great it's feeling. I'm gonna help you
out by doing this!"
My hands leave your dick and nipples. They move to your sides, and
my fingertips begin to massage your ribs.
"Oh, NO-O-O-O-O-O, not that!! Not my fucking RIBS! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!
That's just fucking WRONG! Oh God oh God ohGodohGodohGodohGod ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
STOP STOP STOP!!"
Your head is jerking from side to side. Your muscular body is tensing
up, trying to twist away from my tickling fingers, and sweat is
dripping down your forehead. Your chest and your armpits are gleaming
with sweat.
"Fight it, Mitch! Come on, dude! Fucking flex your way through
it, Mitch! That's the only way you're gonna be able to take this!
Show me what an athlete you are. Flex and power your way through
this, Mitch! Yeah, that's it! Make those gorgeous, hard muscles
work for you, man!"
And you're doing your best to flex, you really are. Your face is
turning red, and you're emitting little grunts as you try to focus
on powering your way through the awful, constant tickling. And it
works -- for a little while. But you can't fight those incessant
ticklish feelings forever. And I know you can't. And you know that
I know....
And now my fingers are moving again. They find the ridges of your
abdominals and dig into them. My right index finger circles your
sensitive belly button, then suddenly dips into it. And that’s
when you lose it once again. You actually scream in a decidedly
unmanly fashion, at least an octave above the normal pitch of your
voice. And now -- now you know that I'm going to break you. You've
already lost control a couple of times, and you've only gotten it
back because I've given you a break.
But I haven't even gotten to your worst tickle-spots yet, and you
know it!
"What was THAT, Mitch?? Sounded like a girl screaming. Surely
that wasn't you, was it, my studly friend?"
You're finding it hard to form words and coherent thoughts, because
the tickling is continuing on your abdominals and in your belly
button. Occasionally my fingers stray over to your ribs again briefly,
which makes your laughter go up a notch in intensity.
"Y-YES, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, that was me-hee-hee-hee oh man oh
man oh man, oh fuck fuck fuck FUCK!! Will you-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo PLE-hee-hee-hee-heease
STOP TICKLING me-hee-hee-hee!! I can't TAKE this much longer ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!"
"Well, then, Mitch, if you REALLY want me to stop tickling
you, I'll have to go back to playing with your dick. And you were
having a hard time controlling THAT, too, remember?"
"Yes yes yes YES go back to my dick! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha I don't
fucking CARE oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck PLEASE stop stop stop
STOP THE TICKLING HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!"
"Okay, Mitch, if that’s what you want."
And finally, finally, the horrible tickling stops. Your chest heaves
up and down rapidly, and you feel like you've just completed a 10K
run. Your body is covered with sweat.
I move to get something else out of my black bag. You wonder what
it is -- after all, nothing that's come out of that bag so far has
been good news for you!
"This is warming lubricant, Mitch. All I have to do is spread
some of this on your dick, and my hand is gonna feel like the hottest
sex you've ever had. You think you’re man enough
not to cum when I do that, Mitch?"
Your breathing is steadier, and you can form coherent sentences
again. "I told you before, man, I can control my body! I fuckin’
cum when I want to. I'm a stud, and if I don't want to cum, there's
nothing you can do to MAKE me cum!"
"You don't sound quite as sure of yourself as you did before,
Mitch. Maybe you just want to skip this part, and we can go back
to the tickling. What do you say?"
NO!! No more tickling!! I told you, I can take whatever you can
dish out. Do your worst, man!"
"All right, Mitch, if that's the way you want it." I squeeze
a glob of the lube onto my left hand, and slowly apply it to your
dick.
The effect is instantaneous. "Oh. My. GOD!! What the FUCK?!
That stuff DOES make your hand feel like the best sex I've ever
had! Ohhh, YEAH....." Your eyes close in pleasure, and your
hips start thrusting upward, making your dick move into my fist.
"Remember, Mitch, the idea is for you NOT to cum. Seems to
me that you're actually TRYING to cum. I thought real men had better
control of themselves than that...."
You shake your head and open your eyes again. You make your hips
stop their movement. Your breathing starts to slow down again.
"Yeah -- yeah, you're right. I'm a real man. Gotta stay in
control. I'm not gonna cum. You'll see. You can't make me cum!"
"Oh, really??" I smile evilly. Then I start up the movement
of my left hand again, slowly, maddeningly, moving up to engulf
your dickhead with my fingers and thumb, twisting my hand slightly.
My thumb brushes over the most sensitive part of your dick, once,
again, a third time.
"Mmmmm -- oh my god, dude, that feels so fucking GOOD!!"
My right hand moves up to caress and pinch and twist your sensitized
nipples. Then it leaves your nipples to cradle your ballsack, gently
moving your jewels around inside it. More moans escape your lips.
"Tell you what, Mitch. Since you're not doing too great a job
of showing me how well you can control your body and its reactions,
let's change the game. Now I want you to TRY to make yourself cum.
And I'm going to do my best to bring you right up to the verge of
orgasm WITHOUT letting you cum. And we'll see who wins, okay?"
"Yeah, okay, that's cool. I'll bet I can win that game! I can
make myself cum anytime I want. NOW I'll prove to you what a stud
I am! I'll bet I can fucking cum two or three times!"
"Okay, Mitch, game on!"
Once again you start thrusting your pelvis, making your dick move
into and out of my fist. Your breathing speeds up, your hips move
faster and faster, your balls start to draw up close to your body.
You're almost there --
-- and suddenly I take my hand completely off your dick, leaving
you with no stimulation.
"What the FUCK did you do that for?? I was so CLOSE!!"
"I know you were. Remember, I'm supposed to keep you from cumming.
That's what I just did. Looks like I won that round. Ready to go
again?"
"Hell, yeah. And this time I'm gonna cum before you can do
anything about it. Bring it on!"
"Very well...."
My left hand goes to work on your leaking dick again. I concentrate
on the mushroom head, using my hand to engulf it and stimulate it
to the max. You're moaning rhythmically now, matching your words
to the movement of your pelvis. "Oh, yeahhh." thrust,
"that's good," thrust, "right there," thrust,
"like that," thrust, "ohhh, FUCK," thrust, "don't
stop!" thrust, "shit, yeah!" thrust, "I'm close!"
thrust, "oh, God!" thrust, "so good!" thrust,
"fuck, YEAH!" thrust.
The speed and power of your thrusts has been increasing slowly.
Your eyes have closed, and now you're uttering a monosyllable with
each one: "Yeahhh," thrust, "Fuck!" thrust,
"So-o-o-o" thrust, "Damn" thrust, "Close!"
thrust, "Ooooh" thrust, "YEAH" thrust, "SHIT!"
thrust, "NOW --"
--and you thrust your dick into empty air! My hand is gone again!
"You BASTARD! You motherfucking PRICK! I was so damned CLOSE,
you fucking SHIT!"
I just grin back at you. "That's the idea, Mitch. Looks like
I win again!"
And so it goes for the next forty-five minutes. I let you cool down
for about a minute, then my expertly stroking hand works its magic
again. You get to the edge of the precipice each time, only to find
that the stroke that'll push you over the edge just isn't there!
And time after time you're so frustrated that you hurl invectives
at me in combinations I've never even heard. This happens three
times -- six times -- nine times -- twelve times!
Finally I say: "Mitch, do you want me to let you cum this time?"
Half-crazy with lust and frustration, you snarl, "What do YOU
think?!?"
"I'll let you cum if you'll agree to let me tickle you nonstop
for the next two hours."
And -- because you'll do anything, ANYTHING, to cum at this point
-- you agree....
In seconds my hand wraps around your impossibly hard dickhead again,
and the previous scenario repeats. But this time, when you get to
the edge of the precipice, I push you over!
"Ohhh, FUUUUUUUUCK!!!" you scream, as your first blast
of jism hits the wall behind your headboard. The second volley hits
you square in the face, the third reaches your neck, the fourth
lands on your chest, the fifth pools in your navel, and the remaining
three ooze over my hand and drip into your pubes. "Uuuunh!"
you moan, as you collapse onto the soaked bedsheets, completely
drained.
I wipe the cum from your face and from my hand with a cold, wet
washcloth. I offer you a drink of bottled water, which you guzzle
greedily while I clean up your pubes. I let you rest for a full
minute. Then I kneel down so that my mouth is right next to your
left ear, and I say: "Now it's time to keep your promise, Mitch.
Your ticklish armpits are MINE for the next TWO HOURS!!"
In a flash I've straddled your body and before you can even protest,
my fingers have found the twin spots just above the tufts of hair
in your upper armpits, and they've begun to wiggle slowly across
those sensitive patches of skin. Almost instantly you're laughter
becomes hysterical, and I haven't even gotten to your actual armpits
yet!
Already you're begging through your laughter: "Oh God PLEASE
stop! Don't ha-ha-ha-ha! tickle my PITS! No no no no no STOP not
there not there oh fuck fuck fuck FUUUCK!!! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!
I CAN'T STAND IT!! PLEASE NO MORE PLEEEEEEASE!!"
But my fingers have begun their descent. They move through the matted
tufts of hair in your upper armpits and down into the deep, muscular,
impossibly ticklish hollows themselves. Your words are no longer
intelligible. In a few more moments, there are no words at all,
only prolonged, high-pitched screams -- "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!"
-- as my fingers continue to create the horrible sensations that
you'd give anything to be able to escape.
And still my merciless fingers continue to wiggle, stroke, and jab,
unpredictably varying their method and changing their location,
each hand independent of the other. Occasionally one hand will leave
your armpit and tickle your ribs, abs, or belly button, only to
return in a few moments to your wet, sensitized pit and continue
its tickle-torture!
Your voice becomes raspy and then ragged, and finally you are unable
to make sounds at all. Your mouth opens and your throat tries to
emit sound, but none comes out. That happens during the first hour;
the second hour has been soundless except for the noises made by
your weak struggling and your labored breathing.
Twice during the first hour, I felt your hard prick poking me in
the back. You'd told me that armpit tickling in particular aroused
you sexually, and the two loads that you'd shot all over my back
and ass have proven that statement to be true. Now your head is
tossing back and forth again, and I feel another poke on my back;
you must be getting close to cumming for the fourth time in two
hours. Ah, yes, I just felt another wet spurt on my back! And you
aren't the only one who's had multiple orgasms while I've been tickling
your armpits -- I've had two of my own, and now my dick is ramrod-hard
again and ready for my third.
But now (at long last, according to you) the two hours of armpit
tickling are over, and I climb off the bed. I unhook your wrist
and ankle restraints, and you immediately curl up into the fetal
position and fall into exhausted sleep.
As I cover your naked body, I say aloud, "Yes, Mitch, get your
rest while you can. Today's only Saturday, and I'll be here all
this week. We'll have LOTS more time to play!"
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