By Gaspard
PLOT – Brian is a confident, confused mid-30’s guy who meets the most beautiful male model in the world at a Prince concert. What to do with such a find?
“No, Brian… no… please…. You’ve had your fun. I just want to go home now… I can’t… I…. I ca….”
“Shh, kiddo. Just breath. We’ve only just started. I’ve only just found the spots that are making you and I both go wild. Admit it, you’re having the time of your life…”
“NO, Brian! I can’t breath! Mate… seriously… I don’t think…”
The 20 year-old boy thrashed on the bed once more, the entire thing creaking as his slim frame bucked up and down, creasing the damp bed sheets even more and making dents in the back wall as the banisters hit against the hard surface. The laughter was gone. Now it was sweat, and tears. The boy was going insane, his hips sharp and muscular, and his thin arms tense. His fists clenched around the handcuffs that held him there. Brian smirked, as he wiped sweat from his brow.
To think. All this reaction. All this excitement and pure torture… just from the end of my finger under his squirming toes.
The boy screamed a loud “NO”, twisting his head to the right, stretching his long neck so his mouth could reach his bicep, where he’d give it a strong bite. Feel pain elsewhere. Take it away from the unbearable aching, the unbearable ticklish sensation (if it can even be called that) that he feels in his left foot. It had been going on for 3 hours. And the boy had thought it would never stop.
6 hours earlier…
The arena was enormous. Quite like the arenas back in Ancient Rome, if Caesar had worn a suit and tie and if horse and cart were driver and limosiene. Huge lights hung from the dark, misty ceilings above, and the crowds were filling the seats of London’s biggest new arena. Soon the seats were full, and Brian Wilmore had taken his with a few friends, awaiting the artist Formerly Known As Prince. The lights cut off, and Brian swallowed his beer quickly to the sound of thousands upon thousands of fans screaming in anticipation. Purple lights came down upon the arena; smoke spurting from all corners of the centre stage. The beginning of ‘Kiss’ came on, as a spotlight shot down on Prince, standing there with his little frame, a long arm pointing up to the sky. “UH!” He screeched. “You don’t have to be beautiful… to undress me…” The crowd jumped, they danced, they sang along.
Brian was fitted to the crowd. 25 – 40 years of age, no one really younger was to be seen hanging around or having just as a good a time as everyone else. Brian was 32, and was a big fan of Prince. He was tall, dark, not that handsome. He had a spotty face, wore a pair of glasses that were too big for his head, and hadn’t bothered cutting his hair in the past half a year. He had friends though, and he also owned a good sense of humour. So he wasn’t missing out on life, especially now. He was at a Prince gig, a gig he’d spent a while trying to get to, and he was having the time of his life. Until Dane happened.
Dane was drunk, a half full beer in his hand that he had been swinging about as soon as ‘1999’ came on, the contents now soaking a few of the random people surrounding him, who were now shouting at him to ‘calm down’. Dane had been drinking before, and so had his friends. A huge group of them had come along, several had been split up to higher seats in the arena, whereas Dane and two of his friends had been sat closer to the front. Dane felt someone coil their huge fingers around his arm, yanking him from his seat. Of course, the beer went toppling over some poor woman’s already flat, lifeless hair. Dane looked to his other friend, who he couldn’t see. But the lights and the flickering off the lasers caused Dane to grow even more confused. It was then he realised that he was trying to have a fucking good night, and he wasn’t going to let some overweight security guard take that away from him.
Dane snatched his arm away from the security guard and bolted off in the opposite direction. It was then he darted into an aisle, any aisle, take your pick. He pushed past the people clapping their hands and singing along, and soon found himself smudged between a woman and a man. He kept his head down, the security guard taking out a torch amongst the lights and purple haze that had now came down upon the arena, as Prince began a speech about how the record industry used to be a friend of his, or something to that extent.
Brian had felt the shove of someone from his side, his own beer being jolted upwards a little and splashing one of his friends. Brian turned with narrowed eyes, about to raise his voice to the…. most handsome boy he’d ever seen. Now Brian wasn’t gay. Nor was he straight. Nor was he anything, really. He had dabbled with sex before but never had a girlfriend. He found it difficult to talk to girls, especially with a face like his. Not that he was ugly, but most women never blinked twice. But this boy. This boy who had suddenly staggered into his aisle, was a thing of beauty.
The boy looked at him with raised eyebrows, holding onto his shoulders. “Mate, I’m so sorry!” He said, almost slurring his words, “I’m basically on the run! Hide me!” He yelled. Brian could only make out the last few words of the sentence, and held onto the top of the boy’s head, pushing him down as the security guards walked past. They began to search through the aisle with their torches, but soon gave up. They had other things to deal with, like people taking photos when it wasn’t allowed. Dane looked at the man, and swallowed down a burp. “Thanks…” he said, wiping some sweat from his brow.
Brian smiled, nodded and geekishly yelled, “THAT’S OKAY!” They both drunkenly laughed. Brian continued to stare. Eyeing this boy. Tall, pale… handsome. Dane had model like features, and Brian knew he’d be very surprised if the boy wasn’t on runway, or spending most of his time in Paris or Milan. He had an angelic face, blue eyes, dark brown eyebrows and sharp pink lips that looked like they’d kissed a few special people. His hair was as dark as his eyebrows; a dark brown cut that was short around the back, showing off perfect little ears. Long on top, a medium sized fringe that naturally curled just under his eye. Parts of his hair were wet from the mess of it all. His shoulders were broad, but his arms quite skinny, showing off a little muscle here and there. He had a long neck, just like a model, and his hair looked perfectly groomed. Spotless, clean and having the time of his life. Brian had to have him.
The boy stared at Prince, then looked around the crowds. He lifted his cream t-shirt up from the hem and used it to wipe his face. Brian caught a glimpse of a hairless, tight stomach, and a pair of hipbones that were aching to be touched. Brian blinked, taking a swig of his beer. Quickly, efficiently. Of course, this caused the beer to mix with the dribble that was coming out of the corners of his mouth. And just as Brian wiped his face and looked next to him again, the boy was gone.
Brian’s eyes narrowed, looking above the crowds for one last look at the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. It was then he’d spot the boy staggering up the stairs, skinny jeans waddling to the door. Brian left his friends. Brian left the aisle. He followed.
Brian pushed the doors open, and headed into the large white halls, where a few people stood around in the corners, some queuing for the toilet, others getting a drink. Prince was half way through his set, but that didn’t matter now. Brian had lost all care for the tiny performer on stage, and was now in a passionate state. He had to find that boy, and he had to find him now. He searched over heads and in-between bodies. It wasn’t until Brian had nearly gone full circle that he bumped into the boy. The kid was still a bit drunk, and looked at Brian with a shocked expression. “Ha, sorry…” he said. The boy then looked up, again, recognising the older man. The fact that the kid had recognised Brian made him sweat. His heart jumped.
“Oh thanks, for back there by the way. I hope they’re still not lookin’ for me,” he said, taking a sip from what looks like a fresh beer. The boy didn’t seem to have any intention on stopping. His voice was sharp, a little common. He sounded like he might be from London, possibly the South. Maybe somewhere like Essex. He sure was beautiful.
“That’s okay,” said Brian, with a smile. “Uh…” he goes to say what he hopes to say, but the words don’t come out. He blinks, pushes his glasses further up his nose, and then goes for it. “… Uh, I’ve actually been looki…” suddenly he’s cut short, as a drunk passer by staggers into the two, knocking the boys drink over Brian. Half of it spills against Brian’s shirt, as Brian steps back and flicks his beer soaked hands at the air. “…Ah, great…” he sighs. The boy turns to the drunk, who’s being helped by his girlfriend, and narrows his eyes, “You could’ve said sorry, you prick!” The last part of his violent sentence is said with a harsh tone, his nostrils flared, eyes wide. The alcohol fuelled the rage, but it soon subsides and he runs a hand through his brown hair. “Look, mate…” he says to Brian, but Brian already has his hand in his wallet.
“Buy you another?”
The night went on smoothly. Both had admitted on not really liking Prince that much (although Brian was a huge fan, he’d lie for someone like this), and both sat at the arena bar drinking cocktails and even sharing a few shots of tequila. Brian could handle his drink, but Dane could not. Dane had got caught up in the moment, telling Brian how much he loved him (even though he’d only known him for the past 2 hours) and how much of a good friend he was. Beer goggles took place, and Dane saw Brian as a gorgeous guy with a lean back and a nice pair of arms. Dane kissed him, causing Brian to back away and take him to a darker, less homophobic area of the bar, where they kissed back. For Dane, this was a drunken dabble he’d wake up, hardly remember, and then joke about with his friends. You know, the hot boy who pulled some old fella on a drunken night out. For Brian, this was heaven. A moment he’d experience sober. Memories as fresh as ever.
The night went on, and Brian was now lifting Danes t-shirt over his head. This of course, was taking place in Brian’s flat in Kensington. The t-shirt was thrown to the floor, and the black leather belt was thrown over his shoulder. Brian’s hands slipped over the boy’s slim frame, fingers grabbing at his hipbones, lips pushing against his. Brian remained almost fully clothed, shoes off, shirt unbuttoned. Dane was now in his briefs and socks, and was sitting on the bed with a drunken twinkle in his eye. They continued to kiss, but Brian’s main intention was looming beneath his trousers. He had wanted to do this to his new find as soon as he possibly could, and the time had surely come.
Brian lay on top of Dane, Dane kissing at Brian’s neck, caught up in some drunken fantasy, a fantasy he knows will end and when he wakes up, will seem like a nightmare. But for the time being it was perfect, a perfect dream fuelled by wine, beer and liquor. Brian held Danes wrists above his head, exposing his armpits. He kissed the boys neck and shoulders, his lips smooching downwards to the soft, light brown tufts of hair that sprouted from Danes armpits. He kissed, his tongue poking into the delves of the boys underarms. The boy pulled at his arms, pinned above him, as he moaned in discomfort, although a large smile was spread across his face. Brian smirked… licking again, generating the same reaction.
“Ticklish?” He asked.
There was a soft silence, filled mainly by Danes feet creasing the covers as he squirmed beneath the 30-something tickle fetishist.
“A little…” Dane whispered, kissing Brian’s lips afterwards, almost distracting Brian from the situation.
Brian slipped away, as Dane stretched out and let out a drunken moan. He’d have fallen asleep if Brian hadn’t of come back, with a sports bag that he’d place at the foot of the king sized bed.
The room was dark, the moonlight coming in through the open windows. A breeze lifted the curtains; as Brian knelt down to remove some tools from the bag. Dane couldn’t keep his eyes open, the drinking catching up on him, as he toyed with the wet hairs under his armpits, where Brian had decided to lick.
Brian stood up, a long stretch of thin white rope attached to a clenched fist. Dane stirred, sitting up gently as he looked towards Brian. “Kinky,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“Fancy it?” Brian said, with a sheepish giggle, keeping an innocent image.
Dane smirked. “Only if I get to tie you up.”
Brian shook his head. “No. This is my flat, this is my bed. So technically, you’re already my prisoner.”
Dane knelt on the bed, and held his hands out, placing his palms together. “Go on then…” he hiccuped again, the room still swaying gently, causing Dane to roll his hips. It actually added to the sexiness of him.
Brian got Dane to lie down, arms above his head, and feet at each corner of the bed. Using the rope, he tied Dane’s wrists to the headboard and then pulled the boys body further down, so his armpits were fully exposed. He then tied his ankles to each corner of the bedpost. Spread-eagled, Dane writhed about in anticipation, as Brian slipped a red blindfold around his eyes. The usual began. An odd kiss here and there, an odd lick on the neck. A love bite given on the shoulder. Dane seemed to be enjoying himself, biting his lip and flexing his fingers, wanting to touch what he wasn’t aloud. His muscles flexed in his arms, his stomach tight as his hips pushed against the ceiling, his heels digging into the bed. Knees bent as far as they were allowed. It was then that Brian decided to make his move.
He took a long feather from the sports bag, and eyed Dane’s tensed stomach. He approached, socked feet quietly padding against the floorboards, so silent that Dane hadn’t a clue where he was or what had happened, especially when Brian left it for some time, leaving Dane the time to lift his head and try and look under the small gaps of the blindfold. “Brian…?” he’d drunkenly slur.
Brian gently waved the feather against Danes stomach. The boy gasped, as if being squirted with cold water, his body stiffening at the sudden jolt of feeling. Brian then stroked Dane’s bellybutton with the feather, causing him to twist his pelvis and bite his lip. “Uuh… what is that? Is that…” hiccup, “… is that a feather? You bastard…” he moaned, with a soft laugh. Brian took the feather all over his body, leaving Dane’s socked feet for now. Brian found the feather most effective on Danes face and neck, where Dane would hiss and moan as it slipped under his nose or over his bulging adams apple. He even muttered a soft ‘ssstop’ when the feather came in contact with his nipples, which were now fully erect. Danes fingers clenched around the rope that bound his wrists, his arms flexing as he tried to pull at them.
Brian put the feather down.
He took his fingers and hovered over Danes sides. His fingers wiggled downwards and soon reached skin contact, tickling lightly over his rib cage. Dane jumped off the bed, bouncing as he landed back down, his feet kicking as he yelled loudly. “NOOO… no… NO…! Alright! Stick to kissin’, mate! I don’t like it…”
Brian didn’t reply. He tickled lightly (ever so lightly) across the boys skin, fingers getting a little bit harder when he’d reach a gap in the rib cage. Dane’s teeth were clenched. So far, he’d only let out sheepish laughs. The rest had been moans and groans. He obviously found it discomforting, more torture then pleasure.
Brian began to intensify the tickling, pressing harder and then working his way into the armpits where he’d pinch the hair and press into the grooves of his underarms. Dane laughed now, bucking his hips up and down and writhing around on the huge bed, creasing the covers slightly and causing the bed to creak against the floorboards. “Uuuh, alright! Stop, Brian! Stop! What are you doin’?!”
Brian smirked a sinister smirk, allowing no reason for this sudden torture to become apparent to his new victim. Dane kept asking why he was doing this in-between breaths, why tickling, but Brian would remain silent, and kept tickling the poor boys underarms, which were now growing sweatier at every minute.
“PLEASE, stop! I can’t… I can’t…!” Yelled Dane, “Give me a break, just a minute!” It was then that Brian would stop, allowing Dane to cough and catch his drunken breath. His stomach would rise up and down quickly, tight and showing off the beginning of a six pack and a defiant V that went down to his groin. Veins pumping.
Brian sat down at the foot of the bed and quickly, without warning, dragged a finger up the bottom of Dane’s left foot.
Dane yelled an inaudible sound, kicking his left foot away as much as the rope would let him.
“Looks like we’ve found a ticklish spot, eh Dane?” Asked Brian, holding onto the foot.
Toes clenched, Dane felt his heart beat quicken. He wouldn’t be able to take it there. Not for as long.
“Well then?” Asked Brian, as he held Danes toes up and racked his index finger down the cottoned sole of his foot. Dane moaned as the finger scrapped down, arching his back and trying to turn his toes downwards, attempting to hide the ticklish sole.
“NO.” Said Dane, viciously, “that’s enough. Not on my feet. Please, mate; I’ll pay you not to touch my feet. Just untie me, let me ‘av some fun with you,” said Dane, laughing half way through his speech, realising how much of a pathetic plead it really was.
Brian tickled the foot gently, fluttering fingers gliding quickly over the sole. Dane found this unbearable, more annoying then ticklish. He hated people looking at his feet, let alone touching them… let alone tickling them! His foot twisted around, toes curling under the white socks, high arch flexing as he attempted to escape the flittering fingers. “So you don’t like me doing this, then?” Asked Brian.
Dane fake cried, over dramatic and silly. He pushed his head into his left arm, closing his eyes under the blindfold, which was now half way coming off in desperation. He began to giggle now; short breathes snapping in as he pulled at the ropes securing his hands and feet, knees able to lift up gently, but not the whole way. Brian was having to hold the rope that connected his left foot to the bed tight towards his chest if he were to have his way with the boys writhing foot.
Soon, the sock came off and Brian let rip, sending his finger nails over the boys soft sole. Dane screamed in agony, shocked firstly that the sock had suddenly come off and someone had access to his size 11’s. He kicked and screamed, bucking up and down, shaking the bed as he bounced in writhing agony, squirming in ticklish sensation. Soon the rope un-tangled, and Dane’s foot slipped free, reflexing at the last stroke and kicking outwards. Danes heel pushed against something forcefully. It happened to be Brian’s jaw, which snapped. Brian fell to the floor, unconscious.
To be continued.