Category: Tickling & Feet
A kinky & horny older man hires a young street hustler for some kinky bondage and tickle sessions that push the boy’s limits…..
Tickling Joey D
by Pete Roc
I could tell you where I met Joey D, but the name escapes me. Names are not big at this place to begin with. I never used my real name, and Joey never said the rest of his. If even that much is true.
More important than Joey’s name was his price. Cash only, no gifts, checks or plastic. To those of you in the know, this marks Joey as not exactly at the top of his profession. Fine. The first class boys demand kid glove treatment, and I had rougher handling in mind.
Now don’t think Joey was a second rate physical specimen. But he lacked the polish of the corporate callboys. He was ‘street’ through and through. Which also suited my taste. View Full Article »
Tim, The Ticklish Skatepunk
I’d been watching him for several weeks now. Gliding by with his buddies he’d be, in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts, baggy, coursing elegantly over the corporate cement. I’d be hangin’ out on Saturdays, reading a novel, smoking cigarettes in the late spring warmth, thoroughly enjoying these young studs’ skate stunts (until the goddamn corporation cracked down later that year and put up signs and more security to drive them off). Several were quite nice-looking, but one stood out. About five-nine, jet-black hair of average length, heavy-boned frame, and, around his neck, oddly, a very-seventies shark tooth on a black leather cord. The young hunk was broad-shouldered and clearly well-built; he distracted me often from my book.
As I had decided to be more bold with my interest in good-looking, athletic, cocky young men, specifically desiring to explore my paternal disciplinary instincts, and the possibility of persuading one of these smirky, arrogant skatepunks into bondage and boyish tortures, I determined to strike up a conversation with this guy. . .eventually.
Weekend after weekend, the skatepunks did their moves. I did nothing.
But today, I’d noticed him looking over at me a few times, with what appeared to be. . .interest. (Naw, impossible. . .)
Then. . .suddenly, there he was, rocketing his board my way. My favorite skatepunk. When he got within twenty feet, I saw his eyes were locked on mine. . .he glided up, snapped the board’s end down suddenly, snagged his chariot up and padded over the grass to me.
The Skatepunk Asks For A Cigarette
Ahhh. The interest was in. . .my cigarette pack. Figures. I smiled anyway. I held up the pack of American Spirits. “Hey, you shouldn’t be smoking, pal,” I said. “You’re an athlete!” I smiled crookedly up at his face, silhouetted against the sun. He chuckled lazily. “Yeah, I know. I only smoke sometimes. Never buy ‘em. Only bum ‘em.” He took a cig. Smiling bad-boyishly at me, he sat down on the hot cement wall a couple feet to my left.
We shot the shit for a few minutes. Turned out his name was Tim.
“Yeah, I’ve got a couple of part-timer jobs. I don’t like to work much. Not with school on.”
“Well, you’re not in school now, are you? It’s summer.”
“Yeah, but. . .” He laughed and turned to me, grinning, a beautiful, devilishly boyish grin, his bright white teeth glinting sharply in the full sun as he threw his cocky head back. “Sometimes it seems I’m always in school. Fuckin’ shit.”
“I gotta fuck around, skate, scoot, party. . .you know.” He took a long drag from the cig and leaned back carefully on the wall. Then he bolted up and peeled off his t-shirt.
I jumped involuntarily at the sight of his chest. Very lean, a little more tanned than his face had given away, with a hard, gently muscled belly. His upper body was a lot more muscular than I’d guessed; Tim had a great set of small, hard, square pecs and heavy, well-beefed shoulders and upper arms. He’d be great in a fight, I thought. Jesus, I tried hard not to stare! He turned and lay back along the wall and groaned contently, stretching his blue-veined forearms behind his head, exposing a lusciously moist pair of deep armpits, lined with strong young-male tendons, bursting with exuberant, dark pit hair. I could have jumped him and poked him right there. I had to have him somehow. . .
“So you don’t have a job? What a fucking slacker.”
He looked insulted. “No way, man, I work. At the Seven Sisters. Pull espresso.” He looked serious for a moment. “Gotta save up money for my new board. Gonna cost me fucking almost two hundred bucks.”
I was kinda stunned. Not by his looks, suddenly, but by the price. “You gotta be kidding me. How can a fucking skateboard cost two bills? That’s insane.”
Time shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever. It’s a custom board.” He was looking off toward his buddies. He stood very suddenly and yelled something unintelligible at one of them.
Hooking the Trout
Tim laid back down on the wall, lifted his head, and glanced at me.
“You look like one of those frat boys.” He grinned wickedly. “Only older.”
I preferred to think of this remark as a male compliment on my clean-cut good looks.
Cocky little bastard. “Shouldn’t knock fraternities, smartass. You don’t have what it takes to be in a frat.” I pulled out a cig.
“Oh yeah? Like what am I missing? C’mon. Frat guys are a bunch of pussies. I should know. My sister’s dated enough.”
I lit my cig. “Yeah, maybe you think so, fucker, but the hazing’s tough!”
He took a drag and spewed it out extravagantly. “Oh, okay, hazing. Yeah. Gimme a break. I could handle that shit.” He glanced at me with cocky contempt, then looked away towards his buds.
I pulled myself up against the wall, stretching out my legs. “Oh, yeah, you think so, huh? You’re a little smartass, pal. Though you’re an awesome skateboarder.”
“Awesome? But you’re an old guy, so. . .”
“Old? I’m fucking twenty-nine. Old is like, seventy.”
“Nobody says ‘awesome’ anymore.” He grinned nonetheless.
“Not true, idjit.”
“Whatever. . .you’re old enough.”
“Oh yeah? Old enough for what? And how old are you?”
He leaning up again, eyeing me quickly, then grinned down at the pavement, taking a long drag off the cig.
“Nineteen.” He chuckled insultingly. “Check it out, you sit here and watch us skatin’. I’ve seen you before here. I’ve seen you here.” He met my eyes directly again, grinned again, then looked off at his buddies.
His gaze was so honest, intent, just for those few seconds. . .it threw me a little. Was he. . .getting at something? Naw, just young male bullshit, I thought to myself. Something in me suddenly decided to go for it, though, and that something started to speak.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. You think you’re so tough? Listen. How ’bout this.” I threw the cig down and stood, crushing it under my Timberland. I turned to face him with a wicked grin.
“You’re too lazy to work for your new board? Fine. I’ve got bucks. I’ll offer to buy it for you.”
He cocked his head, still lying on the cement and straining his neck to look up at me. He grinned incredulously, then sat up swiftly. “No way. Why?”
“If you can pass a simple test. Say, an hour-long test.” I was having a hard time not staring at the luxurious thatch surrounding his navel, black as the fur in his armpits, and about as dense.
“I get enough tests at the ‘dub, man. Hey!” Tim turned away suddenly, yelling again at one of his friends. They exchanged looks, and some sort of quick, unintelligible hand signs; he then turned back to me. “Anyway. Yeah. So.”
“Not an academic test, dummy,” I continued. “But it is. . . a. . . collegiate one.” I licked my lips quickly, despite myself, my heart beating harder. I turned away from his painfully handsome face, glancing off towards the guy he’d just yelled at, hoping he’d not seen my intensity. “You think my frat hazing was so easy? I’ll put you through the same one I got. For one hour. If you can pass without giving up, the skateboard’s yours.” I grinned.
He cocked his head again. He actually looked kind of interested for a moment. Then, just as quickly, his eyes turned again to his buds, the thick neck tendons swerving his skull. One of them was yelling something at us. “Cool! Hey, listen, man, gotta go.” He jumped off the wall, stuffing his t-shirt into the back pocket of his shorts. He took a few quick, lithe strides across the grass to the edge of the cement, tossed the board back down, and scooted away. But not before turning back, shooting me again that killer grin. “Hey, see ya again, dude.”
I was crushed. I went home immediately and. . .well, you can guess what.
The Next Saturday
We started talking about a mini-riot at one of the downtown clubs the night before. Tim still had six months to go before he could drink legally.
He brought up the subject of our previous little chat.
“Whoa. A new board? That’d be cool. Fuck. . .I need a new deck. Well, what’s it like? What kinda stupid shit they do to you?” He was curious, but also clearly a little suspicious now. He jumped off the wall quickly, picked up his board, and started screwing around with it, jumping on it, twisting, staring down at it intently, looking up at me lazily, then returning to total board absorption. Half a boy and half a man. Only nineteen.
Jeez, how was I gonna lead him, handle this. . .by instinct? Sometimes when men are with other men they’re trying to swindle, they forget they’re men themselves. . .as if the other guy were a foreign creature. . .like a female or something. I remembered this syndrome, and chilled, slowly regaining control.
I cleared my throat. “Well, if I tell you. . .that’s kind of dumb.” He glanced at me, put-off.
I continued quickly. “Alright, it’s kind of an interrogation thing. If you can tough it out, you get to join the frat.”
“Well, yeah, everybody got in the frat, though, you said.” He glanced at me with that “gee, I hadn’t realized you’re really not that bright” look. Suddenly I realized he thought he had me; he was wearing a contemptuous grin. Quickly I put on a confused look, like I was too mentally slow for him. I couldn’t tell if I were, or I was just a lucky verbal stumbler. “But it’s tough! It really was!” I suddenly copped a pathetic, pleading tone.
“Well, you went through it, man. And YOU don’t look so tough.” He laughed mockingly. “So it can’t be that big a deal!” He grinned at me arrogantly, leapt over to me, reached into my front pocket and took out my pack of Spirits. “I think I just got myself a new board, dude. Let’s go for it.”
“Sure,” I said languidly, my heart suddenly throbbing. “Wh-when?”
“Right now, dude. You just live up there, right?” he said, pointing and looking up to the beat-up old brick apartment building on the hill behind us. “Just an hour, huh?” He smiled, still looking up at the building, like he was trying to pick out the windows of my apartment. The strong, well-made fingers of his right hand stroked lazily through the thick fur of his muscled belly.
Minutes later, he was following me down the long corridor to my apartment.
Across the Threshold
“Okay. I’ve been thinking. I’m gonna change it a little.”
“Whaddya mean, change it? No way!” He had popped himself a beer and was walking back from the kitchen into the living room, well, the only room, of my ratbag studio apartment.
“No, just because. . .it can’t be identical. In this case, we’ll make it more of. . .more of a game. Here’s the gig. I’m gonna give you. . .how much do you need?”
“Like, a hundred and. . .sixty bucks.”
I thought for a moment. “I thought you said almost two bills?”
He looked at me like I was a complete moron. “Well, a hundred and sixty. . .is almost. . .two hundred. . .” He blinked.
“Okay.” Clearly this guy hasn’t been dealing with money very long. I looked in my wallet. I had a fat bunch of tens and twenties. “I’ll give you that much right now. I’ll go out in the hallway. . .no, I’ll go get some more beer at the stop-and-rob. While I’m gone, you hide each of the bills. . .”
“Stop-and-rob.” He giggled, and glanced at me, grinning. Then down at his feet. “Uhh, better make it a hundred and eighty, come to think.”
“Huh? I thought you saidÉ”
“Taxes, man. Fucking sales tax.” He jerked his handsome face up. He was still grinning, and now I could see on his big, perfect front teeth that slightly marbly look that guys get when they’re given certain antibiotics in childhood. God knows why, but I always found that kinda sexy. Whatever.
I looked at him, running my eyes quickly, carnivorously over his hot, sweaty bod. Jesus. Then I glanced quickly at and away from his moist, corrugated stomach. “What-fucking-ever. . .okay. . .here’s a hundred and eighty bucks. . .” I handed him the bills, and at that precise fucking moment Tim began absent-mindedly stroking his belly again, grazing his fingers through his thatch and even poking a finger into his navel. I thought I was gonna have a stroke.
I thought of the really foolishly huge amount of money I’d given him. “Hmmm…..doesn’t matter. . .I’ll probably get more of it back than he thinks. . .”
“You hide those in the apartment while I’m gone. When I get back, I’ll have one hour to get you to tell me where they are. Whatever you’ve still got hidden at the end of the hour is yours.”
“Wait a minute! What if you win some back? Then I won’t have enough. I don’t know, man.” He copped a cynical, bored look. “Maybe. . .” He glanced out the window, blue eyes narrowing. Far below was the corporate “skatepark”. His buddies were gliding along, far below, like wheeled ants. The roar of the freeway drowned out their sounds.
“All right, you bastard. Here. Here’s another twenty. That makes two hundred. And I still think I can get it all back from you during our game.” I was sure I blushed suddenly, confused, thinking I’d fucked up, that he’d interpret the sudden extra money as desperation to getting him into some sick situation. But my fear was for nothing. His greed (which I should have predicted) won him over immediately, and I realized that, yes, when we’re young men, cocky, untested, we think we’re immortal, that we can do anything, undergo anything, and come out on top. Always a key technique in manipulating young men: appeal to their greed and sense of omnipotence.
“Cool, man. Deal!” Tim grinned widely and chuckled, again lazily scratching that taut belly, absently playing with his own teenage male flesh, which I now noticed was streaked lightly with some sort of grime. His dark blue eyes shot pleasure at me from under the shock of black hair falling boyishly over his forehead. He raised his hand in goodbye. “See ya in a few, bro!” he half-sneered. Turning away, he began looking with interest through my library. “You read books?”, I thought insultingly, as I closed the door behind me.
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Young Smooth Dude Tickled by Devious Captor
While he might not exactly be a twink, watching young smooth skater-boy type Damon tickled by Jason Strong is sure to please any tickling fan. The good-looking young dude with size 10 feet is bound to Jason’s bed with his arms stretched wide dressed only his FTL underwear revealing his smooth chest and lightly hairy pits. In the video clip above Jason tickles his sensitive sides but there is much more in store for young ticklish Damon including having his big bound feet mercilessly tickled by his devious captor with his hands and other tools. Check out the preview video above and visit Jason Strong Tickling for more.