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John didn’t even realise that this whole break-in and tickle torture was orchestrated by his girlfriend. He always refused her attempts to bring tickling into the bedroom - ‘baby that tickles, come on, quit it!’ - so she took matters into her own hands. She played her part excellently, acting scared and desperate as the tickler squeezed her (not ticklish) sides, patiently waiting for their captor ($1000 an hour) to move on to her boyfriend. Her instructions were clear; break him. Tickle him until he cries, wets himself, screams. Keep going. She’d given her a list of all his most sensitive spots. She’d be pressed close to him whole time he was getting tickled out of his mind, pretending the noises coming out of her were squeals of fear instead of ecstatic moans caused by the bullet vibrator slipped in her panties. She’d cum around four times as she listened to John’s desperate howls, his masculine threats and eventually, his broken pleas for mercy.
Ler: Pro Hero(?) Mineta (I'm not looking up his full name lol)
Words: 3,333
Kaminari was feeling a lot of things. Chief among them was a sense of utter betrayal.
When his agency had him team up with Bakugo, Midoriya, and Todoroki, and they’d surmised they needed Mineta’s extensive informant network, he had expected… maybe not a class reunion, but nothing like this.
Mineta’s terms should have raised a massive red flag to anyone able to pierce his legalese: absolute submission for 1 hour. Unfortunately, none of the four heroes was versed in that skill, so they had all signed, allowing Mineta’s attendants to blindfold them and take them to four separate rooms.
When he was allowed to remove his blindfold, he had genuinely thought he was in for the best time of his life: five beautiful women of all shapes and sizes, all wearing swimming suits that complimented their forms, had walked him to a raised, padded platform that was basically encased by a dome of monitors, each of them playing… titillating clips starring those women.
Oh, how gleefully he had allowed them to strip him down to less than his socks. How unashamedly excited he had gotten when they had rubbed copious amounts of oil on every – every! – part of him, such that he was too dazed to even consider that letting them shackle him to the platform might not be the best idea. What a good friend Mineta was, he had thought the few times his brain received enough blood. That weird electronic gag? How kinky, how whimsical. The milking machine? That… was bizarre, but hey, it was all in good fun.
But then the women had filed out of the room, and Kaminari was still there, strapped to that platform surrounded by porn-broadcasting monitors, naked, glistening with oil, and flushed with craving. He had welcomed the soft hiss of the sliding door with an eager grunt. The fact that he couldn’t see anybody within his limited field of vision should have tipped him off to the fact that Mineta had been the one to totter in even before the grape pervert started his monologue.
--
“I remember our UA days… and with a certain fondness, I’ll admit. Despite the fact that we thought we’d never get to second base, much less score a home run. I should have… You were an amazing jerk-off buddy. Discreet, cheerful, we could talk and do our things and I didn’t feel embarrassed to be naked next to another man. Yes, I should have told you that you were actually quite handsome. Oh, I’m not saying I was leering at you or anything. Just that I shouldn’t have let you wallow in self-pity, because you had everything it took to get with a girl. If anything, I was a bad influence on you. And I know the others told you. But you were a good friend, and I cherish that, even though they were probably right. And I’m sorry. Some part of me – and I didn’t know it at the time – believed that if you realized you had the right stuff, if you got more confident, you would ditch me. And I would go back to being creepy and alone. Without a buddy I could talk to about that stuff openly.”
The gag did not allow Kaminari to articulate any questions, but Mineta could tell from his uncomfortable fidgeting that he wanted him to get to the point already, and preferably allow him to cover up.
But that was Mineta’s hour.
“So, here’s the thing. I remember when you told me your biggest fantasy: you wanted to be at the absolute mercy of a sexually overpowering woman. Unable to do anything to stop whatever she wanted to do to you. No safe words, no planned breaks. Just, being her toy for as long as she felt like playing with you. And I can make it happen, you know? You can swing by whenever you want. Just… for old time’s sake, I thought I’d have you all to myself first, so I could also indulge a new discovery.”
Kaminari wasn’t concerned with how well Mineta’s reasoning tracked, he just wanted out, contract or not. But an early release was not in the cards for him.
“MMMMMMMMMMMMHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”
Whatever sick voyeuristic or hands-on perversion the electric blond had conjured up in his mind, the horrid sensation shooting up his leg was not it.
Four claws glided effortlessly up his oiled sole, the metal causing Kaminari’s Quirk to activate and small electric shocks to supercharge his nerves. And as if that wasn’t ticklish enough, the copious amount of lubricant diffused the sparks across the sensitive skin around each of the four points of contact, feeling like the claws had some kind of vibrating casing around them.
Kaminari might have generally been prone to overreacting, but there was no question about it this time: that tickled a whole fucking lot.
The claws started from the bottom of his arch, slowly skittering up the creamy expanse and triggering every single nerve connected to Kaminari’s sole along the way.
The blond’s entire body spasmed as a second set of claws joined the ascent, doing to his left foot what their immediate predecessors were doing to his right, instantly doubling the intensity of the sensation.
They sure were taking their sweet time, stretching every second of contact with the far too responsive skin to impossible lengths, so that Kaminari was able to wonder why he wasn’t able to wiggle his feet or wrinkle up his soles… How had he not noticed those wily minxes tying his toes back?!
The claws finally reached the ball of Kaminari’s foot, which would normally have tickled a spec less if they hadn’t decided that was an acceptable spot to start scratching, activating those nerves again and again.
Their prolonged permanence allowed the electric hero to become aware of a certain… pressure. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it didn’t originate inside of him, although it kind of felt that way… the opposite of pressure. A vacuum. The milking machine coming alive around his dick, which had softened since Mineta’s ingress, but still sported an inquisitive half-mast.
Kaminari, however, was too busy fighting the sensation to make anything of it.
There was no calling Mineta’s single-minded focus as anything other than tunnel vision. A state of flow that reduced Kaminari to the part the grape pervert was busy obsessing over at the moment, delivering careful scratches to maximize the torture and the muffled laughter that came from the other end of the table.
It was with a professional musician’s tempo that Mineta’s digits raked their way to the base of Kaminari’s toes, a spot the electric blond couldn’t remember anyone ever touching, and wished it had stayed that way.
“You know,” Mineta started explaining, clawing right under each of Kaminari’s toes at the same time with remarkable precision, “I could turn on your gag, it would block out every sound you make except your laughter… but since you wanted to be milked, I’ll let you moan like a cow a while longer.”
He briefly abandoned his carefully curated tickling to spider the crackling tips up and down the length of the electric hero’s soles.
He let it go on a while longer before moving his fingers to the sides of Kaminari’s feet, outer and inner, outer and inner, again and again, a change that caused the electric hero to freeze for a split second, and then comically vibrate in place instead of his usual, frenzied thrashing.
It tickled somewhat less… on paper, but it played with the hero’s mind in an odd way, like it was too annoying to bear? And Mineta could tell that what was going on, and he indulged a little longer just to soak into the sight of Kaminari’s toes fist attempting (and failing) to splay wide before attempting (and failing) to curl whenever the claws lingered on that spot on his instep right by the ball of his foot.
It was almost as an afterthought that Mineta let his fingers drift down the outer curves of Kaminari’s soles to the bottom part of his heel. He became conscious of it when Kaminari tried to double-kick like a mule.
“Really? Your heels?” asked the pervert, keeping up the tingles. “That’s rare… too bad you gave it up.”
The mound of the heel didn’t seem to be as sensitive, but when the claws reached the junction of heel and arch, Mineta instantly knew he’d hit the most sensitive spot on Kaminari’s soles… one that, conveniently, was perfectly at eye level.
How long had it been? Oh God, how much longer would it be? Kaminari hated, hated, hated the sensation shooting up his legs, regardless of what his dick seemed to think, relentlessly sucked to full length in a way that would ordinarily make his head spin if he was allowed to focus on the sensation at all.
Mineta delivered the ensuing monologue without stopping tickling for a single moment to gather his thoughts. His hands broke their symmetry to roam the entirety of his soles, sometimes focusing on the same one, but ensuring that the spot between Kaminari’s arch and heel never went un-tickled on at least one of his feet. So the fingers of his right hand might be wreaking havoc under the blond’s toes, but his other digits would still be there; or they might be teasing Kaminari’s right instep, only for the matching set of claws to descend on his heel… Then, of course, there were moment when Mineta reckoned that Kaminari had had enough of a break and simply targeted that spot on both heels at the same time.
“Wow, you are still pretty damn ticklish… that’s good, that’s what I was hoping! Unfortunately, I can’t lickle you without your Quirk frying my brain, and I know all I can use to tickle you are these rubber gloves with metal tips… I seemed to remember that metal tickles you more, doesn’t it? It triggers your Quirk in a weird way. And since your Quirk seems to be responding right now, I’ll also let you know that your fleshlight works with your electricity. So the more I tickle you, the more you will cum. Which I would caution you against, since you’ll get much more ticklish every time you do… I doubt you will be able to help it, though.”
Kaminari’s muffled whimpers let Mineta know that his feet had suffered enough tickling, and although the pervert disagreed, he had another target in mind. The one that had caught his fancy to begin with back when he saw Jirou make the blond squeal all those years ago with one simple touch.
The electric hero shouldn’t have been relieved the feel the claws leave his feet, although they left behind a lingering cloud of ticklish static - Kaminari couldn’t quite tell if that was his Quirk pulling another prank on him, or just a normal response to prolonged mirthful torture – because he soon felt Mineta’s stubby fingers, still clad in tickling implements, squeeze just above both kneecaps.
“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” he protested, attempting to close his legs like the most straitlaced nun, and only succeeding in shaking the towering fleshlight whose alluring sight made it impossible for Mineta to pretend that he was playing with Mount Lady… and a reminder that the tickler’s perversion cared for gender the way a fish cares for algebra.
“That’s not a very manly squeal…” taunted Mineta, delivering another squeeze and enjoying the bobbing spectacle again. “But I remember where the real gold is buried…”
And his claw-tipped fingers dug under the pinkish mountains, scratching at the flesh above Kaminari’s calves.
Mineta didn’t see the blond’s eyes shoot wide open – didn’t need to, he had it on tape – but the ensuing gagged screech was impossible to miss… as was the note of horror when it became abundantly clear that the pervert wasn’t planning on moving on any time soon.
Mineta’s fingers almost – almost – relented. “Wow, you’ve peaked the gag? I had that thing almost set to max suppression! This must really tickle you! Well, do you know what we say in these cases? Coochie-coochie-coo!!”
If Kaminari could have twisted the upper part of his body, he would have, just to get away from the fiendish sensation of those claws gliding all over those pale patches of skin that had never been meant to be touched.
If the fleshlight was powered by electricity, it must be firing on all cylinders, because the clawtips ravaging Kaminari’s unbesmerched kneepits – what even is the point of kneepits?! – were producing enough electricity to power a small town.
The endless parade of sparks, visible indicator of Kaminari’s bountiful sensitivity, bathed the ruthless tickler in low-key lightning that accentuated his mad scientist vibe. He probably should have worn safety googles, a tiny part of his mind mused while nearly every one of his neurons was focused on making each contraction of his fingers as agonizing as possible, his nerves complicit in delivering the instructions to those mobile appendages of torture.
Mineta didn’t need to see Kaminari’s face to know that he was crying. Copious perspiration began mixing with the oil that coated him neck to toe, but it wouldn’t dilute it any more than the blond’s tears would dilute the salt in the ocean.
Kaminari didn’t need to know that the spidering clawtips had gained access to his kneepits via two hatches in the contraption he was restrained to, nor that the position, pressure, and give of each strap had been carefully studied to prevent him from lessening the sensation any, and certainly from hurting himself through what little wiggle room he had been given: he was fully wrapped up in the effects of that design.
Mineta’s glee at his high-school friend turning out to be exactly as ticklish as he had desired was beginning to be soured by the subtlest drop of disappointment, however. How marvelous it would have been for Kaminari to groan with orgasmic pleasure right as Mineta was milking that most ticklish spot of his, chanting coochie-coochie cherub-like to deliver him to formidable heights. But it seemed like the blond was too sensitive for the good of both of them, as he was wholly incapable of registering the blistering delight that the fleshlight was laboriously lavishing on his fully engorged, slick member.
“…coochie… Mh. Does it tickle too much to cum? I should have edged you first… I suspect three days would have had you spraying like a fire hose as soon as I touched your knees… Live and learn, I guess.”
Having smelled the impeding climax in the air, the grape-haired shark reluctantly moved away from the no-longer immaculate kneepits to open a second hatch – a larger one that caused Kaminari’s shapely butt to leave the furnace that had formed between his back and the padded table, hanging from it like a ripe peach. And metal-tipped aphids instantly swarmed it.
Mineta wouldn’t have pegged his old friend for much of a thruster, but the claws dancing under the hanging mounds had him matching the frenzied tempo of the fleshlight as he practically glitched in place, stuck into a vibrating loop.
His reactions had subsided enough that Mineta suspected he had worn himself out for a moment, but the drop had been so instantaneous that all it meant was probably that Kaminari’s southern cheeks were a less ticklish spot than his knees; still enough to make him guffaw into the gag, and, unquestionably, to let the pleasure engulf him in due time.
But the pervert was growing impatient, and mindful of them time they had together, left one hand to caress the sparking butt while the other titillated the underside of Kaminari’s balls.
The electric hero produced an indecipherable sound. Was it a wail of ticklish agony? A screech of prudish outrage? A choked moan of anticipatory bliss? There was no way for Mineta to know. What he could tell was that part of the liquid glistening on Kaminari’s balls was pre-cum that had dripped down his shaft and through the stranglehold the fleshlight had on his turgid cock. The pervert savored the moment he would see that liquid change color, grow thicker amid staggered groans.
He couldn’t wait anymore. He reluctantly called back the claws skittering under Kaminari’s butt to launch a ten-fingered assault on the blond’s swollen balls. He feathered the sides, the underside, the ticklish inner thigh…
Kaminari lurched, and Mineta gazed longingly at the fleshlight. Ah, if only he could see what was going on in there… he licked up the length of the device before he could even think about stopping himself, his digits continuing their expert dance…
Kaminari let out a loud piggish groan as his entire body tensed up, but the claws did not stop even when a thick white fluid leaked out from under the fleshlight, coating the top of the hero’s testicles, dripping down…
“Ah, I knew you were a loud cummer,” proclaimed Mineta. But all Kaminari could focus on was the intense pleasure wrought by the mechanical sucking, the vibrations caressing his shaft, the piercing pleasure of the relentless tickling on his balls. Had… Had it all been worth it?
And then he screeched as Mineta dragged ten claws across his oiled, hypersensitive abs.
By then, Kaminari had grown convinced that he knew how awful tickling could get. He was wrong.
There was nothing, nothing Mineta had done that far capable of comparing to the sensation of the ten metal points drawing lines of searing ticklishness all over his number 1 hook-up asset. He did not know just how ticklish he would get after an orgasm, and Mineta was proving kind enough to show him.
The sound that reverberated out of Kaminari’s body could only be described as high-pitched mooing. A tortured bull putting the laughter in slaughter? How mind-shreddingly intense does the tickling have to be for the blond hero not to be even aware that the machine hasn’t stopped, and is still milking his spent cock?
“There you go,” whispered Mineta, gently raking the claws from side to side, aking in the sight of the quickly fading red marks they left in their wake, the oil making their passage frictionless. “Nice and broken.”
He wiggled his clawed digits all over the lean mounds of Kaminari’s abs, testing that scattershot approach, only to discover it left the tortured hero an iota of his fractured sanity more compared to uninterrupted stimulation via continuous raking.
Kaminari would have welcomed unconsciousness, but even though his cognition had shut down at the behest of the marriage between claws, oil, and supreme ticklishness, his senses never appeared to grow inured to the input. Was there any moisture left in his body to sweat, to cry?
At one point, the mooing subsided, and Mineta feared for a moment that their time together had been cut short; but no, the ticklish flesh continued to quiver under his touches.
“Pfft, has the post-climax sensitivity worn off? Or are you just that exhausted? Either way…”
With his vision blocked by tears and pornography, as well as a loose grip on reality, Kaminari failed to notice the five unclad women approaching him.
One had manicured nails, about to descend on the tenderness of his inner thigh; another was ready to sandwich his balls between her teasing nail and the unquenchable head of a vibrator. Another still wielded two electric toothbrushes, soon to be acquainted with the hero’s V-line; but the two that would dish out the most agony were placed by his knees and by his sides, the latter brandishing two headscratchers…
Mineta took in the heavenly sight, savoring what was about to pass. “I feel sorry for you. Almost.”
"I don't think so, Shitty Hair. Unless you want me to count this as a distraction?"
Kirishima's ribs tingled at what sounded more like a promise than a threat. He'd already felt Bakugo's digits wiggle there three times that day. And though that was supposed to be his tutoring session, the blond had learned too. He had learned that Kirishima's ribs were super sensitive to vibrating fingerpads, but also that after that warm-up, slow fingernails curling against the lower part of his ribcage could be even more effective at times. And the redhead wasn't looking forward to an encore. "No! No."
"I get it." Bakugo's slight smirk was dripping with venom. "You don't think you can do it."
"NO! That's not what it is!" retorted Kirishima immediately, his pencil clattering on the note-covered low table as his hands shot protectively to his armpits, shielding them from intrusion.
Loss of self-confidence carried the harshest sentence, and since it usually compounded with "being annoying" and "being loud", once the blond started burrowing into Kirishima's worst spot, he usually didn't stop. The redhead would experience something approaching mercy only if they had a test the next day and Bakugo's punishments risked cutting too much into the sorely-needed tutoring.
Unfortunately for Kirishima, he was a pretty ticklish guy. And though Bakugo seemed to lack the gleeful zeal from when he raked at his ribs, to say nothing of the utterly maniacal streak he acquired when he tortured his armpits, the methodical cruelty with which he tortured the redhead's bare soles was almost worse, in a way. It was the sheer creativity of it, the seemingly endless array of techniques and tools Bakugo experimented with whenever Kirishima made a mistake.
For the sake of expediency, they had started to start their tutoring sessions at the low table, with Kirishima's legs stretched under it and his feet (always already bare) next to the blond. The redhead knew that Bakugo would never mislead him on purpose, but there was no denying his delight when Kirishima made a mistake. A way not to be frustrated with them, Bakugo had claimed once, referring to himself of course.
Exploiting the proximity, he had even started drawing lines with just one finger up and down Kirishima's sole if he took too long to reply, progressively adding more the more he hesitated. A bit of a vicious cycle, not like the redhead dared to complain.
Bakugo was an artist of punishment, and Kirishima's soles were his canvas - sometimes literally. His big, broad, ticklish canvas.
And though anything that kept the blond away from his upper torse was usually welcome, Bakugo's latest addition - oil - had Kirishima reassessing his worst-case scenarios. Messing up second and third conditionals had earned him his tutor's fingernails, and hell if the oil didn't lend the torture a new level of escalation.
But if Bakugo was threatening to treat Kirishima's pleas for mercy as a matter of self-doubt, then...
"I'm... I'm ready."
Bakugo's smirk widened. "Good."
Kirishima curled his toes reflexively when he saw Bakugo's hand move, but no, the blond had just casually reached for something. Something he laid out on the table so that Kirishima could see it: a flat hairbrush with countless plastic ball-tipped bristles.
It was easy for the redhead to guess what it was for; and he had strong suspicions about just how unbearable it would feel.
No mistakes.
Feigning obliviousness to Kirishima's anxiety, Bakugo fixed his gaze on the textbook. "If I had studied, I wouldn't be in this mess. Is this proper English?"
Kirishima went pale.
"You know this one." The blond's reassurance, sincere though it was, clashed with the way his pupils casually landed on the hairbrush. "Think about the conditionals you know."
Kirishima clasped his temples. Think brain, think. He tried to ignore the gravitational pull of the hairbrush. It's not a first conditional, that's for sure. "Wouldn't be" is a third... no, second conditional. What is it matched with?
He yelped when he felt Bakugo's nails curl against his right sole, so much so that his leg jolted and he hit the underside of the table with his knee. A reminder that the oil had lost none of its potency. But Bakugo's strict stare had him stretch his leg and move his sole closer to its soon-to-be torturer immediately. "Tick-tock, Shitty Hair."
"Hadn't"... "Had not"... is that a second conditional? No, it's a third! And "Wouldn't" is a second... so...!
"No, it isn't!" yelled Kirishima, way too enthusiastically.
Bakugo smiled. "And why is that?"
"Because you mixed second and third conditionals!!!"
"That's right," conceded Bakugo, and he lifted up the low-table, moving it to the side.
Is it... is it over?
"I did mix second and third conditionals. It's called a mixed conditional."
Kirishima's triumphant expression froze on his face.
Bakugo stretched his legs horizontally and patted his lap.
No.
"Feet here, Shitty Hair."
"But!! BUT!!!!" Kirishima had no idea what to say. He wanted nothing more than to press his soles flat against the floor, but he knew he would incur even harsher punishment. Still.... an armlock... plus the brush... and the oil...
"No buts. You know the terms. You're not planning on wasting my time, are you?"
Kirishima's heels were resting on Bakugo's leg half a second later, staining the fabric, but neither of them cared.
Bakugo leaned forward, gathering both of Kirishima's ankles in an armlock. He was already brandishing the hairbrush.
The hairbrush struck once, running horizontally across both of Kirishima's oiled soles, drowning his protest with the sound of his own voice.
Holy shit. That was unbearable. There was no way he...
"And I think we can be 5 minutes late," cooed Bakugo... and then the hairbrush resumed its unceremonious motion, scraping at full speed as it would for the next 12 minutes.
This TickleBoiToy is insanely HOT, and he is beautifully interactive about his tickling experience! He started out pretty cocky (pun intended!), but having his sexy gorgeous soles tickled definitely broke him! What an amazing video and tickling session!!
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Love the foot tickling in this clip… after a tickle torture session, Dane thinks he’s free to go but Rich isn’t quite done. Really enjoy the feet in stocks but the upper body unrestrained.
You cut your hot TickleBoiToy’s arms free and go in for one more round of tickling of his very sexy soles! A perfect way to wrap up his long tickling session! Never disappoint him!!
Must be quite the ego-check for two strong men to be subdued and restrained so easily. They had always thought of themselves as defenders, guardians. They went to the gym, they ate well, they stayed fit; if anything ever happened, they’d be ready to step up to the plate as men and protect the things they held dearest.
They were realising how wrong they were.
Now they’re tied up tightly, rope rubbing against their wrists and ankles, tape gagging them quiet as their younger bro - the nerdy one, less buff, less masculine - is stripped naked, tied by his wrists to the veranda and subjected to sadistic tickling. To their pride he puts on a brave face at first, but nobody can resist such intense tickling for long. Eventually the scribbling in his wide-open pits, the squeezing of this thighs, the brushing of his soft soles sends him into peals of desperate laughter. Tickling can be intense for a few minutes; for hours it is torture. The brothers watch on in frustrated horror as their sibling is broken in front of them, his weak spots found and exploited savagely. When, in the hormonal, adrenaline-fuelled confusion of a naked tickle attack, his cock inflates slightly, the intruders smirk and feather him to full erection, then to gasping, then to full, screaming, reluctant orgasm. He’s even more sensitive afterwards.
The two gym bros can do nothing but watch as the hours pass and their slim counterpart is broken utterly.
At the start they strained, growled, frowned, thrashed in their bonds. By the end they looked on in shocked defeat, a tear rolling down their cheeks.
Through it all, they never suspected that they were next. And by the time the second brother had been strung up and broken, hopefully their daddy would be back just in time to watch the third. Then all three naked, sticky, exhausted lads could watch their role model tickled to tears…and several other bodily fluids.
Tickle torture is always more fun with a captive audience, and who’s a better audience than family?
This fun tickle wrestling scene is a great way to start our SoleisciouSunday! The TickleBoiToy’s soles are so cute, as is he! And I love that his Tickle Master is also barefoot! I need to tickle both of these Bois!!
Xander Beckett used to make amazing videos of sexy Bois and their always-hot feet and soles. But the rare ones that feeture (pun intended!) those hot soles being tickled are real gems! I miss him and his wonderful art!
Wow. That audio file you gave the intern to listen to as part of his ‘induction’ actually fucking worked. Your pal had told you about it, said at his firm it worked like a charm, but you were sceptical. Hypnosis? Really? But goddamn, he was right.
You gave the clueless hottie some company headphones, sent him the file and watched as over the next thirty minutes his eyes glazed over, then flickered, and his mouth drooped open. Nice trick, but you weren’t buying it. Still you had to test it. You swooped by his desk quickly, casually, said something fast and quiet. ‘Mitchell, my office, five minutes. No shoes or socks.’
If it worked, wonderful. If not, plausible deniability. Did I say don’t wear socks? No I’m pretty sure I said don’t get lost. A joke. You must have misheard.
There was no need for denials. Five minutes later and there he was, barefoot, the headphones still hanging around his neck. Jesus Christ. The image of him suited smartly with his gorgeous feet bare took your breath away.
‘Mitchell. Come in, make yourself comfortable.’ You said, closing the door and shutting the blinds. ‘You can prop your feet on the desk if you like.’ Still not convinced it was real; maybe he was just a very obedient little intern.
You sat in your chair as the lad laid his gorgeous soles on your desk, ankles crossed in front of you.
Your mouth gaped. No objections, no hesitation, no doubts. Just plain obedience.
Was it real? Truly? He’d do anything?
‘Slap yourself.’ The lad whacked himself across the face. You gasped.
’Masturbate.’ A hand instantly slid into his waistband and started fondling.
‘Stop!’ And the hand retracted.
Good god. This wasn’t some desperate-to-please little slut of an intern, this was mind control. Real, actual hypnosis. If what your friend said was true - and it seemed pretty damn true so far - the next two hours he would obey every command and have no memory of the events. You owed your friend a drink, or maybe a yacht.
‘Are you ticklish, Mitchell?’
‘Very, Mr Clark.’
Your boner practically made a boing sound as it inflated.
‘Come lie here and put your feet in my lap.’
The man obeyed.
You started running your fingers up and down his silky soft soles, and they were as sensitive as they looked. His desperate laughter was genuine; you gave no instruction to laugh. Or beg. You shivered with arousal.
‘PLEAHSE, Mr Clark! Stohohohop! AhHahaHhhHA! No!’
‘Do you hate being tickled?’
‘Yes, Mr Clark, it’s too much, I’m too fucking ticklish!’ The lad screamed. ‘God, not the toohohoes!’
You stifled an aroused moan at the lad’s glorious pathetic begging. His real desperation.
Looks like you’ve found your new favourite way to waste company time.
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"Stop smirking, fucker!" snapped Bakugo. He was going nowhere. Better take it from the top again, go through each spot, take his time...
"Isn't that exactly what you want?" asked Shindo without breaking eye contact for a single second, no matter how furiously Bakugo's fingers scribbled under his arms.
The blond wanted nothing more than to slap him, but that wasn't allowed. And he couldn't afford it. Fuck, 1:27 left.
"Or maybe..." his eyes widened for a fraction of a millisecond when Bakugo abandoned his pits to start clawing at his ribs, but evem that flicker of hope was soon extinguished. Like it had been countless times in the last 90 seconds. "...you've learned to stop worrying and love the chair?"
There were only two sources of light in what was sure to be a boundless expanse.
One cast a cone directly above the white leather couch a completely naked Shindo was lounging on, leaning against the back rest with his fingers laced behind his head, leaving his torso fully exposed for Bakugo to exploit; if only he knew how...
The other loomed above the massive gym timer and the contraption directly underneath, where the loser of that challenge would be placed for who knew how long. "The chair..." what a cutesy nuckname for a tickle torture machine with all the implements needed to milk each and every sensitive spot on the unfortunate soul it restrained at the behest of whoever the winner would be.
Both Shindo and Bakugo had already experienced it, and neither was looking forward to another round. But unless Bakugo managed to make Shindo laugh out loud in the next 1 minute and 19 seconds...
He squeezed Shindo's sides and got him to flinch, but only because he'd dug in too hard. He switched to sratching at the brunette's well-defined abs while kneading his thumb into his hips... Shindo inhaled sharply... only for his gloating grin to reappear a moment later.
"FUCK! I know you're ticklish, fucker!!" yelled Bakugo. "I've seen it!" He resorted to goosing Shindo's firm thighs, wanting nothing to do with the business in-between them. The brunette had been posed by whoever set the rules with his right ankle resting on his left thigh, giving Bakugo plenting of access... which he seemed unable to make any use of.
"I am," the brunette conceded, taking in Bakugo's desperation. "And I'm sure your green-haired friend could hack it..." The blond dug vindictively under his knees, hardly delaying the teasing. "...but you won't."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." muttered Bakugo under his breath, scratching all ten fingers under Shindo's upturned sole, trying to hit one, any sensitive spots...
"Look at you... scrambling, panicking. Are you thinking about what I'll do to you in... less than one minute's time?"
As delightful as the fantasy of utterly dominating the abrasive blond was, that was not what caused Shindo's dick to twitch, quickly rising in all its glory. The brunette was fully paralyzed, putty in Bakugo's hands; and yet, he was in control. Bakugo was too far from his comfort zone, too volatile to stop and think. And that complete subversion of roles, of power, was unspeakably tantalizing to Shindo.
Bakugo had no time to be disgusted. What was he missing? Yeah, Shindo's Quirk had made immune to certain forms of tickling, no shit. But there had to be a way... no, he knew there was a way! But what was it?
He went on scratching right under Shindo's toes while raking at his arches, getting another one of those little flinches from him, which did not seem to diminish his enjoyment...
"Don't you get it?"
Fuck it, he didn't have time to figure it out. Spots... what spots had he missed?
"You were set up to fail."
00:46...
There!
It took all his self-control to poke, and not jab, at Shindo's bellybutton... and he was rewarded with a surprised exhale as Shindou gritted his teeth.
"There it is, you perverted shithead!" gloated Bakugo, wiggling the tip of his finger in the innie, lighting up every single nerve.
Shindo's excitement died quickly as a hint of fear flickered in his pupils and he scrunched up his face, fighting the sensation.
"Not saying anything anymore?!" taunted the blond, trying to figure out what to do with his other hand while his index finger was busy circling the newfound weak spot. He just hit Shindou's upperbody randomly, scribbling his digits all over his abs, his sides, his pecs, his waist, his ribs, pits, neck...
Shindo was turning very red very fast.
"Oh, is this a turn-off for you?" asked Bakugo while scratching at Shindo's abs again... and something must have given, because Shindo lookd like he was in pain. YES!!
"I've got you figured out now!"
Shindo's hands closed around Bakugoìs wrists, stopping the tickles. Bakugo was too shocked to react.
"Yes," conceded Shindo. "But a little too late."
Before the blond could even realize what happened, he found himself unable to move, staring at a bright red clock above him flashing 00:00.
Had his fingers not been individually tied down with tiny strings to match his toes, leaving his palm vulnerable, he would have punched it. Had a strap not pinned his head solidly against the backrest, he would have tried to bite the encroaching Shindo, smirking victoriously and unapologetically aroused. He would have screamed had he not been muzzled.
The clock flashed 3:00 again.
"Good show," commented Shindo. "But now, allow me to return the favor..."
The clock added two zeroes: 3:00:00.
"I know you're not expecting any mercy," continued the brunette, his eyes scanning Bakugo's body for a place to start, his mind pondering various tools... "But I promise: you'll be begging for it soon."
Recently bought a fleshlight and I think I’m really beginning to sympathise with the bulls subjected to milking. If someone rammed that slippery, textured gel up and down my dick non-stop, I’d be cumming my brains out too. Pleasure turning into pure torture and back again. That shit made my toes curl.
…is it bad that knowing what they’re going through made me want to try it even more? 😵💫
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