Patrick instalment 2/8 I think. Might be 2/9, I lost count.
Check my profile for links to the rest of the series if interested.
Patrick couldn’t resist a few minutes of tickling my feet before he released me from the rack for the next chapter of our group tickle adventure. After a good deal of additional giggling and squealing, Patrick finally unfastened me, handed me a gown and slippers and ushered me upstairs with an affectionate spank of my ass.
“Come upstairs when you’re ready. Anthony is in the guest bedroom. He has some things we would like you to wear. I have to help Ron with something.”
“Yes Sir.”
I watched Patrick trot his large frame up the stairs from the basement, his huge cock swinging against his thighs, temporarily sated. Something to wear? Patrick didn’t usually care much about outfits and roleplay. Intrigued, I nursed the feeling back into my wrists where I had struggled against the ties, and I padded up the stairs. As I emerged into the ground floor hallway, Ron and Patrick passed me carrying a large wooden board. Patrick gave me a wink and they passed me and went into the living room. Obediently, I went upstairs again to find the beguilingly beautiful Anthony.
I arrived at the guest bedroom door and knocked.
“Come in sweetness,” said Anthony in his seductively effeminate tones.
I pushed open the door to the room containing Patrick’s X-frame bondage device. Anthony was inside touching his makeup back up after it had been thoroughly smeared all over his face by Ron’s cock. He was wearing a Japanese schoolgirl style cropped white shirt with black neckerchief revealing his slim midriff, long black silk gloves past his elbows, sheer nylon stockings and an indecently short pleated dark grey schoolgirl skirt, not long enough to cover the curves where his pert butt met his thighs. Through the sheer nylon of his stockings I could see that his toenails were painted the same purple as his lipstick. His bunches were untied and his hair was held close in net. There was a black leather collar around his neck.
“One last detail,” he said with a naughty smile. He retrieved a chin-length blonde wig from an open case at the end of the bed and positioned it on his head. He giggled coyly and pointed at the case. I looked down to see a similar outfit waiting.
“We took the liberty. Pat knew your sizes by heart. He said he could have picked out your outfit by tongue alone.”
“Wait… I’m going to wear…” I pointed from the case to Anthony’s own ensemble. He giggled again. I had to admit, between his girlish giggles, smooth skin and now the perfect sissy outfit, I found him almost irresistible and I was starting to get hard again just looking at him as he finished his makeup and positioned his hair.
“Your turn!”
Anthony took off my robe and slippers and, patted the bed where I should sit. He proceeded to sit on the floor and cradled each of my feet in his hands as he painted my toenails and blew on them.
“Pat took a bit of convincing about the nail varnish but Ron persuaded him that you and I would just look too darling together all matching.”
Anthony dressed me as he was dressed and chatted to me about his and Ron’s sexual escapades while we waited for the nail polish to dry. For the most part, I was able to match him story for story, all tickle torture themed of course. He and Ron had been a tickle-couple for longer and he was far more experienced, but Patrick and I had some entertaining tales to tell. By the time my toes were dry and ready for the sheer stockings, we were both rock hard from flirting and teasing. As he applied my makeup, his face was inches from mine and the urge to kiss him was strong. I was certain he knew.
“Well, don’t you just look delicious?” Anthony took my hand and led me to the full length mirror for the two of us to admire each other. I was unaccustomed to quite such overt displays of submissiveness but it did excite me. He turned and raised his nylon clad soles to the mirror one by one, wiggling his toes and bade me do the same. Neither of our tiny pleated skirts hid our excitement. I glanced down at Anthony’s hardness, peeking out from under his skirt, and then up into his eyes. He smiled at me with undisguised lust and stroked a single gloved finger along the length of mine causing me to shiver.
“Plenty of time for that sweetness. Besides, I think we’d get in trouble. The boys are probably getting impatient. Shall we?”
“What are they going to do to us?”
“It’s a surprise. You’ll like it. Come on.”
He took my hand again and led me down the stairs to the living room.
“About time. But damn! You boys were worth the wait eh Pat?” said Ron, leering at us as we entered the room. Ron’s approval was obvious and instantaneous. He walked straight over and grabbed a handful of Anthony’s ass. Patrick looked me up and down with curiosity as he folded the Financial Times he’d been reading. He walked over, his robe hanging open as usual and as he paced around me examining my attire, I watched his cock go from idle to fully erect in the space of three circles around me. His eyes lingered on my painted toes, visible through the nylon hose. Just as Anthony had, Patrick turned me away from him and lifted my feet one at a time to admire my nylon soles. I wiggled my toes for him.
“And you say the hose makes the feet even more ticklish Ron?” he asked.
“Oh yes. It definitely does but you can always rip it and roll it up to his ankles if you want bare soles. Trust me Pat, this is going to be your new addiction.”
My eyes left Patrick’s cock for a moment to glance around the room and they settled on the coffee table. The board I had seen them carrying was G-clamped to it as either end and in the centre of each of the free sides stood two semi-circular ankle cuffs. In the direct centre of the board was a padded area. It took me a little while to figure out what it was for. Next to the coffee table, open on the rug either side, lay two briefcases filled with the tools of the tickle-torture trade – feathers, metal claws, whartenberg wheels, massagers, electric toothbrushes, spiky rubber pet grooming gloves, massage oil etc. Ron and Patrick both smiled knowing smiles as they spotted my eyes fixated on it. Patrick pointed at the exposed wooden beam in the ceiling above the table. There was a sturdy looking metal hook screwed into it. Ron and Anthony were kissing passionately, Anthony’s exquisite makeup already getting smudged. They took a break to address me.
“Come on over and we’ll answer all those questions your cute little mouth is too polite to ask,” said Ron.
Ron and Patrick each produced a leather lead. Ron clipped his to Anthony’s collar and Patrick claimed me similarly. They led us over towards the coffee table and Anthony gave me a cheeky wink. As we arrived, Ron grasped the lead right at the clip by Anthony’s neck and began slowly to lower him down to his knees.
“Do you like the workmanship babe?” Ron asked, indicating the coffee table attachment he had brought.
“Yes Daddy,” said Anthony, moments before his lips became otherwise engaged mouthing sensually at Ron’s cock. I looked up at Patrick.
“I should explain how it works…” Patrick took Ron’s lead and gently ushered me to kneel and begin sucking his unmanageably big cock which I happily did.
“Ron and I will be cuffing your ankles into the cuffs you see there… Mmmm, good tickle boy. Suck Master’s cock. You and Anthony will be fastened in face to face with your knees together on the pads there. Your wrists will be cuffed above you and clipped to the ceiling hook. Ron and I will then… tickle… your feet until we judge that you have squealed enough to earn a fucking.” Patrick took the time to pick out the word ‘tickle’ and emphasize it as he knew perfectly well how the threat made my pulse race and my cock stiffen.
Patrick parted my mouth from his cock roughly by my collar, impatient to progress to the tickle torture. The change was subtle, but he didn’t await Ron’s cue this time. Instead, Ron followed his and I heard Anthony’s lips smack followed by a deep gasp for breath. Patrick’s few moments of unfamiliarity with this new expression of roles were dispelled. He was back in charge.
Anthony and I obediently climbed onto the coffee table and he fondled my butt under my short skirt while Ron and Patrick fastened the cuffs down over our ankles trapping our nylon clad soles in prime tickle position. They hoisted our arms up, cuffed our wrists and clipped the four adjoining cuffs to up onto the hook. Patrick poured himself and Ron a generous Sherry each and the two big Dom’s sat down on cushions and made themselves comfortable. Anthony’s face was even closer to mine this time. His eyes were staring into mine. I was not sure if I would be permitted to kiss him so, abashed I averted my gaze. He began subtly rubbing his exposed navel against mine, our cocks touching and lightly stroking against each other.
“Cheers,” said Patrick. They clinked their Sherry glasses and enjoyed the view of our trapped hosed feet and the curiously naughty upskirt view of our butts directly above and in front of their faces.
“Fucking Cheers Pat! Didn’t I tell you? Don’t they look fucking hot in those little miniskirts?”
“I admit Ron, they do look rather sweet.”
“Are you ready to get tickled babe? Huh? Are you ready to giggle for Daddy? Wiggle those piggies for me. Ooooooh fuck yeah…”
Despite Ron’s loud threats, Patrick was the first to pull the trigger and my feet were first to feel the drag of a single finger down each sole from heel to toes quickly. I yelped and squirmed against Anthony who smiled with amusement at my awkwardness as he waited breathlessly for his own torture to begin. As ridiculous as it was, I was about to instinctively apologise for jostling him when Patrick ran his fingers down my soles again and simultaneously Anthony burst into giggles as Ron’s fingers dived into the fray. We were away.
Anthony and I proceeded to perform a St Vitus dance of ticklish squirming as Patrick and Ron enjoyed our feet. The table was less suitable than the rack for sensual toe-sucking since the angles of our down pointing toes were wrong. However, what it lacked in foot worship it more than made up for in pure tickle-torture capacity. Anthony and I were able to wiggle our feet independently of each other, which I had long since come to realise could be even more psychologically torturous. The ticklee was kept struggling, seemingly on the cusp of evading the tickling but no relief ever really came. Compared to full toe-tied immobilisation, we were given the tantalising illusion of possible relief and the futile struggle for it was audible in our laughter. Patrick and Ron enjoyed the show of our cute helpless feet wiggling in distress and the nylon stockings did indeed allow their fingernails to glide unchecked across the soft flesh of our soles, rendering us even more ticklish as promised.
Anthony and I were utterly unable to hide our innermost ticklish noises from each other as we laughed into each other’s faces and on each other’s shoulders. Occasionally Patrick or Ron would stand up and tickle our exposed armpits, then sit back down again to rake fingernails down our soles. This apparently gave Anthony an idea as he started applying darting licks to my pits in between shrieking with laughter.
After a while, Ron and Patrick traded places and Anthony and I were treated to different styles of foot tickle torture. Ron’s approach was a full frontal attack lacking subtlety. It was a step up in terms of his determination to chase down my tickle spots and he grunted and threatened and bullied exuberantly, but he didn’t have the familiarity and cleverly sadistic tickling expertise which Patrick had. You couldn’t tell from my laughter though. We were approaching a full half hour of our Master’s luxuriating on their cushions and non-stop tickling our feet.
Ron scribbled his fingernails in my arches frenetically.
“That’s right tickle-boy, laugh for your Uncle Ron! Yeah baby, wiggle these ticklish little feetsies for me… Awww, is widdle baby tickly on his widdle feetsies?”
“YEEHEEEHEESSSSS!!”
“Awww, that’s too bad because They’re just too fucking cute not to tickle! Coochie coochie fucking coo baby!”
Ron gave me another minute or so of quick scratchy tickles right in the centre of both arches before he rose to his knees, grasped my bare ass and started to lick-tickle my buns.
“Do you like to tease guys with your hot little feet huh?”
“YEEHEHEHEEESSS!!”
“Yeah? You like it when guys get all hard and dripping over your ticklish toes huh? Like to tease?”
“YEEHEHEESSS RON, I DO!!”
“Call me Uncle Ron.”
“YYEEHEHEEESSS UNCLE RON!!! EEEHEEHEHEE!!!”
Ron sat back down and resumed tickling my feet, his fingers exploring all over heels, arches, tops, sides and especially working in under the toes.
“My good buddy Pat tells me you’re the most ticklish in between your toes. Is that right Tickle-boy?”
“YEEHEHEHEEHSSS!! MY TOES!!”
“Hehe. You love it huh? Love when you tease a guy enough that he ties you up and gets his revenge you by tickling your poor soft ticklish little feetsies huh?”
“YEEHEHESSS UNCLE RON!!”
“Say you love it!”
“I LOVE IT… HEEEHEHEEEEHEHEEEE!! …UNCLE RON! EEHEHEEEHEHEHEEE!!”
“Say ‘I love getting tickled on my cute little feetsies and toesies like a little tickle bitch’”
“I LOVE GETTING TICKLED… EEHEHEHEHEE!! …ON MY CUTE LITTLE FEETSIES…”
“…and toesies.”
“AND TOESIES… HEHEHEHEEEHEE!!”
“…like a little tickle bitch.”
“LIKE A LITTLE TICKLE BITCH!!”
I finished the requested sentence with prompts from Ron, laughing far too hard to attempt it in one breath. I squealed it directly into Anthony’s beautiful laughing face but there was little I could do about that now.
“Mmm, Ron. Anthony’s toes are so slender. I may have to have a foot job from him later. Let’s switch again. I want to squeeze a few more breathless squeals out of my own darling tickle boy.”
Ron and Patrick switched again, affording Anthony and me a second or two to catch our breath before we were plunged back into fits of giggles.
“Time,” said Patrick with booming finality. I recognised the urgency in his voice. He stood up and growled into my ear. I was light headed from laughing. My poor feet were tingling from nearly a full hour of pure torture and my makeup was streaked with tears. I heard the click of a lube bottle and some sloshing. Patrick lubed my ass up urgently and sloppily, then I was vaguely aware of the bottle being handed to Ron. I opened my eye and looked into Anthony’s eyes as we both fell silent, our mouths forming ‘O’s of intense pleasure/pain as we were both violated at the same time. Patrick exhaled in my ear, a primal animal noise of hunger as I felt his whole length slide inside me. Ron was predictably vocal and coarse as his slid inside Anthony. There they held, not moving. They had prepared this…
They both reached up and began tickling our armpits. I realised their intent. This was to be a deeply frustrating experience for Anthony and I. We were forced to wiggle and dance and squirm, each impaled on our Master’s slippery cock and only by the motions of ticklish wiggling would we provide the pleasure to work our Masters to climax. They had clearly agreed upon this as an extension of the torture. I could not help but squirm and writhe and laugh myself hoarse again as my contortions drew moans of pleasure from Patrick. The protracted tickle torture session had whipped Patrick and Ron both into a fury and the tickle-fuck torture was mercifully short before Ron and Patrick both began to mount towards orgasm, each still staying as still as a statue apart from their fingers in our exposed armpits.
Eventually Ron’s will broke first and he roughly fucked Anthony with several hard thrusts before moaning a string of obscenities and spraying cum deep into his beautiful boyfriend. I received no such reprieve. Patrick’s will was iron. He stayed the course and allowed himself no rhythmic thrusting, only the pleasure of manipulating me by tickles. Eventually he too dug his fingers into my sides and bore forwards, moaning as successive waves of pleasure engulfed him and quarts of pent up cum sprayed out into me to squirt out down the sides of his still iron hard cock.
Ron and Patrick both slumped back down to the cushions. Anthony looked at me with a look which seemed to say “I told you you’d like it”. His smugness was interrupted by surprised giggles as Ron began to molest his feet again.
Check my profile for links to the rest of the series if interested.
Patrick couldn’t resist a few minutes of tickling my feet before he released me from the rack for the next chapter of our group tickle adventure. After a good deal of additional giggling and squealing, Patrick finally unfastened me, handed me a gown and slippers and ushered me upstairs with an affectionate spank of my ass.
“Come upstairs when you’re ready. Anthony is in the guest bedroom. He has some things we would like you to wear. I have to help Ron with something.”
“Yes Sir.”
I watched Patrick trot his large frame up the stairs from the basement, his huge cock swinging against his thighs, temporarily sated. Something to wear? Patrick didn’t usually care much about outfits and roleplay. Intrigued, I nursed the feeling back into my wrists where I had struggled against the ties, and I padded up the stairs. As I emerged into the ground floor hallway, Ron and Patrick passed me carrying a large wooden board. Patrick gave me a wink and they passed me and went into the living room. Obediently, I went upstairs again to find the beguilingly beautiful Anthony.
I arrived at the guest bedroom door and knocked.
“Come in sweetness,” said Anthony in his seductively effeminate tones.
I pushed open the door to the room containing Patrick’s X-frame bondage device. Anthony was inside touching his makeup back up after it had been thoroughly smeared all over his face by Ron’s cock. He was wearing a Japanese schoolgirl style cropped white shirt with black neckerchief revealing his slim midriff, long black silk gloves past his elbows, sheer nylon stockings and an indecently short pleated dark grey schoolgirl skirt, not long enough to cover the curves where his pert butt met his thighs. Through the sheer nylon of his stockings I could see that his toenails were painted the same purple as his lipstick. His bunches were untied and his hair was held close in net. There was a black leather collar around his neck.
“One last detail,” he said with a naughty smile. He retrieved a chin-length blonde wig from an open case at the end of the bed and positioned it on his head. He giggled coyly and pointed at the case. I looked down to see a similar outfit waiting.
“We took the liberty. Pat knew your sizes by heart. He said he could have picked out your outfit by tongue alone.”
“Wait… I’m going to wear…” I pointed from the case to Anthony’s own ensemble. He giggled again. I had to admit, between his girlish giggles, smooth skin and now the perfect sissy outfit, I found him almost irresistible and I was starting to get hard again just looking at him as he finished his makeup and positioned his hair.
“Your turn!”
Anthony took off my robe and slippers and, patted the bed where I should sit. He proceeded to sit on the floor and cradled each of my feet in his hands as he painted my toenails and blew on them.
“Pat took a bit of convincing about the nail varnish but Ron persuaded him that you and I would just look too darling together all matching.”
Anthony dressed me as he was dressed and chatted to me about his and Ron’s sexual escapades while we waited for the nail polish to dry. For the most part, I was able to match him story for story, all tickle torture themed of course. He and Ron had been a tickle-couple for longer and he was far more experienced, but Patrick and I had some entertaining tales to tell. By the time my toes were dry and ready for the sheer stockings, we were both rock hard from flirting and teasing. As he applied my makeup, his face was inches from mine and the urge to kiss him was strong. I was certain he knew.
“Well, don’t you just look delicious?” Anthony took my hand and led me to the full length mirror for the two of us to admire each other. I was unaccustomed to quite such overt displays of submissiveness but it did excite me. He turned and raised his nylon clad soles to the mirror one by one, wiggling his toes and bade me do the same. Neither of our tiny pleated skirts hid our excitement. I glanced down at Anthony’s hardness, peeking out from under his skirt, and then up into his eyes. He smiled at me with undisguised lust and stroked a single gloved finger along the length of mine causing me to shiver.
“Plenty of time for that sweetness. Besides, I think we’d get in trouble. The boys are probably getting impatient. Shall we?”
“What are they going to do to us?”
“It’s a surprise. You’ll like it. Come on.”
He took my hand again and led me down the stairs to the living room.
“About time. But damn! You boys were worth the wait eh Pat?” said Ron, leering at us as we entered the room. Ron’s approval was obvious and instantaneous. He walked straight over and grabbed a handful of Anthony’s ass. Patrick looked me up and down with curiosity as he folded the Financial Times he’d been reading. He walked over, his robe hanging open as usual and as he paced around me examining my attire, I watched his cock go from idle to fully erect in the space of three circles around me. His eyes lingered on my painted toes, visible through the nylon hose. Just as Anthony had, Patrick turned me away from him and lifted my feet one at a time to admire my nylon soles. I wiggled my toes for him.
“And you say the hose makes the feet even more ticklish Ron?” he asked.
“Oh yes. It definitely does but you can always rip it and roll it up to his ankles if you want bare soles. Trust me Pat, this is going to be your new addiction.”
My eyes left Patrick’s cock for a moment to glance around the room and they settled on the coffee table. The board I had seen them carrying was G-clamped to it as either end and in the centre of each of the free sides stood two semi-circular ankle cuffs. In the direct centre of the board was a padded area. It took me a little while to figure out what it was for. Next to the coffee table, open on the rug either side, lay two briefcases filled with the tools of the tickle-torture trade – feathers, metal claws, whartenberg wheels, massagers, electric toothbrushes, spiky rubber pet grooming gloves, massage oil etc. Ron and Patrick both smiled knowing smiles as they spotted my eyes fixated on it. Patrick pointed at the exposed wooden beam in the ceiling above the table. There was a sturdy looking metal hook screwed into it. Ron and Anthony were kissing passionately, Anthony’s exquisite makeup already getting smudged. They took a break to address me.
“Come on over and we’ll answer all those questions your cute little mouth is too polite to ask,” said Ron.
Ron and Patrick each produced a leather lead. Ron clipped his to Anthony’s collar and Patrick claimed me similarly. They led us over towards the coffee table and Anthony gave me a cheeky wink. As we arrived, Ron grasped the lead right at the clip by Anthony’s neck and began slowly to lower him down to his knees.
“Do you like the workmanship babe?” Ron asked, indicating the coffee table attachment he had brought.
“Yes Daddy,” said Anthony, moments before his lips became otherwise engaged mouthing sensually at Ron’s cock. I looked up at Patrick.
“I should explain how it works…” Patrick took Ron’s lead and gently ushered me to kneel and begin sucking his unmanageably big cock which I happily did.
“Ron and I will be cuffing your ankles into the cuffs you see there… Mmmm, good tickle boy. Suck Master’s cock. You and Anthony will be fastened in face to face with your knees together on the pads there. Your wrists will be cuffed above you and clipped to the ceiling hook. Ron and I will then… tickle… your feet until we judge that you have squealed enough to earn a fucking.” Patrick took the time to pick out the word ‘tickle’ and emphasize it as he knew perfectly well how the threat made my pulse race and my cock stiffen.
Patrick parted my mouth from his cock roughly by my collar, impatient to progress to the tickle torture. The change was subtle, but he didn’t await Ron’s cue this time. Instead, Ron followed his and I heard Anthony’s lips smack followed by a deep gasp for breath. Patrick’s few moments of unfamiliarity with this new expression of roles were dispelled. He was back in charge.
Anthony and I obediently climbed onto the coffee table and he fondled my butt under my short skirt while Ron and Patrick fastened the cuffs down over our ankles trapping our nylon clad soles in prime tickle position. They hoisted our arms up, cuffed our wrists and clipped the four adjoining cuffs to up onto the hook. Patrick poured himself and Ron a generous Sherry each and the two big Dom’s sat down on cushions and made themselves comfortable. Anthony’s face was even closer to mine this time. His eyes were staring into mine. I was not sure if I would be permitted to kiss him so, abashed I averted my gaze. He began subtly rubbing his exposed navel against mine, our cocks touching and lightly stroking against each other.
“Cheers,” said Patrick. They clinked their Sherry glasses and enjoyed the view of our trapped hosed feet and the curiously naughty upskirt view of our butts directly above and in front of their faces.
“Fucking Cheers Pat! Didn’t I tell you? Don’t they look fucking hot in those little miniskirts?”
“I admit Ron, they do look rather sweet.”
“Are you ready to get tickled babe? Huh? Are you ready to giggle for Daddy? Wiggle those piggies for me. Ooooooh fuck yeah…”
Despite Ron’s loud threats, Patrick was the first to pull the trigger and my feet were first to feel the drag of a single finger down each sole from heel to toes quickly. I yelped and squirmed against Anthony who smiled with amusement at my awkwardness as he waited breathlessly for his own torture to begin. As ridiculous as it was, I was about to instinctively apologise for jostling him when Patrick ran his fingers down my soles again and simultaneously Anthony burst into giggles as Ron’s fingers dived into the fray. We were away.
Anthony and I proceeded to perform a St Vitus dance of ticklish squirming as Patrick and Ron enjoyed our feet. The table was less suitable than the rack for sensual toe-sucking since the angles of our down pointing toes were wrong. However, what it lacked in foot worship it more than made up for in pure tickle-torture capacity. Anthony and I were able to wiggle our feet independently of each other, which I had long since come to realise could be even more psychologically torturous. The ticklee was kept struggling, seemingly on the cusp of evading the tickling but no relief ever really came. Compared to full toe-tied immobilisation, we were given the tantalising illusion of possible relief and the futile struggle for it was audible in our laughter. Patrick and Ron enjoyed the show of our cute helpless feet wiggling in distress and the nylon stockings did indeed allow their fingernails to glide unchecked across the soft flesh of our soles, rendering us even more ticklish as promised.
Anthony and I were utterly unable to hide our innermost ticklish noises from each other as we laughed into each other’s faces and on each other’s shoulders. Occasionally Patrick or Ron would stand up and tickle our exposed armpits, then sit back down again to rake fingernails down our soles. This apparently gave Anthony an idea as he started applying darting licks to my pits in between shrieking with laughter.
After a while, Ron and Patrick traded places and Anthony and I were treated to different styles of foot tickle torture. Ron’s approach was a full frontal attack lacking subtlety. It was a step up in terms of his determination to chase down my tickle spots and he grunted and threatened and bullied exuberantly, but he didn’t have the familiarity and cleverly sadistic tickling expertise which Patrick had. You couldn’t tell from my laughter though. We were approaching a full half hour of our Master’s luxuriating on their cushions and non-stop tickling our feet.
Ron scribbled his fingernails in my arches frenetically.
“That’s right tickle-boy, laugh for your Uncle Ron! Yeah baby, wiggle these ticklish little feetsies for me… Awww, is widdle baby tickly on his widdle feetsies?”
“YEEHEEEHEESSSSS!!”
“Awww, that’s too bad because They’re just too fucking cute not to tickle! Coochie coochie fucking coo baby!”
Ron gave me another minute or so of quick scratchy tickles right in the centre of both arches before he rose to his knees, grasped my bare ass and started to lick-tickle my buns.
“Do you like to tease guys with your hot little feet huh?”
“YEEHEHEHEEESSS!!”
“Yeah? You like it when guys get all hard and dripping over your ticklish toes huh? Like to tease?”
“YEEHEHEESSS RON, I DO!!”
“Call me Uncle Ron.”
“YYEEHEHEEESSS UNCLE RON!!! EEEHEEHEHEE!!!”
Ron sat back down and resumed tickling my feet, his fingers exploring all over heels, arches, tops, sides and especially working in under the toes.
“My good buddy Pat tells me you’re the most ticklish in between your toes. Is that right Tickle-boy?”
“YEEHEHEHEEHSSS!! MY TOES!!”
“Hehe. You love it huh? Love when you tease a guy enough that he ties you up and gets his revenge you by tickling your poor soft ticklish little feetsies huh?”
“YEEHEHESSS UNCLE RON!!”
“Say you love it!”
“I LOVE IT… HEEEHEHEEEEHEHEEEE!! …UNCLE RON! EEHEHEEEHEHEHEEE!!”
“Say ‘I love getting tickled on my cute little feetsies and toesies like a little tickle bitch’”
“I LOVE GETTING TICKLED… EEHEHEHEHEE!! …ON MY CUTE LITTLE FEETSIES…”
“…and toesies.”
“AND TOESIES… HEHEHEHEEEHEE!!”
“…like a little tickle bitch.”
“LIKE A LITTLE TICKLE BITCH!!”
I finished the requested sentence with prompts from Ron, laughing far too hard to attempt it in one breath. I squealed it directly into Anthony’s beautiful laughing face but there was little I could do about that now.
“Mmm, Ron. Anthony’s toes are so slender. I may have to have a foot job from him later. Let’s switch again. I want to squeeze a few more breathless squeals out of my own darling tickle boy.”
Ron and Patrick switched again, affording Anthony and me a second or two to catch our breath before we were plunged back into fits of giggles.
“Time,” said Patrick with booming finality. I recognised the urgency in his voice. He stood up and growled into my ear. I was light headed from laughing. My poor feet were tingling from nearly a full hour of pure torture and my makeup was streaked with tears. I heard the click of a lube bottle and some sloshing. Patrick lubed my ass up urgently and sloppily, then I was vaguely aware of the bottle being handed to Ron. I opened my eye and looked into Anthony’s eyes as we both fell silent, our mouths forming ‘O’s of intense pleasure/pain as we were both violated at the same time. Patrick exhaled in my ear, a primal animal noise of hunger as I felt his whole length slide inside me. Ron was predictably vocal and coarse as his slid inside Anthony. There they held, not moving. They had prepared this…
They both reached up and began tickling our armpits. I realised their intent. This was to be a deeply frustrating experience for Anthony and I. We were forced to wiggle and dance and squirm, each impaled on our Master’s slippery cock and only by the motions of ticklish wiggling would we provide the pleasure to work our Masters to climax. They had clearly agreed upon this as an extension of the torture. I could not help but squirm and writhe and laugh myself hoarse again as my contortions drew moans of pleasure from Patrick. The protracted tickle torture session had whipped Patrick and Ron both into a fury and the tickle-fuck torture was mercifully short before Ron and Patrick both began to mount towards orgasm, each still staying as still as a statue apart from their fingers in our exposed armpits.
Eventually Ron’s will broke first and he roughly fucked Anthony with several hard thrusts before moaning a string of obscenities and spraying cum deep into his beautiful boyfriend. I received no such reprieve. Patrick’s will was iron. He stayed the course and allowed himself no rhythmic thrusting, only the pleasure of manipulating me by tickles. Eventually he too dug his fingers into my sides and bore forwards, moaning as successive waves of pleasure engulfed him and quarts of pent up cum sprayed out into me to squirt out down the sides of his still iron hard cock.
Ron and Patrick both slumped back down to the cushions. Anthony looked at me with a look which seemed to say “I told you you’d like it”. His smugness was interrupted by surprised giggles as Ron began to molest his feet again.
