Solestripper
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2005
- Messages
- 255
- Points
- 28
One hour later, I was now spread-eagled naked on bedroom’s bed, “four cornered”, wrists and ankles tied up with leather straps to bed’s bars. I wasn’t going to be tortured in the dungeon this time, which foolishly reassured me for a little while.
— Henry, Henry, it seems we found out most of our little guest’s spots. What about focusing on his upperbody throughout next session? This part of John’s body responded so well…
— Your wish is my command, my dear.
Then Mistress S, who had taken off her pumps, knelt astride my arms, in such a way her crotch immobilized my head, while Master H knelt astride my pelvis.
— Darling, you’re going to tell our ticklish little boy a story, cause little boys always love to be told stories, don’t they? Don’t you too, John?
— I’ll be glad to, Susan, while you tickle his underarms a bit to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.
— Ooo! Darling! Too bad we never had children, cause you’re so fatherly!
Have you ever been a victim of the “Cow-boys and Indians” tickle game, dear readers? I’ve passed through it a couple of times when I was younger, once in particular, when gang tickled by military duty mates… I immediately understood I was going to endure a XXL version of it. Though, the fact that the torturers apparently didn’t intend to get my feet briefly appeased me.
— “Raw, raw, raw your boat gently down the stream”, Mistress S sung.
— Eee!! What are you doing?
— Mmm, Henry, it seems that Little John’s neck and ears are much more sensitive than before.
True. As a starter, ten “spider legs” were exploring my ears, then moving from my ears to my neck, then wandering in my neck, then moving from my neck to my ears, and so on…
— Ee!! Ticklish… Ticklish…
— Enough with this child’s play, Susan, please! Don’t be so childish! Master H commented.
— Isn’t it charming to hear our Little John shriek like a baby again? Mistress S teased. What about his tiny nipples?
— Eeee!!! So ticklish… Can’t breathe… Not there! Not theere!!
— Guili guili sur les petits tétons si sensibles! (which can be translated by “Coochie coo on these so sensitive tiny nipples!”)
Never in my life had I imagined I could be broken only by such a light nipple tickling. I couldn’t move at all. And the sensations were unbearable, as Mistress S brushed each of my nipples with one sharp fingernail, drew circles around them, went back to my ears and neck, scratched down my chest to torture my nipples again.
— Not there, I beg you! Not theere!!
Then I was granted a short rest, as Mistress S meticulously oiled all of the areas Master H and her were going to work on, which meant: armpits, chest, sides, waist and belly. Afterwards, Master H began to tell me a story…
— Once, in far, far West, Cow-boys and Indians prepared for a battle. Cow-boys had set up their camp right heeere…
— No! Noo!!! Nooo!!! Not that… Not thaaaat!!!!
— Or rather heeere…
— Pleeeease!!!
He poked each of my left ribs faster and faster, deeply, with one finger, then each of my right ribs (Indians had to set up their camp too…), making me squeal.
— Can’t take it… No more!… No moooore!!!!
Meanwhile, Mistress S lightly tickled my armpits, the tender skin of my underarms, going up, going down.
— Not both at a time… Mercy! Not booooth!!!!
— Yeees, both at a time, poor ridiculously ticklish thing! Your ordeal has only just begun.
— Beg you… beg you… Eeee!!!! Ee!! E! Eeee! Ee!! E!
— Then, one day, Master H went on, a few pathfinders from each army went down in the valley…
And while speaking, he started wandering up and down my sides with both hands, before focusing on the remarkably tickle spots he had found on both sides of my waist, driving me crazy, as his wife kept on alternately torturing my armpits and my nipples with fingernails.
— I’m gonna die! Stop! Please, stoooop!!!!
Then they stopped, as I was about to faint. To faint, and to cum, under the pressure and the movements of Master H who knelt astride my pelvis. 20 minutes had elapsed, as I could see from the clock on the wall.
— Hey, Susan, this little pig is gonna cum on my leather trousers!
— Ooo, such a shame! I think he deserves a bit of ice cube torture to get colder.
One minute later, she brought back an ice cube she first applied on my nipples, before chilling my bellybutton, than my genitals, making it carefully glide up and down the back of my cock, around my glans.
— Well, Susan, attention! Make sure he doesn’t cum now!
I didn’t. The worst part of this second session was still to come, as Master H, who had temporarily changed position, in order to leave his wife work on me, went on telling his story. Both torturers had now taken their former position back.
— Now, between Cow-boys and Indians, there’s necessarily going to be a battle.
— Not that, please, not that! Eeeee!!!! Ee! E!
Mistress S had started tickling my armpits again, more vigorously this time.
— And then, one day, suddenly, both armies decided to attack each other…
— Noooo!!!! Noooo!!!!... Stop! Stoop!! Stooop!!!
My ribcage was being tickle devastated by two merciless five finger armies.
— Let’s make it suffer 20 minutes strict, Henry! He deserved it!
— Oh yes, oh yes, oh yeees!!!
— Can’t breathe… Aaaaa!!!!... Eeeee!!!! Can’t take it… No moooore!!!!
How could I survive such tickle torture? I still wonder. For they really showed no mercy, sarcastically laughing at me, taunting me.
— Give me a break… Give me a break… A breaaaak!!!!
— Hey, dear Henry, he’s right: we’ll give him a break. More than one break. Many, many breaks. But he’ll never know it, because he’ll be blindfolded.
— I understand what you mean, Susan. Let’s do that to him.
— Not the blindfold… Not the blindfold… I can’t stand darkness.
But my beggings were ignored. Soon, I was blindfolded and ball gagged on the bed, as the torture went on.
— Mmm… Mmm… Mmm…
— Ooo! He’s not so easy now, Mistress S teased.
Then I understood what they meant by “many, many breaks”, because they began to alternate longer and longer, unpredictable, relentless tickle attacks on my upperbody and shorter and shorter breaks. Throughout this part of the session, the worst nightmare was the wait: I knew what would come next, but never knew when precisely they were going to attack my pits, ribs, sides and belly. This was a psychological torture as a tickle one. How many minutes did they leave me without a break at the end of the session? I coulnd’t tell, having been driven crazy, and brought to total distress.
— Well, well, well, dear Henry! Let’s say he’s had enough, Mistress S eventually said.
Both of them had now left the bed. I could hear them whisper.
— Dear Little John, Master H said. We both think you deserve a little reward for being such a ticklish worm for us tonight. Was I going to be drained? I needed it, for I was as ruined as aroused by the torture. At least, the ball gag had been removed. I could speak and breathe.
— No more, please, no more tickling tonight: I can’t take it anymore.
— Let’s release these magnificent ticklish feet from their straps, Dear Henry. But before, you have to promise not to move after we did, or we’ll need to use a very cruel technique. Put him a new pair of black nylons, darling!
So they were about to work on my feet again.
— Noo!! Not the feet! Not the feet!
— What? Master H asked teasingly. You barely gave them a 5/10, remember.
— Eeeee!!!! I yelled, while taking my feet off his fingers.
— Hey! If you can’t stay still, we’ll have to be more severe. Last chance.
Then he brought my feet back and started tickling them again, from heels to toes.
— Eeee!!!! Ee!! E! Eeee!!! Ee!! E! I’m dying. I’m dyiiing!!!
But, as I had taken my feet off once more, the tickle session suddenly became harder, for Mistress S sadistically bound my nipples to my big toes with small clamps and highly strung chains.
— Now, if you move, you’ll feel more pain than tickling. Thank us!
Then the torture started again, Mistress S now slowly raking my nyloned soles, brushing my toes and cushions. The sensory deprivation caused by the blindfold and the test of will I was submitted to, due to the chains and clamps, added to the excruciating sensations. I moaned, I roared, I cried, I screamed, soon unable not to move my feet. I couldn’t but try to escape the tickling.
— Stoop!! Stooop!!! Stoooop!!!! Mercy me… Mercy me… Mercy meeee!!!! Aaaaaa!!!!!
— Ooo, I love the way you are begging and struggling, poor little thing! Mistress S commented. Dear Henry, time for gran finale has come.
Then Master H started digging his fingers in my armpits, while Mistress S kept on brushing my nyloned soles. It seemed my nipples were being ripped off from my chest. Though, I felt my cock harden and harden, and my balls near to explode, due to this tickle humiliation which was as creative, exciting as painful.
— Aaaaa!!!! Enough! Enough! Aaaaa!!!! Eeeee!!!!
Then they stopped.
— Before we let you have a rest, you’ll have to pass another test of will dear, John, Mistress S whispered in my ear. Would you like to undergo 15 minutes post-orgasm tickle torture?
— No, no, noo!!
— All right. Then DO not cum now!
And while she said that, his husband and her, first tied up my feet again spread-eagle with straps to the sides of bottom bar’s upper edge, then slipped a thick pillow behind my pelvis, so that my ass and genitals were exposed.
— You WILL resist the feather, otherwise you’ll be post-orgasm tickle tortured! Mistress S ordered.Guili, guili, guili sous ce joli petit pénis! (Coochie Coochie coo on this nice tiny penis!)
— Not so tiny now, Master H taunted.
— Please! Don’t do that… Not the feather… Pleeease!!! I screamed, as a feather.
— So what? Didn’t you beg us to make you cum a while ago? He added. You now have to choose: cumming or no more tickling.
— Beg you… Gonna pass out…
— Ooo! Darling, he’s not easy at all. My little finger tells me he’s going to jerk very, very soon.
— Eeee! Ee! E! Not the balls too! Not the baaalls!!!
For she had started tickling my balls with her fingernails, while feathering my cock.
Then I moaned, moaned, louder and louder, then screamed, as a warm and creamy geyser sprung from my balls.
— Failed, Master H laconically said.
To be continued.
— Henry, Henry, it seems we found out most of our little guest’s spots. What about focusing on his upperbody throughout next session? This part of John’s body responded so well…
— Your wish is my command, my dear.
Then Mistress S, who had taken off her pumps, knelt astride my arms, in such a way her crotch immobilized my head, while Master H knelt astride my pelvis.
— Darling, you’re going to tell our ticklish little boy a story, cause little boys always love to be told stories, don’t they? Don’t you too, John?
— I’ll be glad to, Susan, while you tickle his underarms a bit to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.
— Ooo! Darling! Too bad we never had children, cause you’re so fatherly!
Have you ever been a victim of the “Cow-boys and Indians” tickle game, dear readers? I’ve passed through it a couple of times when I was younger, once in particular, when gang tickled by military duty mates… I immediately understood I was going to endure a XXL version of it. Though, the fact that the torturers apparently didn’t intend to get my feet briefly appeased me.
— “Raw, raw, raw your boat gently down the stream”, Mistress S sung.
— Eee!! What are you doing?
— Mmm, Henry, it seems that Little John’s neck and ears are much more sensitive than before.
True. As a starter, ten “spider legs” were exploring my ears, then moving from my ears to my neck, then wandering in my neck, then moving from my neck to my ears, and so on…
— Ee!! Ticklish… Ticklish…
— Enough with this child’s play, Susan, please! Don’t be so childish! Master H commented.
— Isn’t it charming to hear our Little John shriek like a baby again? Mistress S teased. What about his tiny nipples?
— Eeee!!! So ticklish… Can’t breathe… Not there! Not theere!!
— Guili guili sur les petits tétons si sensibles! (which can be translated by “Coochie coo on these so sensitive tiny nipples!”)
Never in my life had I imagined I could be broken only by such a light nipple tickling. I couldn’t move at all. And the sensations were unbearable, as Mistress S brushed each of my nipples with one sharp fingernail, drew circles around them, went back to my ears and neck, scratched down my chest to torture my nipples again.
— Not there, I beg you! Not theere!!
Then I was granted a short rest, as Mistress S meticulously oiled all of the areas Master H and her were going to work on, which meant: armpits, chest, sides, waist and belly. Afterwards, Master H began to tell me a story…
— Once, in far, far West, Cow-boys and Indians prepared for a battle. Cow-boys had set up their camp right heeere…
— No! Noo!!! Nooo!!! Not that… Not thaaaat!!!!
— Or rather heeere…
— Pleeeease!!!
He poked each of my left ribs faster and faster, deeply, with one finger, then each of my right ribs (Indians had to set up their camp too…), making me squeal.
— Can’t take it… No more!… No moooore!!!!
Meanwhile, Mistress S lightly tickled my armpits, the tender skin of my underarms, going up, going down.
— Not both at a time… Mercy! Not booooth!!!!
— Yeees, both at a time, poor ridiculously ticklish thing! Your ordeal has only just begun.
— Beg you… beg you… Eeee!!!! Ee!! E! Eeee! Ee!! E!
— Then, one day, Master H went on, a few pathfinders from each army went down in the valley…
And while speaking, he started wandering up and down my sides with both hands, before focusing on the remarkably tickle spots he had found on both sides of my waist, driving me crazy, as his wife kept on alternately torturing my armpits and my nipples with fingernails.
— I’m gonna die! Stop! Please, stoooop!!!!
Then they stopped, as I was about to faint. To faint, and to cum, under the pressure and the movements of Master H who knelt astride my pelvis. 20 minutes had elapsed, as I could see from the clock on the wall.
— Hey, Susan, this little pig is gonna cum on my leather trousers!
— Ooo, such a shame! I think he deserves a bit of ice cube torture to get colder.
One minute later, she brought back an ice cube she first applied on my nipples, before chilling my bellybutton, than my genitals, making it carefully glide up and down the back of my cock, around my glans.
— Well, Susan, attention! Make sure he doesn’t cum now!
I didn’t. The worst part of this second session was still to come, as Master H, who had temporarily changed position, in order to leave his wife work on me, went on telling his story. Both torturers had now taken their former position back.
— Now, between Cow-boys and Indians, there’s necessarily going to be a battle.
— Not that, please, not that! Eeeee!!!! Ee! E!
Mistress S had started tickling my armpits again, more vigorously this time.
— And then, one day, suddenly, both armies decided to attack each other…
— Noooo!!!! Noooo!!!!... Stop! Stoop!! Stooop!!!
My ribcage was being tickle devastated by two merciless five finger armies.
— Let’s make it suffer 20 minutes strict, Henry! He deserved it!
— Oh yes, oh yes, oh yeees!!!
— Can’t breathe… Aaaaa!!!!... Eeeee!!!! Can’t take it… No moooore!!!!
How could I survive such tickle torture? I still wonder. For they really showed no mercy, sarcastically laughing at me, taunting me.
— Give me a break… Give me a break… A breaaaak!!!!
— Hey, dear Henry, he’s right: we’ll give him a break. More than one break. Many, many breaks. But he’ll never know it, because he’ll be blindfolded.
— I understand what you mean, Susan. Let’s do that to him.
— Not the blindfold… Not the blindfold… I can’t stand darkness.
But my beggings were ignored. Soon, I was blindfolded and ball gagged on the bed, as the torture went on.
— Mmm… Mmm… Mmm…
— Ooo! He’s not so easy now, Mistress S teased.
Then I understood what they meant by “many, many breaks”, because they began to alternate longer and longer, unpredictable, relentless tickle attacks on my upperbody and shorter and shorter breaks. Throughout this part of the session, the worst nightmare was the wait: I knew what would come next, but never knew when precisely they were going to attack my pits, ribs, sides and belly. This was a psychological torture as a tickle one. How many minutes did they leave me without a break at the end of the session? I coulnd’t tell, having been driven crazy, and brought to total distress.
— Well, well, well, dear Henry! Let’s say he’s had enough, Mistress S eventually said.
Both of them had now left the bed. I could hear them whisper.
— Dear Little John, Master H said. We both think you deserve a little reward for being such a ticklish worm for us tonight. Was I going to be drained? I needed it, for I was as ruined as aroused by the torture. At least, the ball gag had been removed. I could speak and breathe.
— No more, please, no more tickling tonight: I can’t take it anymore.
— Let’s release these magnificent ticklish feet from their straps, Dear Henry. But before, you have to promise not to move after we did, or we’ll need to use a very cruel technique. Put him a new pair of black nylons, darling!
So they were about to work on my feet again.
— Noo!! Not the feet! Not the feet!
— What? Master H asked teasingly. You barely gave them a 5/10, remember.
— Eeeee!!!! I yelled, while taking my feet off his fingers.
— Hey! If you can’t stay still, we’ll have to be more severe. Last chance.
Then he brought my feet back and started tickling them again, from heels to toes.
— Eeee!!!! Ee!! E! Eeee!!! Ee!! E! I’m dying. I’m dyiiing!!!
But, as I had taken my feet off once more, the tickle session suddenly became harder, for Mistress S sadistically bound my nipples to my big toes with small clamps and highly strung chains.
— Now, if you move, you’ll feel more pain than tickling. Thank us!
Then the torture started again, Mistress S now slowly raking my nyloned soles, brushing my toes and cushions. The sensory deprivation caused by the blindfold and the test of will I was submitted to, due to the chains and clamps, added to the excruciating sensations. I moaned, I roared, I cried, I screamed, soon unable not to move my feet. I couldn’t but try to escape the tickling.
— Stoop!! Stooop!!! Stoooop!!!! Mercy me… Mercy me… Mercy meeee!!!! Aaaaaa!!!!!
— Ooo, I love the way you are begging and struggling, poor little thing! Mistress S commented. Dear Henry, time for gran finale has come.
Then Master H started digging his fingers in my armpits, while Mistress S kept on brushing my nyloned soles. It seemed my nipples were being ripped off from my chest. Though, I felt my cock harden and harden, and my balls near to explode, due to this tickle humiliation which was as creative, exciting as painful.
— Aaaaa!!!! Enough! Enough! Aaaaa!!!! Eeeee!!!!
Then they stopped.
— Before we let you have a rest, you’ll have to pass another test of will dear, John, Mistress S whispered in my ear. Would you like to undergo 15 minutes post-orgasm tickle torture?
— No, no, noo!!
— All right. Then DO not cum now!
And while she said that, his husband and her, first tied up my feet again spread-eagle with straps to the sides of bottom bar’s upper edge, then slipped a thick pillow behind my pelvis, so that my ass and genitals were exposed.
— You WILL resist the feather, otherwise you’ll be post-orgasm tickle tortured! Mistress S ordered.Guili, guili, guili sous ce joli petit pénis! (Coochie Coochie coo on this nice tiny penis!)
— Not so tiny now, Master H taunted.
— Please! Don’t do that… Not the feather… Pleeease!!! I screamed, as a feather.
— So what? Didn’t you beg us to make you cum a while ago? He added. You now have to choose: cumming or no more tickling.
— Beg you… Gonna pass out…
— Ooo! Darling, he’s not easy at all. My little finger tells me he’s going to jerk very, very soon.
— Eeee! Ee! E! Not the balls too! Not the baaalls!!!
For she had started tickling my balls with her fingernails, while feathering my cock.
Then I moaned, moaned, louder and louder, then screamed, as a warm and creamy geyser sprung from my balls.
— Failed, Master H laconically said.
To be continued.
Last edited:
