By Lyle Blake
Adam was the most gorgeous freshman at Hunter College. He had a stunning swimmer’s body, hair the color of the sun, a movie star face.
It seemed that no one was immune to his physical beauty. When he came into a room everything stopped. Straight guys spilled drinks and walked into doors. Gay guys fainted and went into seizures. I don’t know what women did; when you were looking at Adam-you forgot that there was such a thing as a second sex. Actually, you forgot that there was anybody else on the planet but you and him.
My friend Joel and I got to see a lot of Adam because he lived on our floor. one night in early September, after we had consumed a massive quantity of beer with Adam and his best friend from high school who was visiting him for the weekend, Joel started bitching about Adam. Joel’s body had not been blessed by nature or perfected by regular workouts on an athletic team. He was short and slight, and I suppose he must have been making comparisons between himself and our beefy friend. While Adam was down the hall showing his visitor where the bathroom was, Joel began ranting.
“Jesus, I’m so jealous of Adam’s looks I’ve been shitting green bricks. It’s not fair that he should look like that and be happy at the same time. He ought to be made to squirm and beg.”
He was going on in this vein when Adam came back in with his friend Stuart. Adam was dropping Stuart off before heading across campus to fulfill a promise he had made to deliver some lecture notes to this girl in his biology class. Like me and Joel, the two of them were literally reeling from the effect of the brews we had downed, and Stuart seemed to be in a particularly playful mood.
Adam was wearing a chopped-off T-shirt that revealed his well-muscled stomach and deep belly button, and I had to suppress a moan of lust when I looked at his body.
Maybe Stuart felt some of the same things I did, even though he had “straight boy” written all over him, because he extended a long index finger and drilled it into the tight jumping muscles of Adam’s stomach. Adam’s body was gripped in one huge twitching shiver, like the victim of a strong electric shock, and he let loose with an enormous giggle as he pulled away from Stuart’s wiggling finger.
“You know better than that,” Adam laughed as he slid out the door.
Stuart chuckled to himself and sank to join me and Joel on the floor, and I asked him what that scene had been about.
He smiled lazily. “Oh, Adam’s always been extremely ticklish as long as I’ve known him. But after he’s been drinking he’s incredibly, unbelievably ticklish. I mean, he would probably die of shame if it was widely known, but you catch him when he’s really bombed and you’ve got the most ticklish guy on the East Coast. I like to tease him about it because he’s always pulling this super jock act and being tickled when he’s high is the one thing he absolutely cannot handle.”
Joel’s eyes were huge; they looked almost black in the candlelight. “So where’s he especially ticklish?” he said, whispered.
“Oh, God, you name it. All along his sides and up under his arms would be the worst places for him. Everywhere on his stomach. Inside his belly button. On the bottoms of his feet. Provided he’s had enough to drink, there’s probably not a square inch of skin anywhere on his body that you can touch without making him laugh.” He slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes, evidently unaware of the powerful ammunition he had just given us. Joel was looking at me with the most amazing expression on his face.
Stuart chuckled again. “One time last year he almost lost it entirely. Like I said, Adam likes to play Mr. Macho when he’s in school. This was just before his birthday, and he was swaggering around like the toughest seventeen year-old God ever created. We spent the entire lunch period in the woods near the school, celebrating his upcoming eighteenth by working on a fifth of vodka, and when we got finished we could hardly walk.
But Adam had made a horrible mistake, because the class we had immediately after lunch was phys. ed., and we were doing wrestling that day. He had to take part in a demonstration of various wrestling holds, and this smirky smart aleck named Glenn was paired with him. Right at the beginning of class Adam gave it all away; he was on all fours, with Glenn kneeling beside him with his right arm over Adam’s back and his right hand on Adam’s right side. Glenn moved his hand just a little bit, sliding it back and forth over the T-shirt hanging loose on Adam’s torso, and Adam jumped like he had been shot. The alcohol was burning up in his bloodstream and right at that moment he couldn’t stand to be touched. Well, Glenn figured out right away what was going on. He didn’t let on at first, but then they wrestled and Glenn ended up pinning Adam. He was lying on top of his, with his strong legs pinning Adam’s legs and his left arm holding Adam’s arms back above his head, so Adam was stretched out on his back and absolutely helpless at the moment.
“Then Glenn took his right hand and reached up underneath Adam’s T-shirt and started lightly tickling him in the ribs, and I thought Adam was going to die right in front of us. He was wriggling and gasping and laughing like a madman, but Glenn had him held tightly and there was nothing he could do but lie there and take it. The coach finally broke it up and made some remark about how he had never seen anyone quite that ticklish before, and Adam had a red face for the rest of the day.”
Stuart idly scratched his balls, an expression of rich amusement settling on his face. “Yeah, you just can’t tickle Adam when he’s smashed. It’s his worst weakness.”
Joel was sitting there with his mouth hanging open, and his pants showed a hardon the size of the Brooklyn Bridge. “We’re gonna have us some fun,” he murmured. “All it’ll take is the right time.” He shot me a steely look. “You’ve started your job at the campus gym, right?” I nodded, and he went on. “Make sure you keep a bottle of something with you when you’re on duty. I think old Adam might like to have a few drinks late one night in the weight room, don’t you? After everybody else is gone and the gym is closed for the night?” He grinned wickedly, and I felt my own crotch start to stir.
Our timing for this little stunt was perfect, because just that week Adam had drifted into the gym to talk to me about starting a weight training program. His years on his high school swim team had sculpted his torso into a state of absolute perfection, so it was ridiculous that he felt the need to build up his upper body, but some guys are never satisfied. I knew that he would be back soon. I set aside a bottle of cheap red wine and made an agreement with Joel that he could hide in the office on the nights I worked the weight room. We felt we would not have long to wait. We were right.
It was late on a quiet Wednesday when Adam showed up. No one was left in the weight room, and I engaged him in conversation until the hands of the clock had crept past closing time. Excusing myself briefly, I ran down to the outside door and locked it, effectively sealing myself, Adam, and the hidden Joel into the otherwise empty gym. Then I returned to the weight room.
It didn’t take much urging to convince Adam to join me in hitting the wine, and within half an hour we were flying. He was leaning back against the wall, his eyes glazed and a silly grin on his handsome face, while I felt my pulse quicken as I thought of what Joel and I were going to do to him.
“You know, Adam,” I said thickly, as the booze lay heavy on my tongue, “I think there’s a lot to be gained from regular weight training. It looks to me like you’ve already got a big headstart. Why don’t you take off your shirt and let me get a look at your build?”
He slipped his T-shirt off promptly, obviously proud of what he had to show. It was easy to study his definition, because he was one of those very lucky boys whose bodies have not been disfigured with chest hair. The pecs were smooth and solid, and my mouth started to water as I got another look at the rippling stomach muscles that had caught my eye the night we had gotten drunk with his friend Stuart.
He had kicked off his sneakers when we started to relax, so all he was wearing now was a pair of silky nylon running shorts that showed off his long strong legs. They were also slit up the side, affording tantalizing glimpses of the creamy skin above his tan line.
“Yeah, you look like you’re in pretty good shape,” I complimented him, passing him the bottle again.
He took a humongous slug, shifting his legs restlessly as the alcohol slid into his bloodstream. He twitched a little bit as a gust of air hit his bare torso; I thought I could actually see him getting more ticklish by the second.
I cleared my throat and launched into the master plan, knowing that Joel was listening just inside the office door a few feet away.
“I think I’m going to start you off on the Gravitron. It’s the one muscle machine that can give you amazing results really fast, especially in the shoulders and arms.”
He perked up a bit, straightening from his slump against the wall to gaze across the room at the Gravitron. It was a large tubular metal machine with a computer-controlled pneumatic platform on which you stood while lifting yourself in various configurations; the degree of lift and support you got from the platform depended on the level of difficulty you programmed into the machine. I knew that Adam knew nothing about how the machine worked. Our plan depended on this ignorance.
“The sooner we get you started, the faster you’ll be able to pump up,” I told him. “You’re gonna look fantastic.”
He looked incredibly interested. “When can I start?”
“Well, I have to measure you against the machine to get a reading on where to set the platform.” This was a lie; the machine adjusted to each individual’s height automatically. “Why don’t we do that right now, since we’re talking about it?”
He was agreeable, so we walked over to the Gravitron. I had him step up on the platform, lift his rippling arms up over his head and grasp the handles, then release his feet so he was hanging by his hands. What he did not know was that behind my back I was carrying several bundles of electrical cord; I now whipped them out and went to work with great speed, tying his hands to the handles of the machine.
He just hung there with a puzzled look on his face, trying to figure out what was going on. I proceeded according to plan, taking each of his large bare feet in turn and tying it with more of the electrical cord to the tubular base of the Gravitron. The result was that he was suspended in the air in the form of a sinewy, well-tanned X of smooth bare flesh, with all the most ticklish parts of his body fully exposed and helpless.
“Hey,” he drawled, “this isn’t exactly the most comfortable position to be in. What’re you doing?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw Joel coming into the room; he was rubbing his crotch and trying to suppress a big grin. “Hey, Adam,” he said. “You look like you’re pretty smashed. Are you smashed?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Oh, man. I am bombed out of my fucking gourd.”
Joel came closer, and I watched his fingers twitch at his sides. “That’s cool. We understand from your friend Stuart that you like to be tickled when you’re drunk.”
Adam’s eyes grew huge, and his look of sleepy satisfaction changed to one of quiet panic. “Oh, no,” he said softly.
Joel stopped beside me. “So, is that true, Adam? Do you enjoy being tickled after you’ve been drinking?”
Adam had let go of the handles above his head, but the loops of electrical cord had his wrists firmly lashed to the machine. Despite his most desperate attempts, he could not lower his arms to protect his very vulnerable torso. At the same time his thigh muscles were bulging as he pulled at the bonds securing his feet, with an equal lack of success.
“Come on, guys. Let me down!”
Joel smirked at our victim. “I tell you what. I’ll just direct our friend here,” he slapped me playfully on the back, “tell him where to move his fingers, and we’ll all have some great fun. Don’t worry, Adam. I won’t lay a hand on you. I just want to watch.
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully while inspecting the muscular frame of the helpless jock. “Let’s see. Why don’t you start on his stomach. It looks nice and smooth, no hair on it to get in the way., You’ll be able to move your fingertip all around real easy.”
That is precisely what I started to do. As the tip of my right index finger got closer and closer to the ridges of muscle jumping in his gut, Adam broke down.
“No, please. Please don’t tickle me. I can’t stand it! Don’t! I’ll go crazy. You can’t, please!” And then I touched his stomach.
I wiggled my finger just a tiny bit, not covering more than a fraction of an inch, and Adam jerked madly. Giggles came pouring out of him, and he kept begging: “Don’t, ha, ha, please, I can’t-hahaha, stop, oh god, haha, please stop it!”
Now my fingers was sliding around, covering more and more ground, moving in slow lazy circles to get at all of his stomach.
Joel was breathing in ragged gasps, obviously excited out of his wits. “Check out his belly button,” he suggested.
This part of Adam’s stomach was indeed inviting. It was an extremely deep innie, and the flesh both around its edges and down inside it looked very soft and smooth. My sliding finger approached the belly button and slowly started to tickle all around its edges, and I spoke directly to Adam. “Does this tickle you at all, Adam?”
“Yes!” he screamed, as he twisted and shook in his bonds. “Hahaha, yes it tickles, ha, that’s enough, hahaha, stop!”
“Your friend Stuart sure was right about how much you like being tickled,” grinned Joel. “I can tell how much you’re enjoying this by the way you’re laughing.” He raised his eyebrows at me and winked.
“Stop it! Please, please, leave my belly button alone, cut it out! Ah, ha, ha!”
“Oh, now I understand you,” Joel said. “You think we’re paying too much attention to the edges of your belly button and not enough to the inside. Tickle him inside his belly button. “
Adam yelled hoarsely, “No! Not there! Don’t, please don’t!” I took my finger, inserted it into the smooth hollow there in the center of his beautifully muscled stomach, and wiggled it around with excruciating thoroughness, and I thought Adam was going to go through the roof. He rocked insanely on the machine, threw his head back, and howled like an animal. He was still begging, but his hysterical laughter made it hard to understand him. I continued to poke and probe in his belly button for several minutes, until I feared for his sanity.
“Give him a rest,” said Joel finally. “We don’t want to kill him.” I stopped the dreadful tickling, and Adam hung there, tears of laughter shining on his handsome face, his breath coming in great gasps as he tried to calm down.
“Wow,” marveled Joel. “You have to be the most ticklish guy I have ever seen. Boy, are we having fun!”
“Guys, please don’t tickle me any more. I can’t stand it. You don’t know what it’s like to be tickled like this when you can’t do anything to stop it. Please. I can’t take any more.”
Joel acted as if he didn’t hear a thing. “I think we need to test his feet for ticklishness. That’s usually a hot spot on ticklish guys.”
Adam’s panic was back. “No, you can’t! Not my feet! Don’t, please don’t! God, stop him, someone please stop him!”
By this time I had taken a single finger and started slowly trailing the tip of it down the smooth pink sole of his left foot, and his reaction was amazing. Squeezing his eyes shut, he threw his head from side to side and let loose with a string of staccato giggles like a burst of machine gun fire. As my relentless finger continued to stroke up and down along the bottom of his wiggling foot, he started to make strangling noises as he ran out of breath; even after his lungs had emptied themselves of all available air, the tortured laughter kept leaking out of him, until he was forced to take another giant gasping breath add begin chortling it out again.
Joel spoke in a reasonable tone. “I tell you what, Adam. We’re pretty good at reading signals. If you are having such a good time that you don’t want us to stop, just keep laughing. If there’s some reason why you want us to stop tickling you, then just stop laughing. That’s all you have to do, Stop laughing for five seconds, and we’ll stop tickling you. Okay?”
I didn’t think he could do it. Now my finger was slowly tracing the edges of his feet, and every time I got up to the ball of the foot, I lingered for a moment and used all four fingers and thumb to tickle the base of his toes. Adam’s laughter was coming in an unbroken stream, while his lean body shook and he tried to get enough air to talk.
“Five seconds without laughing,,” Joel said. “That’s all you have to do, and we stop the tickling.”
Our victim’s eyes sprang open, and I saw forlorn hope spread over his contorted face. He clenched his jaw, and his lips parted to show me his teeth grinding together.
I went back to his sole, only now I was scraping my nails along the tender flesh. His foot was pulling and pulling to get away from the tickling hand, but the electrical cord held it fast. He could not elude the unbearable sensation, and I could see it was driving him crazy; a desperate whine was escaping from his twitching mouth, and I knew I had him totally in my power. My left hand moved up to attack his helpless right foot, and the laughter exploded from him again.
Somehow he found the breath to beg some more. “Hahaha, stop, stop, ha, oh god, please, hahaha!”
Joel gestured to me to give him a break. My partner in crime was positively glowing with excitement. I didn’t imagine he would want to quit this early in the game, so his next words surprised me.
“Well, Adam, I guess we have to stop because we’ve run out of places to tickle you. I know that’ll be a cruel blow to you because you’ve obviously enjoyed it as much as we have.”
Adam slumped in his bonds, as relief visibly flooded his muscular young body. At my side, Joel snapped his fingers in a broad theatrical gesture.
“Oh, how could I forget! Adam, I almost forgot your ribs and armpits. Wasn’t that careless of me?”
The very ticklish swimmer at our mercy was galvanized. Suddenly I remembered, as I was sure Joel remembered, how Stuart had mentioned the sides and armpits as the worst places to tickle Adam.
“Oh, no! Please don’t tickle me there, please, you can’t! Don’t, guys, I’m just too ticklish, I can’t stand it! Please don’t! I’ll do anything you want, but don’t tickle me–ah, hahahaha!”
His desperate pleas trailed off into a delicious gush of laughter as I placed both hands on his ribs and started massaging up and down his sensitive sides. He went into a writhing fit, crinkling his eyes in an agony of ticklish merriment, while his laughter got more and more hysterical. I moved up to the smooth patches of skin at the top of his ribs, just under the armpits, then my fingers curled into hooks and I began scooping through the blond patches of hair in. the pits themselves, and I thought he was going to wet himself.
My ruthless fingers traveled all the way back down his sides to his hipbones, then slowly up again to those vulnerable hollows under his arms, and his screams told me that these areas were indeed the most ticklish places on his body.
“Hahahaha, stop, haha, stop, oh god, hahaha, please stop, aauugh ha, I’ll do anything if you’ll only stop!”
When I finally did stop, twenty minutes later, Adam hung limply on the machine, reduced to a blubbering idiot. All on my own, with no prompting from Joel, I decided to try stimulating another area of his body.
My eyes were drawn to those erotically inviting slits up the sides of his silky nylon running shorts, and I stuck my right index finger up inside one slit and wiggled it around, lightly tickling the creamy skin there above his tan line.
His reaction was not as strong as before, but there was something different about the way he jumped that turned me on even more. It was time to get serious about playing with Adam’s body.
“Hey, Joel, do you still have that knife you usually carry?”
Within two seconds he had it out; within twelve seconds the running shorts were cut off and lying on the floor. Adam was wearing a snow-white jockstrap, and the large bulge in its pouch was perhaps a bit more distended than might have been expected.
Delicately I applied my tongue to the groove of flesh where his right leg met his groin, and he spasmed and gasped helplessly in response. As I continued to lap at the sparse dark blond hair that escaped from the pouch of the jock there at that obviously very sensitive spot, his squirming grew more desperate and he started to babble.
“Come on, cut it out. Don’t–stop–hey, don’t–I–come on., guys aren’t supposed to–c’mon, don’t!”
Adam was making Herculean efforts to close his legs, to protect his crotch from the relentless probing of my tongue, which had now begun sliding up and down along that edge of the jock’s pouch and occasionally darting its moist tip inside the pouch. Of course our victim’s bonds still held him firmly in that spread-eagled formation, so there was nothing he could do but struggle and continue to make weak protests.
The time had come to take away the last bit of protection he had. I peeled down the jockstrap and cut it away too, despite Adam’s almost hysterical demand for an explanation (“What–Hey, what–what are you doing?”) and out sprang a phalanx of steel. His cock was incredibly hard and looked to be well over six inches. Its pink column soared up out of the curly blond hair of his naked crotch, terminating in an exceptionally well-cut head now leaking tears of pre-cum. Without even making a conscious decision, I found myself approaching that beauty with my mouth, and I heard Joel groan beside me.
“Oh, shit, I can’t stand it any more. Move over and give me room too.”
The two of us moved our tongues to the base of his cock and started licking our way in long slow lazy swipes up its throbbing length, making it into a gigantic ice cream cone of hot flesh, and I noticed the muscular legs framing our heads were quivering and tensing up. Adam was full of joy juice and I felt it could not be long before he lost it.
I pulled back from our treat to survey the situation. My own groin was burning with a feeling like lava, while Joel looked ready to explode into a million fragments. Adam had his eyes squeezed tightly shut and was taking huge, deep gasps that made his sculpted chest rise and fall in a captivating manner as Joel continued his licking. Adam was trying desperately not to show us how turned on he was, which inspired my final piece of psychological torture.
“Hey, Adam, what was that you were just saying about how guys aren’t supposed to do stuff like this? I tell you what. If you want to prove you’re really the macho straight jock you like to pretend you are, you won’t allow yourself to come while one of us is touching you.”
Joel withdrew his face from Adam’s crotch and stared at me with admiration. Then it occurred to me that our playmate was fairly close to release and neither Joel nor I had even touched our lips to the head of his cock yet.
I moved to remedy that oversight, parting my lips to let them and the hot length of my tongue envelop his cock head, and Adam started to moan. I was resting my hands on his firm thighs, and as I slowly gobbled my way down his dick I felt his trembling increase. He tried to gasp out words between his moans.
“Don’t, oh, no, ooohhh!”
I pulled back from his crotch again but continued to caress him manually, noticing how my spit made his cock glisten when it twitched under my fondling fingers. The noise he was making now was more of a groan.
“I can’t–come on, I can’t help myself when you do that–come on, stop!”
“You’re not going to let yourself come as long as I’m touching you, are you, Adam? Are you so out of control of your body that you would have an orgasm while another guy is touching your private parts? That’s really uncool.” I let my fingers trail up to the wet cockhead and tease the sensitive area directly under his piss-slit, and he jumped violently.
“Hey, man” he gasped, “it’s not gonna take much more of that. If you don’t stop, I’m gonna … Hey, come on, cut it out!”
I formed my fingers into a loose fist and stroked slowly but expertly up and down his shaft; I was getting off on being able to watch the expression of alarm flickering on his face. Every time my hand got to the head of his cock I caressed the fleshy tip and made him groan again.
“So tell me, Adam, how close are you to shooting?”
“Ooohhh, god! I’m really close! I can’t stop it! Please don’t! I don’t want to unload on you! Stop! God!”
He was beginning to panic now, and his face and smooth chest were becoming quite flushed as he writhed in his bonds. At my side, Joel was trembling almost as much as our friend.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered, “this is something to give a fucking lifetime for!”
“I tell you what, Joel. Maybe Adam here wouldn’t be so close to losing control of himself if he had something going on somewhere else on his body, something to distract him.”
“Yeah!”. Joel moved around behind Adam, spread his firm creamy cheeks, and with slow deliberation started licking at the tight pink hole there.
Adam’s response was electric. “Aaaahhh! Ahh, ahh, what–what’s he doing? Aaaauuuggghh!” His cries were almost screams, suggesting that the pleasure he was experiencing was excruciatingly unbearable.
The head of his cock was now very wet, covered with a mixture of my spit and his pre-cum, and I went back to concentrating on it, sliding my fingers up and down over the swollen red-purple flesh in a rhythm slow enough to create sensations of sexual agony. Adam squirmed madly, opening and closing his fingers spasmodically above his head and pulling at the unyielding cord.
“Come on, guys,” he said hoarsely, “I can’t–I can’t hold it! I can’t! You’ve gotta stop, I can’t handle this, oh god!”
“Sorry, Adam. You’ve gotta hold it. I don’t want to see you come while I’m touching you.” Now I stepped up the pace of my stroking just a fraction, moving my mouth in close to fan his cock with my hot breath. I could see Joel on the other side of our victim, his face buried in the crack of Adam’s ass; in my mind’s eye Joel’s tongue was becoming pointed and darting deep inside the secret private hole there. I moved my mouth even closer to where my fingers were tormenting his cock.
Adam had once again lost the ability to form coherent words. “Don’t, ah, ooohhh! Aaahhh! He was ready for release, no matter how much he fought against it.
One last time I said, “You better hold it, Adam.” Then I plunged my mouth around his twitching cock and unleashed my ruthless tongue upon it. Adam gave a primeval yell as his thighs stiffened into twin columns of marble, and my tongue felt the cum speeding up the length of the shaft. He unloaded into my mouth in a series of violent spasms, all the while making grunting noises that sounded like “Uh, uh, uh, uh!”
When it was over I drew back, licking my lips. “Gee, Adam, I don’t think you passed the test.” Joel came dancing around to my side of the machine.
“Boy, what a night! Hey, Adam, are you still smashed? You want some more wine?” Then he laughed like a hyena, while our victim hung his head and kept his eyes on the floor.
“I don’t know how he stood it,” Joel confided to me quietly. “I know I’m ticklish enough that anything like this would drive me out of my mind.” He raised his arms up above his head and stretched luxuriously, and although I had never been attracted to his thin body, I found my eyes roaming to where his tight T-shirt outlined his prominent ribcage, while I wondered how he would take a taste of his own medicine.
I shifted my gaze abruptly and caught Adam also staring at Joel’s torso. Had he heard what Joel said to me? Did thoughts of revenge lurk behind his suddenly bright eyes? I winked at Adam and, like the morning sun coming out from behind a cloudbank, he gave me an incandescent grin.
“Joel,” I thought, “you’re going to be laughing out of the other side of your face.” I went for more electrical cord.