Mitch, the Ticklish Cop

By PitTickler

 

 

 

Mitch walks up to me while I’m waiting for my luggage to come around on the carousel. I don’t recognize him at first because he’s in uniform, and I think he’s an airport security cop. Plus, I’m intent on grabbing my suitcase the instant it comes around on the conveyor belt. His deep voice startles me as he says, “Hey, Barry. You look just like your picture in the e-mail you sent me.”

I turn around to face him, my suitcase forgotten for the moment. I look up into his smiling face, and my breath leaves me. God, he’s even more gorgeous in person! And he looks so sexy in his uniform. His arm and pec muscles make his uniform blouse tight in all the right places. He offers me his hand to shake, and I reach out to grasp it in mine. I have a firm handshake, but Mitch’s grip threatens to crush the bones in my right hand. My God, he’s strong! For a few seconds I’m at a loss for words. Finally I manage to answer him. “Hey, Mitch. Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

He releases my hand. “No probs, man. I’m glad you could come. Although I’m not so sure I’m gonna be able to say that in a couple of hours!” He laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh.

I try to put him at ease. “Don’t worry, dude. I’ve never lost a patient yet!”

He grins back at me. “Better get your bag so we can get out of here.”

I turn around just as it’s going by. I grab the heavy suitcase and pull it off the belt. Mitch takes it from me. He carries it like it weighs nothing.

We walk to the short-term parking lot. Mitch says, “I came to get you in an unmarked police car. Didn’t think you’d want to ride in the back seat of a marked police cruiser!”

“Thanks for that, man. You’re right. Wouldn’t want people to think I was under arrest!”

Then another thought occurs to me. “Speaking of being under arrest, I didn’t want to risk taking my tickle-toys in my carry-on bag, so I sent them on ahead. Did you get the package?”

“Yeah, it came yesterday. It’s waiting for you at my place.”

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“About two hours, give or take, depending on the traffic. But you got here at a good time of day.”

For the next two hours, we carry on a pleasant conversation. Mitch is easy to talk to, as long as I keep my mind on what we’re talking about. If I let myself think about how handsome and well-built he is, and how scrumptious he looks in that uniform, I won’t be able to follow the drift of our discussion!

In due time we pull into a well-maintained apartment complex, and after a couple of turns Mitch pulls the car into a parking spot. “Here we are.”

He gets my bag from the trunk. I follow him up a flight of stairs and wait while he opens the door of his apartment. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

I step inside. The apartment is big for a one-bedroom, and it’s neat and nicely furnished, although maybe a little on the Spartan side. Mitch puts my suitcase down beside an end table with a familiar-looking package on it — my tickle-tools.

“Would you like something to drink?” Mitch is being a good host, but I can tell he’s trying hard not to show me how nervous he is. He’s almost like a skittish colt that might bolt at any second.

“No thanks.” I put my arm on his shoulder. “Just relax, Mitch. We’ll take this slowly.” Now that we’re alone, I let my hand move down from his shoulder to his arm. I can feel the definition of his biceps muscle, even without his flexing it.

Taking my explorations as a cue, Mitch raises both arms in the typical bodybuilder’s pose, displaying both biceps muscles. I feel them appreciatively. All I can say is, “Wow!”

Suddenly I move my hands downward and poke Mitch in the ribs on both sides. He breaks into laughter and pulls his arms down instinctively to protect his sensitive ribs. “Dude, don’t do that! I’m too ticklish!”

“Hey, you have no idea what kind of control it took for me not to do that while you were driving here for the past two hours!”

Mitch laughs again. Is it my imagination, or did I see some movement in the front of his uniform pants?

It’s time to take the bull by the horns. I put both hands on Mitch’s shoulders and look him square in the eye. “You look great in your uniform, Stud, but I’d really like to see what those muscles look like without a shirt covering them.”

Mitch swallows. “Umm, okay.” He starts to reach for the top button of his shirt, but I stop him.

“Let me do it.” He nods his assent. Before I start to unbutton his uniform blouse, I run my hands over Mitch’s hard pecs. “Nice,” I murmur. Slowly I unbutton the blouse all the way down, pulling the shirttail from his uniform pants in the process. Mitch shrugs his way out of the shirt, which I then place carefully on the back of a dining-room chair. He takes his undershirt off over his head in one fluid motion, and I get a tantalizing glimpse of his armpits. He’s now bare to the waist.

Mitch stands immobile, waiting for me to say something. I circle him slowly, getting my first close look at his pecs, his abs, his arms, his shoulders and his back. My sweet Jesus, he’s sooooo much better-looking in person! My dick is already at half-staff, and I haven’t even touched his bare torso yet!

His hungry eyes search my face, wanting my approval, my admiration. I give it gladly. “Mitch, dude, your body is phenomenal! The pics you sent me didn’t do you justice. You’re fucking built like a brick wall, man! And your muscles are as hard as bricks, too!”

He smiles (looking relieved, it seems to me) and moves into the familiar double-biceps pose again. His arms are amazing! I’ve just got to touch them — but as I reach out to do so, Mitch lowers his arms defensively and takes a step back. I need to reassure him. “Chill, dude. I was just gonna feel your arm muscles! I won’t tickle you yet, I promise.”

He swallows hard and take the pose again. That’s good. It shows how much he trusts me. My hands move all along his biceps and triceps muscles and up to his deltoids. I feel nothing but solid muscle. “Damn, Mitch. You’re unbelievable. These arms — well, I don’t even know what to say. They’re incredible. And you are fucking HOT!”

Mitch’s chest swells with pride. “Thanks, man. That means a lot. I work out hard to keep my body in as perfect condition as I can.”

“Well, it shows, dude. Great work. Your body is fucking perfect!” Time to move on, I tell myself.

“Now strip down to your boxers. I want to see those leg muscles, too.”

Mitch doesn’t hesitate. He unlaces his patent-leather shoes, and takes them off. I get a whiff of foot sweat mixed with leather. It’s intoxicating. He peels off one sock and then the other. His bare feet are nicely formed, and his toenails are neatly trimmed. He quickly unbuckles his belt, removes his uniform pants, and places them neatly on the couch.

“Drop and give me fifty push-ups.” Mitch obeys. He does the push-ups effortlessly, then stands back up. His breathing isn’t even slightly labored.

“Now lie down and give me 200 crunches.”

Good — he’s doing them the hard way, lacing his hands behind his head. I devour his deep, hairy pits with my eyes. My dick is fully hard and leaking. Mitch starts to bend his knees so he can put his feet flat on the floor, but I shake my head no. “I want to see the bottoms of your feet, too. Keep your legs straight out in front of you. I’ll hold your ankles for you.”

Mitch follows my instructions exactly. He extends his legs all the way out, and I see his smooth, uncallused soles for the first time. They are fucking beautiful. I have to use all my powers of concentration to keep myself from tickling them right here and now!

But I force myself to count out loud while Mitch completes his crunches. As he does them, his abs become even more defined and sexy. Good God Almighty!

“195 — only five more to go, dude! — 196 — 197 — 198 — two more! — 199 — 200! Great job, Mitch! Way to go!”

Mitch is breathing heavier and sweating now, and his hairless chest and stomach glisten. He wipes his forehead with his hand and wipes the sweat on his boxers.

I can’t stand it any longer. I hold both his ankles with my left hand, while I lightly tickle the soles of his feet with the fingers of my right hand. Mitch laughs and tries to pull his feet away, but I quickly sit on his knees and continue tickling his feet with both hands. He is nearly in hysterics. I start the tickle-talk: “Hey, Mitch, it’s just a little tickling! A big, strong, muscular guy like you should be able to take a few tickles! Tough it out, Mitch! Take it like a man! Fucking deal with it!”

I stop tickling his feet after five minutes. When I do, Mitch remains on his back, still giggling involuntarily, too weak to move. His cock is hard as a rock, and there’s a big wet spot on the front of his boxers. He’s getting off on this as much as I am.

“I think it’s time to move this into the bedroom, Mitch. Let’s get you tied down and get started on the REAL tickling, dude!” Mitch is still grinning and giggling, but his face turns pale as he stands up and we move toward his bedroom….
_________

Under my arm I have the package containing my tickle-tools, which I picked up just before we started down the hall to your bedroom. My dick is hard, too — not only from the tickling I’ve just given your soft, sensitive feet, but also in anticipation of the more intense tickling to come!

As we enter your bedroom, I take stock of your bed. It’s not as big as my king-size, but it’ll do. I’m already mentally figuring out how I’ll restrain you so that you’ll be unable to move. As strong as you are, I know that if you can get free, you might decide to beat the shit out of me. Got to make sure that doesn’t happen….

You stop at the foot of the bed. “So anyway, here it is. Nothing fancy, but I’m a financially-challenged bachelor.”

“Hey, no worries, Mitch. We can make this work just fine. Now, while I get this box open and get my things organized, I want you to move the top mattress completely off the bed, so we can get things set up.”

You nod and get to work. It takes you only a few seconds to get the job done. Instead of opening my box, though, I watch your muscles flex as you easily lift the top mattress and set it on its side. Your beautiful, muscular body reminds me of the Greek myths I used to read about Hercules and the labors he had to perform.

I finally get the box open and begin to set out my restraints and ropes. Your eyes widen when you see them, but you manage to stay calm. You even help me get the ropes tied together so they’ll be the right length for your height. Once we get the ropes arranged, I ask you to move the top mattress back onto the bed, and you do so easily.

“Good work, man. Now it’s time for you to lose the boxers.” Without a moment’s hesitation, you slip them off and drop them beside the bed. I have to remind myself to breathe. Your body is so goddamned perfect. I can’t believe I get to tickle YOU!!

And now, at long last, it’s time to begin! “Okay, Mitch, now I want you to lie down on the bed, face-up, with your arms and legs spread.” I can tell you’re nervous — you hesitate for just a moment before you comply. “Yeah, that’s it. Show me how a big, strong cop like you can man up and get ready to be tickled out of his fucking mind!”

I quickly fasten the restraints around your wrists and ankles, before you have a chance to think about it too much. I definitely don’t want you to change your mind now!

Once the wrist and ankle cuffs are all secured, I can take my time making sure everything is tight enough, but not too tight. Immobility is a good thing; cutting off your circulation is not.

“Okay, Mitch, I think we’re about ready to get started. I want you to test the restraints for me. Flex like you used to for David and Kent during wrestling practice, and see if you can break free of the ropes.”

You flex and squirm and pull in an effort to get loose. My cuffs and ropes hold. After a few minutes of struggling, you say, “Nope, it’s no good. I’m not going anywhere until you decide to let me go.” Good. Excellent.

“Are you positive, Mitch? Because I want to make sure you can’t escape once the tickling gets intense. Try again, dude. Try to power your way out of the restraints!”

You try your best to get free. Once again, I’m encouraged that my bondage is secure. I also note that your dick, which became soft during the preparations, is starting to plump up again. You’re getting excited by the helplessness you feel.

“Are you ready, Mitch? I’m going to spend the next three or four hours tickle-torturing you, dude. I’m going to take you to the brink of insanity. I’m going to explore and exploit every ticklish inch of your muscular body, until you beg me to have mercy on you. And then I’m going to take your hard, hot dick in my hand, and I’m going to make you beg me to let you cum — but you’ll only get to cum when I say. For the next few hours, my friend, your hot, muscular body is all MINE!!”

I bring my hands to within a few inches of your face, and I wiggle my fingers in a slow, wave-like motion. “Are you gonna be able to handle this, Mitch? Are you enough of a stud to take everything I’m going to dish out? Answer me!”

“Yes, Sir, I can take it. I’m a stud. I can handle it. Bring it on!”

“Very well, Mitch. We’ll soon see how much of a man you are. I’m going to start with a quick survey of your ticklishness, from head to toe. This will give you just a glimpse of what you’re going to go through in the next 3 or 4 hours.”

I walk to the head of the bed, where your left hand is cuffed. I open your hand with my right hand, while with my left hand I begin the softest, lightest tickling motions in the palm of your right hand. You jump in surprise; you didn’t realize that the palms of your hands could be ticklish! But they are. Already you’re mouth is twitching, and you’re fighting back a giggle.

“You’re kidding me, right? That’s the lightest possible tickle there is! I thought you said you could take it, Mitch. You need to man up and fucking take it, dude!” But while I’m speaking, my fingers are continuing their light tickling movements, slowly moving downward to your wrist and the inside of your right forearm. It fucking tickles! You squirm, but you’re gritting your teeth, determined not to laugh.

My tickling fingers are crawling toward the inside of your elbow, where that tender crease is. And as my wiggling fingers tickle you there, you can’t help but release a small giggle against your will.

“So, this is how tough a cop is in Springfield, Missouri, eh? Your police force must be a bunch of wussies if they’re all as giggly as you are, Mitch. Be a man, dude! If you can’t take this, how are you gonna take the really BAD tickling later? You need to show me how tough you are, man. Fucking man up and take it!”

My insidiously tickling fingers creep onto your triceps muscle, moving by degrees closer to the supersensitive skin just abpve your armpit. By now you’re giggling constantly but softly, trying to hold it in so I won’t hear it. You want to be a man, you want to show me what a tough stud you are, but your body is already betraying you….

“Do you think I can’t hear you giggling, Mitch?”

“I know-ho-ho-ho you can hee-hee-hear me.”

“I thought you were a big, tough man. Guess I was wrong.”

“I AM ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I’m a big, tough man!”

“Then prove it to me! No more giggling, Mitch! Fucking take it like a man!”

You set your jaw, determined not to make another sound.

“I’m gonna help you out, Mitch. Maybe tickling you so close to your armpits, which is one of your most sensitive areas, isn’t fair right at the beginning. So I tell you what — I’m gonna start with your feet.”

You take a couple of deep breaths, desperately trying to regain your control as I move to the foot of the bed. You almost chanting to yourself, “I can do this. I’m a man. I can handle this. No more laughing. I’m gonna fucking take it like a man.”

That resolve lasts until you feel the almost electric shock of my index finger stroking the tender sole of your right foot from heel to toes. You jerk involuntarily and almost yelp out loud. An identical stroke on the sole of your left foot finds you barely holding on to your control. And when I use both index fingers to stroke both soles at the same time, you let out a little screech, totally against your will. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!” I hear you saying to yourself. I smile.

“I guess you really ARE fucked, Mitch. See, we’re just getting started. Wait until I tickle both feet with ALL of my fingers at once! And from what you’ve told me, your feet aren’t even one of your most ticklish spots. Yeah, Mitch, I’d say you’re royally screwed.”

“Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man….” you keep repeating under your breath.

“Let’s get started then, my great big muscular cop friend. Which foot shall I start with?”

You close your eyes tightly. “I don’t care, I don’t want to know. You choose.”

You don’t know it, but because you’ve closed your eyes, you’re going to feel the tickling even more intensely, just because you can’t see where I’m about to tickle and therefore can’t prepare yourself for it. Sure enough, you lose it the moment I start tickling your right foot again.

Oh God oh God oh God NO-O-O-O-O-O!! Plee-hee-hee-hee-hease STOP stop stop stop, I’m BEGGING you-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! I can’t fucking TAKE this ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“Dude, you’re really disappointing me here. Fight it, Mitch! Come on, man, you’ve got to fucking FIGHT IT. Just like you used to do when David and Kent tickled you, remember? Fucking flex your way through it, dude. Prove to me what a tough son-of-a-bitch you are!”

“Oh God oh God I’ll TRY but it tickles so-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho fucking BAD ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I don’t know-ho-ho-ho-ho if I can TAKE this oh shit shit shit!”

I stop the foot tickling for a few seconds to give you a chance to get a few deep breaths and to give you yet another shot at fighting the awful ticklish feelings. But suddenly I start up again wth all five fingers going crazy on the sole of your left foot. Your hot, muscular body is covered in a sheen of sweat from all the squirming and flexing. I can tell you’re trying to fight the sensations with all your might, but it’s not going very well….

And then I look up to see that your dick is as hard as a rock and glistening with pre-cum!

You had told me that being tickled by your wrestling coaches made you hard, but seeing it in person surprises me. As vehemently as you’re protesting my tickling you, your body is telling me how much you want it, how intensely you crave it, and how turned on by it you are.

My own face is flushed with the sexual rush of tickling you. I’m getting uncomfortable in my sweaty clothes, so I quickly strip them off and throw them on the floor behind me. My hard dick sways heavily from side to side. I visually compare our hard dicks and find that yours is bigger, but not by much.

“Wow — awesome boner, Mitch. Guess you really are a stud! So let’s see what kind of self-control you have. I wonder if you can keep yourself from cumming….”

With those words, I wrap my left hand around the wet and still-leaking knob of your dick. I spread your natural lube all over the knob and down the shaft, moving slowly and deliberately. Your eyes grow even wider than before. Your lips part in an involuntary moan of pleasure.

“Tell me, Mitch, are you a stud? Are you a real man?”

“Yes! I’m a real man. I’m a stud! I can control myself. I can keep from blowing my load, you’ll see!”

Your mouth closes in a determined line. I can see you clenching your jaw. You’re so sure that — unlike with the tickling — you can win, you can dominate, when it comes to your sexual reactions. But what you don’t realize is that I’m even more determined to MAKE you shoot your wad!

“Yes, Mitch, you’re right — I will see. And you’re doing well at controlling yourself so far. But I have many ways to break you, my friend. Shall I show you just one of them?”

“Yeah, show me, man. Do your worst! You’re not gonna make me shoot my load. NO FUCKING WAY!”

“I hear you, Mitch. Well then, show me your control when I do this!”

My right hand moves up your chest and finds your left nipple. I rub and stroke it gently, and once again your body betrays you. The nub of your sensitive nipple responds to my stroking. It grows pinker in color and hardens between my fingertips. Your hard dick spurts out more pre-cum.

“Ohhh, man, that is SO unfair!”

“Hey, I told you that I was going to do my best to make you cum. And this is just the beginning, Mitch. You said you could handle this! Are you losing control already? Maybe I can help you out a little, you know? Maybe I can do something to help you forget how good this feels. You want me to do that, Mitch?”

“Hey, dude, I CAN handle this! You’ll see! You do whatever you fucking want to me. I am NOT gonna fucking cum, because I AM a fuckin’ stud!”

“Whatever you say, Mitch. I’ll just keep going, then, since you say you can take it.”

My left hand moves back up your shaft to the knob of your hard-on, and with a twisting movement of my hand I continue to spread your pre-cum and further stimulate the sensitive area just underneath your piss slit. Your body writhes in response to my touch.

Now you’re talking to yourself again, giving yourself a pep talk. “Come on, man, you can take this! You’re a man, you’re a stud, you can handle — oh, FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

That outburst is the result of my right hand’s moving across your chest to your right nipple and giving it the same treatment I gave the left one. In mere moments it’s as hard as its twin. I watch as your jaw clenches and unclenches. You’ve closed your eyes, and you’re repeating a desperate mantra: “I will NOT cum! I will NOT cum! I will NOT cum!’

“You know, Mitch, I can see you’re fighting a losing battle here. So I’m gonna help you out. I’m gonna take your mind off of your dick and how fucking great it’s feeling. I’m gonna help you out by doing this!”

My hands leave your dick and nipples. They move to your sides, and my fingertips begin to massage your ribs.

“Oh, NO-O-O-O-O-O, not that!! Not my fucking RIBS! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!! That’s just fucking WRONG! Oh God oh God ohGodohGodohGodohGod ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha STOP STOP STOP!!”

Your head is jerking from side to side. Your muscular body is tensing up, trying to twist away from my tickling fingers, and sweat is dripping down your forehead. Your chest and your armpits are gleaming with sweat.

“Fight it, Mitch! Come on, dude! Fucking flex your way through it, Mitch! That’s the only way you’re gonna be able to take this! Show me what an athlete you are. Flex and power your way through this, Mitch! Yeah, that’s it! Make those gorgeous, hard muscles work for you, man!”

And you’re doing your best to flex, you really are. Your face is turning red, and you’re emitting little grunts as you try to focus on powering your way through the awful, constant tickling. And it works — for a little while. But you can’t fight those incessant ticklish feelings forever. And I know you can’t. And you know that I know….

And now my fingers are moving again. They find the ridges of your abdominals and dig into them. My right index finger circles your sensitive belly button, then suddenly dips into it. And that’s when you lose it once again. You actually scream in a decidedly unmanly fashion, at least an octave above the normal pitch of your voice. And now — now you know that I’m going to break you. You’ve already lost control a couple of times, and you’ve only gotten it back because I’ve given you a break.

But I haven’t even gotten to your worst tickle-spots yet, and you know it!

“What was THAT, Mitch?? Sounded like a girl screaming. Surely that wasn’t you, was it, my studly friend?”

You’re finding it hard to form words and coherent thoughts, because the tickling is continuing on your abdominals and in your belly button. Occasionally my fingers stray over to your ribs again briefly, which makes your laughter go up a notch in intensity.

“Y-YES, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, that was me-hee-hee-hee oh man oh man oh man, oh fuck fuck fuck FUCK!! Will you-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo PLE-hee-hee-hee-heease STOP TICKLING me-hee-hee-hee!! I can’t TAKE this much longer ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!”

“Well, then, Mitch, if you REALLY want me to stop tickling you, I’ll have to go back to playing with your dick. And you were having a hard time controlling THAT, too, remember?”

“Yes yes yes YES go back to my dick! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha I don’t fucking CARE oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck PLEASE stop stop stop STOP THE TICKLING HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!”

“Okay, Mitch, if that’s what you want.” And finally, finally, the horrible tickling stops. Your chest heaves up and down rapidly, and you feel like you’ve just completed a 10K run. Your body is covered with sweat.

I move to get something else out of my black bag. You wonder what it is — after all, nothing that’s come out of that bag so far has been good news for you!

“This is warming lubricant, Mitch. All I have to do is spread some of this on your dick, and my hand is gonna feel like the hottest sex you’ve ever had. You think you’re man enough not to cum when I do that, Mitch?”

Your breathing is steadier, and you can form coherent sentences again. “I told you before, man, I can control my body! I fuckin’ cum when I want to. I’m a stud, and if I don’t want to cum, there’s nothing you can do to MAKE me cum!”

“You don’t sound quite as sure of yourself as you did before, Mitch. Maybe you just want to skip this part, and we can go back to the tickling. What do you say?”

NO!! No more tickling!! I told you, I can take whatever you can dish out. Do your worst, man!”

“All right, Mitch, if that’s the way you want it.” I squeeze a glob of the lube onto my left hand, and slowly apply it to your dick.

The effect is instantaneous. “Oh. My. GOD!! What the FUCK?! That stuff DOES make your hand feel like the best sex I’ve ever had! Ohhh, YEAH…..” Your eyes close in pleasure, and your hips start thrusting upward, making your dick move into my fist.

“Remember, Mitch, the idea is for you NOT to cum. Seems to me that you’re actually TRYING to cum. I thought real men had better control of themselves than that….”

You shake your head and open your eyes again. You make your hips stop their movement. Your breathing starts to slow down again.

“Yeah — yeah, you’re right. I’m a real man. Gotta stay in control. I’m not gonna cum. You’ll see. You can’t make me cum!”

“Oh, really??” I smile evilly. Then I start up the movement of my left hand again, slowly, maddeningly, moving up to engulf your dickhead with my fingers and thumb, twisting my hand slightly. My thumb brushes over the most sensitive part of your dick, once, again, a third time.

“Mmmmm — oh my GOD, dude, that feels so fucking GOOD!!”

My right hand moves up to caress and pinch and twist your sensitized nipples. Then it leaves your nipples to cradle your ballsack, gently moving your jewels around inside it. More moans escape your lips.

“Tell you what, Mitch. Since you’re not doing too great a job of showing me how well you can control your body and its reactions, let’s change the game. Now I want you to TRY to make yourself cum. And I’m going to do my best to bring you right up to the verge of orgasm WITHOUT letting you cum. And we’ll see who wins, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, that’s cool. I’ll bet I can win that game! I can make myself cum anytime I want. NOW I’ll prove to you what a stud I am! I’ll bet I can fucking cum two or three times!”

“Okay, Mitch, game on!”

Once again you start thrusting your pelvis, making your dick move into and out of my fist. Your breathing speeds up, your hips move faster and faster, your balls start to draw up close to your body. You’re almost there —

— and suddenly I take my hand completely off your dick, leaving you with no stimulation.

“What the FUCK did you do that for?? I was so CLOSE!!”

“I know you were. Remember, I’m supposed to keep you from cumming. That’s what I just did. Looks like I won that round. Ready to go again?”

“Hell, yeah. And this time I’m gonna cum before you can do anything about it. Bring it on!”

“Very well….”

My left hand goes to work on your leaking dick again. I concentrate on the mushroom head, using my hand to engulf it and stimulate it to the max. You’re moaning rhythmically now, matching your words to the movement of your pelvis. “Oh, yeahhh.” thrust, “that’s good,” thrust, “right there,” thrust, “like that,” thrust, “ohhh, FUCK,” thrust, “don’t stop!” thrust, “shit, yeah!” thrust, “I’m close!” thrust, “oh, God!” thrust, “so good!” thrust, “fuck, YEAH!” thrust.

The speed and power of your thrusts has been increasing slowly. Your eyes have closed, and now you’re uttering a monosyllable with each one: “Yeahhh,” thrust, “Fuck!” thrust, “So-o-o-o” thrust, “Damn” thrust, “Close!” thrust, “Ooooh” thrust, “YEAH” thrust, “SHIT!” thrust, “NOW –“

–and you thrust your dick into empty air! My hand is gone again!

“You BASTARD! You motherfucking PRICK! I was so damned CLOSE, you fucking SHIT!”

I just grin back at you. “That’s the idea, Mitch. Looks like I win again!”

And so it goes for the next forty-five minutes. I let you cool down for about a minute, then my expertly stroking hand works its magic again. You get to the edge of the precipice each time, only to find that the stroke that’ll push you over the edge just isn’t there! And time after time you’re so frustrated that you hurl invectives at me in combinations I’ve never even heard. This happens three times — six times — nine times — twelve times!

Finally I say: “Mitch, do you want me to let you cum this time?”

Half-crazy with lust and frustration, you snarl, “What do YOU think?!?”

“I’ll let you cum if you’ll agree to let me tickle you nonstop for the next two hours.”

And — because you’ll do anything, ANYTHING, to cum at this point — you agree….

In seconds my hand wraps around your impossibly hard dickhead again, and the previous scenario repeats. But this time, when you get to the edge of the precipice, I push you over!

“Ohhh, FUUUUUUUUCK!!!” you scream, as your first blast of jism hits the wall behind your headboard. The second volley hits you square in the face, the third reaches your neck, the fourth lands on your chest, the fifth pools in your navel, and the remaining three ooze over my hand and drip into your pubes. “Uuuunh!” you moan, as you collapse onto the soaked bedsheets, completely drained.

I wipe the cum from your face and from my hand with a cold, wet washcloth. I offer you a drink of bottled water, which you guzzle greedily while I clean up your pubes. I let you rest for a full minute. Then I kneel down so that my mouth is right next to your left ear, and I say: “Now it’s time to keep your promise, Mitch. Your ticklish armpits are MINE for the next TWO HOURS!!”

In a flash I’ve straddled your body and before you can even protest, my fingers have found the twin spots just above the tufts of hair in your upper armpits, and they’ve begun to wiggle slowly across those sensitive patches of skin. Almost instantly you’re laughter becomes hysterical, and I haven’t even gotten to your actual armpits yet!

Already you’re begging through your laughter: “Oh God PLEASE stop! Don’t ha-ha-ha-ha! tickle my PITS! No no no no no STOP not there not there oh fuck fuck fuck FUUUCK!!! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!! I CAN’T STAND IT!! PLEASE NO MORE PLEEEEEEASE!!”

But my fingers have begun their descent. They move through the matted tufts of hair in your upper armpits and down into the deep, muscular, impossibly ticklish hollows themselves. Your words are no longer intelligible. In a few more moments, there are no words at all, only prolonged, high-pitched screams — “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!” — as my fingers continue to create the horrible sensations that you’d give anything to be able to escape. And still my merciless fingers continue to wiggle, stroke, and jab, unpredictably varying their method and changing their location, each hand independent of the other. Occasionally one hand will leave your armpit and tickle your ribs, abs, or belly button, only to return in a few moments to your wet, sensitized pit and continue its tickle-torture!

Your voice becomes raspy and then ragged, and finally you are unable to make sounds at all. Your mouth opens and your throat tries to emit sound, but none comes out. That happens during the first hour; the second hour has been soundless except for the noises made by your weak struggling and your labored breathing. Twice during the first hour, I felt your hard prick poking me in the back. You’d told me that armpit tickling in particular aroused you sexually, and the two loads that you’d shot all over my back and ass have proven that statement to be true. Now your head is tossing back and forth again, and I feel another poke on my back; you must be getting close to cumming for the fourth time in two hours. Ah, yes, I just felt another wet spurt on my back! And you aren’t the only one who’s had multiple orgasms while I’ve been tickling your armpits — I’ve had two of my own, and now my dick is ramrod-hard again and ready for my third.

But now (at long last, according to you) the two hours of armpit tickling are over, and I climb off the bed. I unhook your wrist and ankle restraints, and you immediately curl up into the fetal position and fall into exhausted sleep.

As I cover your naked body, I say aloud, “Yes, Mitch, get your rest while you can. Today’s only Saturday, and I’ll be here all this week. We’ll have LOTS more time to play!”

THE END