Chain Letters

May 12, 1990

Dear Editor:

I finally got up the nerve to write to the hottest sex mag on the market today. Reading month after month all the letters from guys who spill their hottest secrets and real-life experiences makes me so hot I can barely hold back my cum until the last page.

But nothing ever got to me like the letter in your latest issue from T.G. in Costa Mesa. His description of "tickle torture" made me blow my wad before I was halfway done reading.

Here's why. As a kid I was frequently subjected to merciless tickling by the neighborhood bully (coincidentally, his initials were T.G., too).

Tony (not his real name) was two years older than me, but we hung around together with all the other guys in town. At the time everyone was in awe of Tony. Way before the rest of us he was showing dark hairs on his upper lip. And the bastard knew just how handsome he was, too. He smirked nonstop and winked at all the girls with those big brown eyes of his.

I don't know why, but Tony took to picking on me constantly. First with teasing jokes and remarks which later turned to shoves and slaps. Then one day he discovered my weakness. I am insanely ticklish.

I'll never forget the first time I was subjected to Tony's cruel treatment. It was summertime and us guys were all hanging out on the riverside wearing cutoffs, sneakers and nothing else. I don't know what started it, but all of a sudden Tony leaped at me. (Maybe I laughed when some guy made a smart remark about Tony's hairy armpits. He had a forest of dark fur there, while mine were still mostly clear. That's why his nickname for me was "The Baby". That, and because my skin was so pink.)

We rolled in the damp grass for a few moments but I was no match for Tony's muscles. He clutched my two wrists in his left hand and effortlessly yanked them over my head. He locked his legs around mine. Except for my threadbare denim shorts, I was totally exposed to whatever he wanted to do to me.

He started with his usual taunting: "What's so funny, Baby? Does The Baby like to laugh, huh? Let's see Baby laugh..."

Then his right hand floated down toward my ribs, the fingers wiggling in midair. I can still remember their hot touch after all these years. And then the fingers moved! Jolts of tickle-feelings shook my whole body. The bastard saw immediately that he had really gotten to me, so he worked his fingers harder and faster. I remember begging, "Tony--Tony--stop! I can't stand it please!!"

God, no wonder he called me "The Baby".

Soon I was flopping all over the grass trying to break Tony's grip. No way. Most of the other guys were totally amused by my humiliation. The one or two who looked like they pitied me were too scared of Tony to try to defend me.

I watched through watery eyes as Tony's index finger began to wiggle across the delicate skin of my stomach to my navel. I was panic stricken of what it would feel like if those tickling fingers got a chance to probe my sensitive belly button.

Suddenly, I was free! I didn't ask how, but as soon as Tony relaxed his grip I was on my feet and running. When I had gotten some 10 yards away from where Tony sat on the bank, I dared to look back. He was sitting there smirking at me. Casually he rose to his feet, the perspiration glistening on his tanned chest.

"I'm gonna get you, Baby. I'm coming to tickle you.."

I was off like a shot. But Tony's legs were longer than mine and he was on the school track team. I was panting and struggling to escape, but within seconds he was loping up behind me. He was talking all the time, threats of the next round of torture:

"I'm coming for ya, Baby. I'm coming to tickle you. I'm gonna tickle you so bad! You'll wish you were dead once I get my hands on you... and... start... tickling!!"

POW. That ape's arms were around me and we were tumbling in the grass again. I wound up on my belly with Tony sitting on my back and facing my butt.

God, I remember how even the stalks of grass beneath me tickled my belly, so you can just imagine my predicament.

Tony grabbed my ankles and drew my legs back up toward him. With a flick of his hands he had my sneakers off my feet and tossed to the ground. I shuddered when I realized what his next target was. I wanted to cry.

Instead I laughed. I laughed like a maniac from the way Tony toyed with my feet. His fingers fluttered all over my feet back and front. Then he slowed down to let them crawl deliberately between my toes and over my soles and on top of my arches. He drew little patterns on the bottoms of my feet while I slowly went out of my mind.

And through it all you want to know the sickest thing? I was incredibly aroused! (You knew I was going to say that.) From the moment Tony had started titillating the skin on my ribs, I had boned up--and how! Part of my panic was fear he would see my excitement and start calling me a faggot. And the more and more he ran those sweaty paws all over my bare skin, the closer I came to blowing my load.

By the time he was tickling my feet, I knew I was seconds away from a powerful cum. The shivers of tickling that were giving me goosebumps seemed to head right for my pulsating boy-dick. And it didn't help that Tony's weight was pressing my erection right into the warm, yielding earth.

The final straw came when Tony brought my wriggling toes right up to his mouth. He pressed his lips against my quivering soles and blew a juicy razzberry on the bottoms of my feet!

It was the strongest orgasm of my life to that day. I jammed my fist into my mouth to muffle the tell-tale screams of release. I was still spurting when Tony heaved himself off me and strutted away to the cheers of his cronies. Thank God he didn't realize what he had made me do. I lost track of time and couldn't tell you how long it was before I was able to rise off the ground on my wobbly legs and make my way home.

That day was just the beginning. Time after time when he saw me Tony would make some kind of attempt to tickle me. I would run, but even if I escaped him, we both knew that if he made a real effort he could get me for sure.

Usually he would grab me, toss me on the floor, and just start in on my ribs and belly. He hardly had to bother holding me down. When I get tickled all the fight drains out of me like somebody pulled a plug. And it didn't take long for Tony to catch on to my erections. As soon as he had me weak with laughter my cock would get hard and show a bulge in my jeans. Then Tony would smirk at me. But he never said anything to embarrass me in front of the other guys. Strange.

It got so he didn't even have to touch me to get me pumped like that. I remember when he started in calling my house. The phone would ring, I would answer and I would hear this truly sadistic chuckle at the other end.

"Hey, it's The Baby--the ticklish Baby! Look out Baby, I'm coming to get you. Gonna tickle you to death! Kitchy Kitchy Koo..."

I couldn't help listening when he went off like that. It took all the willpower I could muster to fight the panic and slam down the phone. Then I would run up to my room and lock the door. (Even though Tony lived at the other end of town!) Cowering in my bed, the memories of his tickle torture attacks would run through my mind. I always wound up masturbating as I re-lived how Tony had touched me the way nobody else had ever touched me.

I need to tell you about the last time that Tony got me. A few months after the day on the riverbank, I was doing some chores in the barn. I didn't hear a thing until the heavy door slammed shut. Then I heard the snap of the lock. Then I heard a sound that made my knees go weak. Tony's voice echoing through the shadowy barn.

"Now you're gonna get it! I'm here to get you! It's Tickle Time, Baby! Say your prayers. It's Tickle Time!"

My heart was pounding as I ran all over trying to find a way out. But all the doors and windows had been carefully locked in advance.

I heard Tony before I felt him. A whoosh and then his heavy muscular body landed on mine, pinning me to the straw covered floor. A few loops of the ropes in his hands and my wrists were tied in front of me. I almost didn't bother to struggle, I knew it was so pointless. But I begged, though. Boy did I ever.

"Tony please, please don't do it. I can't stand it Tony pleeez, I'll pay you--I'll give you anything! No tickling please don't tickle me! PLEASE!"

All the time I was whining, he was working away with ropes and whatnot. I couldn't believe it as he soon had me suspended from a roof beam, my body stretched taut until the tips of my toes could just barely touch the floor.

Then he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. A gag. As soon as I saw It I started screaming for help as loud as I could. But my folks were away and the nearest farm was miles up the road. In moments I was totally trussed and silenced, swaying from the roof of my dad's barn.

Then Tony did something that just plain shocked me. He grabbed my pants and yanked them right off my body, the jockey shorts and jeans in one swipe. The sneakers got knocked off with them. I was butt naked from the waist down. Then Tony ripped open my shirt at the front, pulling off all the buttons. Deliberately, if you ask me.

It took me a second to realize that my cock was iron hard and bobbing out in front of me for Tony to see. He looked it over and gave me another of his trademark smirks. Then he slapped at my boner with his open palm.

All the breath rushed out of me. Nobody had ever touched my hard, naked cock before.

Then, chuckling to himself, Tony turned and walked away, letting himself out of the barn.

I'm not sure how long I was hanging there. The ropes began to give a little bit so I was almost able to rest my bare feet comfortably on the floor. The sun set outside and the shadows in the barn darkened. The only sound was the drops of precum rolling from the tip of my hardon to splatter on the floor. And through it all was the fear. But I don't know what scared me more--the idea that Tony wouldn't come back or the idea that he would.

He came back. Padding silently into the barn with a harsh, bright work-light that hurt my eyes which had gotten used to the dimness. When my vision cleared I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Tony was only wearing a jockstrap and a pair of beat up cowboy boots. His powerful frame never looked so big as it did with just that scrap of elastic hugging his hips. And that hair that was the envy of all us guys was spread over a lot more of Tony's hunky bod. The admiration came to a quick stop when I saw what was in Tony's hands.

In one was a long stalk of the stiff straw that was spread all over the barn floor. In the other was a turkey quill plucked from one of the birds that we raise on our farm.

I knew what he was going to do with those.

I began to writhe from side to side, trying to break the ropes. But all I did was spray the floor with more juice from my cock. Tony just advanced calmly and methodically, his arms outstretched with the weapons that they carried.

Where did he tickle me? Where didn't he!

He would alternate between the dry scrape of the straw and the sleek softness of the quill. First they were dragged over each of my ribs one at a time slooowly. Then a trip to my armpits where each poke made me jump like I was being electrocuted. Through my gag, I cried for mercy when the quill traced circles in my belly button, And I was too shocked to even laugh when the straw and quill started to move lower into the area of my cock. And when he found that super-ticklish area behind my balls, I thought it would be better to just die, than be tickled like this. (Thank God, that he never got around to my feet that night in the barn. I just know I would have gone insane if he had.)

And don't you know that through my tear-filled eyes, I saw that Tony's jock was suddenly too small to hold his cock. That's right--this crazy game was getting him off. I should have known.

Then Tony got behind me to use his evil tools on my ticklish back. He drew little patterns with the straw between my shoulder blades to the top of my butt. I shook all over, my chest working double-time to keep up with the laughter being brutally forced out of my body.

Then the tickling stopped. I felt Tony's arms wrap around my taut body. His hands came to rest on my hard cock and bloated balls. His hands were so soft.

I almost began to protest, then realized--if his hands are busy there, he can't use them to tickle! He smeared the wetness from my cockhead all over his hands and began to jack me off. He was so good at it, I was back on the verge of tears again. But this time from the hot sex feelings that Tony was making happen. I had never been able to get myself off as good as he was.

Too soon, I came. A gut-wrenching spasm wiped me out totally while my cum slathered all over Tony's jacking fist. And from the way his other arm squeezed around my chest, I'm sure his balls were emptying out too.

I hung there limp, in another world until I felt one of the ropes fall to the floor. Tony had cut one of the lengths and then dropped the knife at my feet. I was able to free myself with it. He didn't even bother to watch. He just picked up the lantern and exhaustedly left the barn.

Left alone, I sliced through all the ropes holding me up until I collapsed in a heap in the straw. I slept where I dropped for hours until I awakened and dragged myself back to the house.

After that, nothing. Tony never mentioned these events and whenever he saw me, a look in his eyes made it clear I should never mention it either. He never tried to tickle me again from that day to the time his family moved away early the next year.

I guess it was all too intense, too "queer" for him to deal with. As for me, even with those great cums, I would never have let myself be tickled. Even today just the thought sends one word screaming into my brain: RUN!

But I have to admit that doing this letter has certainly revived some hot memories. (Jacked off twice while writing!) And none of the times I have nowadays on dates are as exciting as what happened back then. I've never mentioned this story to any of the boyfriends I've had, I'm afraid that they'll either think I'm weird. Or that they'll start getting ideas. Which I definitely DO NOT want.

So let's just keep this a hot memory. Thanks, MANGAME, for letting me remember.

K. H.
Green Valley, VA

T W O

[ A selection from the correspondence published in MANGAME magazine ]

( Dear Readers: In a recent issue we published a letter in which a Virginia man told us about his experiences as a teenager with being "tickle-tortured" by a bully in his neighborhood. We received many responses to that story. We are printing two. The first one is from a reader who said he was the one who did the torturing!. Here for your enjoyment is his uncut and uncensored letter. PS: As always, names changed to protect the filthy. - Ed. )

August 8, 1990

MANGAME--

I couldn't believe my eyes when I read the newest issue of your strokebook. There was a letter about me!

You printed a letter from K.H. in Green Valley. He bitched and moaned about how he got tickle tortured all the time when he was back in school. Well, I'm the guy who used to do him! I been reading MANGAME for years, but I never thought a letter would show up about me.

But there's more than K. told you, so I'll tell you the whole story.

K. wasn't the first or last guy who got a good tickling from me. I don't know why, but ever since I can remember I've had itchy fingers. Itching to get a hold of guys to tickle the hell out of them! I started in kindergarten and haven't stopped yet. Round about the time I turned 12 - 13, tickling guys (or even thinking about it) gave me boners. Since I was one of the biggest guys in my town, I could always do what I wanted to the rest of them--who said life was fair?

When me and my buddies were hanging out, it was easy to trick one into some position or whatever so that I could get some serious tickle time. Back then, I was careful to make sure that each guy thought he was the only one I was doing. I used to be a little shy about tickling--that's changed for sure!

But back to K. I had my eye on him for a while before I ever did anything to him. He was always giggling and laughing. I got crazy wondering how he'd sound when I gave him a major tickling. And his skin was so smooth and pink that I knew he would be extra ticklish.

And I don't care what he said in that letter. That little queer was always flirting with me. Checking out my bod and rolling his eyes at me. Maybe he didn't know what he wanted. But I knew what I wanted--so I gave it to him.

And you see how he said that I gave him the best cums he ever had. He should thank me! When I named him BABY I was right for sure.

So the day came when I got tired of waiting to get BABY alone for a tickle torture time. My fingers were extra itchy that day I guess. I just jumped him right there like he says in his letter. I still can remember the rush. And I was extra turned on because I knew half the other guys watching me had been tickled just like K. I could see the looks on their faces going--BETTER HIM THAN ME!

What shocked me that day was when it got through to me that K. had a hard-on too. It was the first time I knew of a guy who was getting off from being tickled the way I was getting off from doing the tickling. Sometimes I had felt a little bad about always going after my pals just to get a buzz from working on their ribs, armpits, feet whatever. But K. looked like he was as hot over it as me. That's why I made him my pet victim.

And God--if I had known he shot his load that VERY FIRST TIME I WOULD HAVE TAKEN HIM OUT TO THE BARN A WHOLE LOT SOONER!

There's a reason I never did the little BABY again after that night in the barn. 2 reasons really.

1 - After I got him off so good you think he would keep coming back for more. Sure, right. Instead he kept trying to duck me! It pissed me off so I said fuck him--he has to crawl back to me and beg for it before I would touch him again. But he just shook in his boots when ever I looked at him. BABY is right.

2 - I started fooling around with somebody else. Let me tell you about this other guy.

Believe it or not I used to be a Boy Scout--I really wanted to be in the army but until I got to be 18 it was the closest thing to the military. And when I finally did get into the service I had LOTS of tickling fun there too!

Back in the Scouts the troop leader was S. who was just back in town right after graduating college. He was 22 which didn't make him all that older than us Scouts. But the Scouts can't be too choosy when it comes to getting the guys to put up with a bunch of brats like me. Me and S. got along pretty good but every once in a while I got pissed at having to do what he told me. I mean I knew I was tougher than him and I could beat the crap out of him in any fight. But he was Troop Leader and I was just a regular Scout so he was the boss. But that all changed one afternoon.

We were down in the basement of the house he was renting. There was a rec room down there where our troop had meetings. But it was just me and him that day. We were supposed to work on knot tying.

Sure. Go ahead and laugh. Your right--I wanted to learn about ropes because of all the fantasies I had about tying guys up so I could tickle them. All the times I was wrestling my buddies to the ground I would think--what would it be like IF THERE WAS NO ESCAPE.

That day started badly cuz I was late. So S. started lecturing me about it. Then I copped an attitude. Like I said--who was he to talk like that to me when he was only a few years older Leader or no Leader.

Well one thing led to another and shouts turned to shoves. I was screaming at him while I wrestled him to the floor. It was no contest. No sooner was he pinned when my fingers started to itch. That same second my sights fell on the pile of white clothes line ropes that he got for our lesson.

What can I say. The devil made me do it. Ha! I was sure to be kicked out of the Scouts for hitting a Troop Leader--I might as well make the most of it.

Those lessons paid off. In no time I had S. roped up good. His hands were tied at the wrist behind his back. Another rope was looped around his chest pinning his arms. Another one was around his knees. The last rope tied his ankles.

When S. realized he couldn't get himself free, he tried to talk his way out. He made out like he wasn't mad at me and said I should let him go and he wouldn't tell anybody. He talked in a real calm voice, but you could hear it shake despite himself. I wasn't fooled. I also didn't want to hear anymore of that crap so I gagged him with his Scout bandana.

Right. Even though this was no official Scout meeting S. got all duded up in his full uniform. The khaki shirt and shorts, the sash, the kneesocks and the regulation shoes. So you see he deserved what ever I did to him.

Looking down at him all helpless gave me a huge rush--and huge boner! His face getting all red and sweaty cuz he was still struggling with the ropes and gags.

But no go. He was mine. I started.

I got comfortable on the floor and unlaced his shoes. He stopped his squirming. He couldn't figure what I was up to. Then I looked him right in the eye. I couldn't help grinning at the sight of him. As if he read my mind it hit him what he was in for. He started to yell into the gag and strain harder against the ropes.

It was a real tug-of-war to get his socks off. I had to work them out from under the ropes that were around his ankles. And all the time S. was jerking his feet left and right to try and stop me. OK. I like it more when they put up a fight.

With the socks gone I was surprised. For a dweeby guy S. had a hot pair of feet. The toes were long and straight. The arch was high and the tendons spreading from his bound ankles looked powerful. And the toenails were all perfectly clipped and clean.

I grabbed his right foot by the rope at the ankle. I brought my other hand closer and closer. S. couldn't take his eyes off my twitching fingers zeroing in on his naked foot. His breathing speeded up into panicky gasps.

"Kitchy kitchy koo! Kitchy kitchy koo!" I taunted him as my fingers inched up to his big pink soles.

Contact! His footflesh was warm and dry to the touch. I started to drag my fingers up and down the sole. THE TICKLE TORTURE HAD BEGUN!

My fingers were tickling every inch of those feet real casual like. Make a few circles on the sole. Quick trip up to the toes. Stop for a second at the heel. Scratch away on the balls. I was relaxed cuz I had all the time in the world. S. was going no place.

But he tried. He was banging his head and his butt--the only two parts of him that weren't tied--on the floor. And he was laughing his ass off from the tickling. And as I kept at him--teasing the skin between his toes and wiggling my fingers against the bottoms of his feet--he couldn't keep up the fight and just laid there LAUGHING LIKE CRAZY!

Every once in a while he would catch his breath. He would get a burst of strength and try to yank his legs away from me. No problemo. I just bent his toes back until his soles were perfectly taut--every inch of their ticklish skin vulnerable. My five fingers went to work and he collapsed again. No contest.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any better I noticed something. Like I said--S. wore his Scout uniform with the short pants. What should suddenly start peeping out from the leg hole of those shorts! A nice stiff cock! I was knocked out. Another guy who got turned on from getting tickled. Jeez--my hometown was crawling with queers!

I hiked his shorts even higher up so all of his stiffie was showing. I had a great time watching it flop and bob as I kept up the torture! It was a great way to tell when I was really hitting one of my victim's sensitive spots. The head spit out a big blob of juice every time I tickled him just right. The worst places for him was that sweet spot right in the middle of his sole and the damp skin tucked between his toes. Soon his cocktip was dripping so much that I thought he had cum a couple of times--but no. He was just one hardup dweeb who was getting mega turned on from being tickled by a Jr. Stud like me.

I put the screws to him a little more just to see how far things could go. With one hand still playing on his feet I started to tickle him right on the head of his cock. A light stroke with just one finger--staying off the part that really feels good.

What can I say. By now you already know I am one mean bastard.

S. went out of his mind. 5 of my fingers were tickling his feet crazy while another of my fingers was dragging him one inch at a time to an uphill cum. Tears were soaking the bandana gag in his mouth and I couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying. Probably both.

Well I ain't totally heartless. I figured I should take pity on the dweeb before he just up and died on me.

So I yanked his bound feet up by my shoulder. While I fisted his cock in a good strong jackoff grip I began munching on his wiggling pink toes. My tongue tickled the hell out of those feet while his cock shot globs of hot juice all over that Scout uniform.

Finally S. climbed down out of the clouds and opened his eyes. He looked at me with total gratitude. I knew I owned this guy.

I made good use of him too. Then and there his mouth took the first of many of my loads. And we got together plenty of times after that for more of the same fun and games. S. knew when he had a good thing--not like that BABY.

A year after that my folks moved away from Green Valley. I hear from S. every once in a while. But I haven't been able to get back to the old place. But writing this letter makes me think I should pay a visit to my old pal and see if he is still up for some FUN AND GAMES!

T. G.
Baton Rouge, LA

(The next letter was another response to K.H. in Green Valley. It seems to be from the scout Leader who was described in the above! And it arrived in our offices the very same week. )

August 12, 1990

To the Editor

MANGAME Magazine:

This is my first letter to your excellent magazine although I have been reading it for years. The letter from K.H. in the current issue both aroused and shocked me. It stimulated me because it is a hot description of my favorite erotic torment: tickling. I was shocked because I personally am acquainted with the two gentlemen described. In fact, I am still living in the same town as the letter's author. Although you altered the initials for publication, evidence internal to the text convinces me that I know exactly who wrote it.

I am not writing to ask for confirmation of my belief. (I am sure your editorial policy would forbid such indiscretion.) Rather I felt compelled to let you know that "tickling torture" is of major interest to this particular reader. Any other such items you can publish would be much appreciated.

In closing, I would add that periodicals such as your provide the main expression of my interests these days. (Although not so long ago I had many scenes such as were described in K.H.'s letter - with the exact same dominant!) I haven't seen him since, but the letter you published may provide an incentive for him to return to Green Valley to pay "a visit" on Mr. K. H.

S. D.
Green Valley, VA

(Well, Readers, there you have it. Two separate responses to the letter from K.H. published in a recent MANGAME. Mr. S.D. is correct that we are unable to put any of our readers in touch with others. Nor are we allowed to divulge any of their true names, addresses, etc. But we can't help feeling that such...passionate readers will be able to overcome the obstacles to a meeting. Can it be that we have not yet heard the last from that smoldering den of depravity, Green Valley, Virginia? - Ed.)

T H R E E

[ A selection from the correspondence received -- but not published--at MANGAME magazine ]

( Two days after the latest issue of MANGAME magazine was available, their office received the following letter by overnight express.)

Dear Editor:

I have just seen the new MANGAME. It carries a letter written in response to a letter of mine which was published in an earlier issue. The writer of this response says that he may contact your office to obtain my current address.

Under no circumstances is any information to be given out. My correspondence with your magazine was in the strictest confidence. Any breach of this confidence will be dealt with by my attorneys.

And anyway, I have departed the address on my last letter and will be traveling for the foreseeable future. So, you don't know where I am going to be at all.

Please honor your pledge of secrecy. Don't make me sorry I ever wrote to you. I do not want to meet up with the person who wrote that letter.

Sincerely,

K. H.
Green Valley, VA (formerly!)

(Some weeks after the above was received and filed by MANGAME, another letter arrived. The envelope was filthy and stained. Inside were a dozen or so pages of spattered, yellow legal paper covered with erratic handwriting. Here is the text of that strange letter.)

January 1991

Dear MANGAME:

They are making me write this letter.

They promised that while I am writing this out for you, they will stop tickling me--for a while.

They found me just like they said they would. I started reading the letter MANGAME published in response to mine, and when I realized who wrote it--the hair stood up on the back of my neck. I didn't even think Ty could read, let alone write.

They just made me suffer for that last remark. Ty is standing over my shoulder as I write this. If any disrespect creeps into this letter he gives the signal and Simon starts tickling my feet. Each of my feet is tied to a stool beneath the desk I am writing at. Nylon twine is looped around each toe. The twine is tightly pulled back and knotted around the buckles on the ankle cuffs that are locked on my legs. My toes are splayed out by the twine. My foot is flexed as far back as it can go. My soles are totally exposed. There is no protection for the smooth bottoms of my feet. Simon is crouched right between the two stools. He is ready to pounce. And there is nothing I can do but write this letter as best as I can so that they will hold off from tickling me--for a while.

Ty says I must tell it from the beginning.

Yes, sir.

I barely slept that first night after I read Ty's letter in MANGAME. Months had gone by since Ty wrote how he was planning to "pay a visit to my old pal".

And that other letter from Simon! I was completely shocked. I had no idea that Ty was fooling around with him. Simon still lived nearby. In fact, I ran into him several times that summer, after my letter was published in MANGAME. I realized that night what was behind all those strange looks he gave me back then--he had figured out I was the author of that letter. I blushed furiously as I thought of passing him on the street, with him knowing what had happened between me and Ty all those years ago.

But I am beyond blushing now. Ty and Simon have made me do things ... No. There is no more blushing in me now.

I awoke that morning after a few hours of sleep which were full of nightmares of Ty catching up with me. Stopping only long enough to express-mail that second letter to your magazine, I packed my bags and prepared to depart.

They have just punished me again. Ten minutes--no rest--between the toes--

Ty said it was a lie when I wrote "prepared to depart". He says I really ran off like a scared rabbit. Ty says I must tell you that I am still the BABY, the same way he said I always was. I'm the BABY running away. And Ty says "remember, I could always catch you."

Yes, sir. And you caught me again, sir

It was easy for them. Simon had seen an advance copy of the latest MANGAME. They knew that once I saw the letters from him and Ty, that I would run. Simon says to make sure I tell you how pathetic I am that I rush out to get your magazine the very day it goes on sale.

They ambushed me outside my home. They had been patiently waiting, passing the time by thinking up new ways to tickle-torture me. They have the chance to do those things now.

Ty says to tell you that I fainted dead away as soon as I felt his arms grab me. Typical BABY behavior, he says.

When I came to, I was in this cabin in the hills around our town. The first thing I saw as my vision cleared was Ty. He was looking out the window of the cabin, keeping a watch for any trouble. Although I recognized him instantly, he had changed much over the many years since I had seen him. He had gotten even more powerfully built. And the black stubble on his chin and cheeks radiated masculinity. I had last seen Ty when he was still partly a boy. Now he was all man.

Ty likes what I just wrote. He says it will buy me out of a few minutes of tickling.

Thank you, sir.

When I awoke I was already tied to the poster bed in the cabin. Specially padded leather cuffs bound my wrists and ankles. They were chained to the four corners of the bed. I was naked.

Ty turned to me. He smiled. I remember exactly what he said, "Long time, no see, BABY".

Ty says to write this:

"BABY was looking good to me too. He was as cute and pink as ever. He still had the smoothest skin I ever laid eyes on. But of course he had to spoil everything right off. With weeping and wailing 'let me go!, let me go!'. Some things never change. And I want ya should know that his big cock was all boned up and dripping."

It's true. Even now I am hard.

We talked a little at first. Or at least Ty talked. I mostly pleaded with him to let me go.

Then he went to turn on the cabin's big ceiling-light. For the first time I could see the whole room.

The wall opposite the bed was covered with--things. Things that were going to be used on me. Feathers on long-handled poles, bristly paintbrushes, back scratchers, turkey quills, straw brooms... I was not able to take in the whole catalog. I started to scream. Ty started to laugh. I'm not sure which of us was louder.

***

Ty says to write down some of the games we have been playing:

1) The Quiet game: Ty said he was trying to be fair. Ty said he wanted to give me chance. he said that if I could just be quiet for two little minutes, He would leave me alone for the rest of the night. He sat on the side of the bed, grinning an evil grin. His right hand began to approach my navel from above, the fingers twitching like spider's legs as they neared my belly button. His hand steered a careful path around my pole-like erection that also was hovering above my belly, drooling silky threads. His warm finger tip began to toy with the rim of the tiny crater surrounding my navel. That first touch was so gentle, I nearly began screaming just from thinking about how the tickling would feel. And then it began moving. Tracing circles in the fleshy well. I was determined to hold on. I stifled the gasps and shrieks that were erupting from my insides. I held on. Half a minute. Three quarters. My face was as flushed as it has ever been, my jaws locked. At the minute mark, tears were streaming down my face, but I had resisted the intense tickling and kept silent. Ty's fingers sped up. He began speaking: "Kitch kitch kitchy koo, BABY. Kitch kitch kitchy" I almost lost it when I heard those words, which almost by themselves can make me hysterical. But I held on, banging my head against the wooden bedframe. At a minute and three-quarters, with victory in sight, I saw Ty glance over at Simon. Simon was sitting back in a quilted armchair at the other end of the cabin. He was watching us intently while jacking his cock. Suddenly he leaped over to the bed saying, "I want to play too!". His slimy hand grabbed the sole of my naked foot. I cracked into maniacal laughter.

They have just punished me again. Ten minutes--no rest--between the toes--

Ty says the way I told the story about the Quiet Game made it sound as if he had won by cheating. Never! Absolutely not! Ty would never cheat! He is the most fair and most kind of all Tickle-Masters!

2) The Rover Game: Ty would lead his dog around the cabin on a leash. The dog, of course, was Simon. Simon -- when he is tethered by Ty to the end of a leather lead--answers to the name of Rover. Rover has to be fed. Rover likes whipped cream. Rover doesn't eat out of a bowl on the floor like most dogs. He likes to lick the sweet cream off the ticklish feet of naked, tied-up males. Rover has an enormous appetite and can lick a pair of tightly tied ticklish feet, it seems, for hours. Rover is a dog and cannot understand if the young male begs for him to stop. As for Rover's owner, he cannot understand what a plea for mercy is.

3) The "Don't-You-Want-To- Cum?" Game: I have been unable to deny that being tickled provokes intense horniness in me. My inflated stalk waggles its purplish head in all directions as my body bucks under the cruel ministrations of Ty, the Tickle-Master. The powerful stimulation I experienced from all these "games" left me desperate to release my pent-up load. But the two of them were quite skillful in keeping me just on the brink of orgasm, without ever allowing me relief. Even when I slept, my hands were carefully tied so that my needy hardon was out of my reach. One night--I can't be more specific than that, I soon lost track of all time in that cabin -- I suddenly burst out into tears of pure frustration. Ty was slightly startled. (If I cried it was usually because he was doing something to me.)

Ty approves of that last remark. he say that it completely proper for a Master to control his slave's moods.

Yes, Master.

Ty interrogated me as to why I was crying. Through my sobs, I foolishly blurted out, "I want to cum!" I saw a familiar glint in his eyes and regretted my honesty. He walked away from my bed-prison and conferred with Simon. Simon was next to me on the bed in seconds and swallowed my erection. The warm wetness of his grasping throat was sheer heaven. It was the first purposeful stimulation of my cock since I had been abducted. Displaying skills I would not have believed he had, Simon expertly brought me nearer and nearer a smashing climax.

And then he stopped.

Ty spoke to me. "I wanna tickle ya, BABY"

"Oh, no--please no!", I began to whine.

"No?", Ty asked. "I tell ya what. After I tickle ya, I'll let you cum. OK? I'll tickle ya for 3 minutes. On your armpits--not your feet which are so sensitive--just yer pits."

"Then I can cum...?"

"Then I'll have Simon drain yer load into his steamin' gullet."

I sobbed a little and nodded my agreement. I was desperate for more of Simon's mouth! Ty chuckled. "Oh, no BABY. You've gotta say it. Say that you want to be tickled."

This was too much. How humiliating to beg for such awful treatment. Clinging to the last ounce of my dignity, I turned my head away from Ty. Suddenly I felt the most dainty little tongue-laps on the underneath of my cockhead. I snapped my head back to see Simon licking away at me. His tender touch like hot matches against my flesh. Within seconds I was at the pinnacle of desperation. "Alright!" I shrieked, abandoning any fiction of self-control, "Please, sir. Please tickle my armpits, sir.!"

Ty's fingers began probing the taut muscle junction in my armpits, gliding his fingers knowingly into the damp, smooth hollows. (Totally hairless, of course. You can be sure that was taken care of before I had been long a prisoner. All the hair below my neck was gone. And kept that way to this very day.) His relentless touch kept me flopping from side to side, a victim of the excruciating sensations. My humiliation of having begged for this treatment warring with my hope of release when Simon's mouth once again was working over my burning cock.

Eventually, the three minutes were up. I gasped with relief and turned my face toward Simon, expecting him to begin gobbling my swollen hardon.

He didn't move. Instead he began laughing at me.

"BUT YOU PROMISED!", I sobbed, tears of frustration and betrayal splashing my cheeks. Ty smiled at me. "Five more minutes. Five more minutes and we'll let ya cum. I promise. Oh, this time it's the belly. "

"No!", I shrilled at him, "What do you take me for!" Now, Simon moved in. His cool lips wrapping themselves around my steaming poker. I grunted like a pig at the touch. The tongue began a journey from top to bottom of my shaft. Ty taunted me. "But don't ya want to cum, BABY? Just five minutes. What's the problem? A little tummy-tickling." He moved his handsome stern face closer to my sweaty one. "Just think how good it'll feel to bust yer nuts. Unload those balls. Kapow!"

Simon was lavishing tiny hot kisses on my cockhead. I collapsed, nodding and weeping in a teary voice. "Yes.. please..."

Ty grinned. "Please? Please ... what...?"

"PLEASE SIR! PLEASE TICKLE MY BELLY FOR FIVE MINUTES. PLEASE TICKLE ME SIR!" I screamed.

He did. For five minutes his left and right hands were sadistically tickling the flesh of my lower belly. That ultra-sensitive area where the hip bones protrude. A zone Ty learned was one of my weak spots many years ago. No matter which way I lurched, one of his muscular hands was there to torture me.

I was a babbling wreck at the end of the five minutes. I sobbed and begged for the promised relief.

"Seven minutes.". Ty said, looking straight in my eye. "Seven minutes. This time I promise. A hunned percent. After that ya'll get want ya want. Oh, we'll do ya knees. Don't ya want to cum?"

I paused for a moment. Dumbfounded at the gall of them. In that moment, Simon's tongue swooped down on me again, to tease and tantalize me more with promises of gratification. In no time at all, I was begging again. Tickle my knees for seven minutes, sir.

I don't know if I ever came that night. The last thing I remember was screaming out in a voice loud enough to echo through that desolate countryside the plea extorted from me by their promises, "PLEASE SIR, PLEASE TICKLE MY FEET FOR TWENTY MINUTES!! PLEASE TICKLE MY FEET!!!" After that I have no consciousness.

Ty and Simon have told me to finish this letter. While I was finishing the story of The "Don't-You-Want-To-Cum?" came, Ty pulled Simon aside for a conference in whispers and snickers. Simon is getting the chains on the bed ready for me again. Ty is picking some tools from the far wall. I believe they have thought up a new "game".

Pray for me.

*****

Pete