by The Duo
The Spanish fly is the emerald-green blister beetle, in Latin Cantharis vesicatoria or Lytta vesicatoria which is found in the southern parts of Europe.
The body is usually 15-22 mm long and 5-8 mm wide with a strong smell and a burning taste. The dried and crushed body of the beetle was earlier used medically as a irritant and diuretic, but was also regarded as a potent aphrodisiac Origins: The legend that Spanish fly (or cantharides, a substance made from dried beetle remains) is a powerful aphrodisiac has been around for hundreds of years. The substance irritates the urogenital tract and produces an itching sensation in sensitive membranes, a feeling that allegedly increases someone’s desire for intercourse
I didn’t need Spanish fly. I had Spanish SUPER-fly. His name was Javier.
Javier Martinez was a cute young man with his glossy black hair and toffee-colored eyes. I watched as he sat in the swing and read from a thick little book. It took me a few moments to realize that the thick little book was a pocket thesaurus. He looked odd at first. An eighteen-year-old sitting on a playground swing. Even with his baby face he was at least five feet ten.
Without pausing from reading he toed his sneakers off.
Still without pausing, he rolled his socks off to let his toes wiggle in the sand. I'll just bet he never knew he wiggled them unconsciously while he read--cute toes digging in, circling lazily, carving hieroglyphics that took on an insensible, reflexive meaning as he read the book and turned page after page.
Javier Martinez was of Latino descent and was a loner whose lack of English often left him frustrated and confused.
"The teacher struggled to understand his questions, and he used to get really annoyed," one high school classmate said. "He would usually sit by himself and generally kept to himself."
I kept hearing from people that he was often isolated.
"He blamed the teacher for not being able to understand him," another student had said.
He lived with his mom on a first-floor apartment of a pretty crappy housing project located not too far from a community college he was determined to gain admittance into. Neighbors said he had few visitors, was polite, but spoke rarely. I could tell the young Mexican was a loner by just looking at him sitting there on the swing reading. I glanced at his pink soles. He really had cute feet--high arches and long toes that curled periodically in the sand.
I wanted to tickle those toes. In fact my mind had already dreamed up the perfect scenario of tickle-attacking Javier right where he was.
Using handkerchiefs I’d bind his wrists to the left and right rope chain of the swing he sat upon. Upon completing this I would re-focus my attention on his bare dawgs. I’d begin with the left one using my fingertips . . . .
And no matter how much Javier wriggled his feet, I’d keep stroking up and down his left sole, never changing my technique, always lightly running the five fingertips of my left hand from the ball of the foot just below the toes . . . slowly down the sole . . . along the arch and edge of the foot . . . down to the soft heel . . . and then slowly back up again, gently, almost lovingly, as if Javier's bare sole was begging for the ticklish tender touch. I’d run the fingertips of my right hand up and down the top of Javier's right foot several more times before gliding them up over the tips of the toes and back down to the sole, stopping just at the top of the arch. I’d then wiggle my fingertips there, slowly, lightly teasing the skin.
Javier would be shrieking out loud by then as he struggled against his bonds and made the chain-link suspension swing ropes clink and clank. "Sto-hah-hah-hah-hahp! Plea-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-heese!"
But I’d just continue to tickle and tickle. I’d bring my left hand up and began to lightly wiggle my fingertips along the skin on the top of his right foot while the fingertips of my right hand wiggled just as slowly and lightly and fiendishly along Javier's right sole.
Then I’d take him by surprise by tickling with both hands, flicking all of my fingertips just a bit more quickly . . . but just as lightly and teasingly . . . on every bit of skin, all over the sole and top of Javier's left foot. And by this point he’d be in out-of-mind hysterics, guffawing and thrashing as wildly as his bonds would allow, pleading and begging me to stop tickling his feet between insane shrieks of laughter.
"Hah-hah-hah-hah-hah! Please!! Sto-hah-hah-hah-hah-hahp! It ti-hi-hi-hi-hicles! Stop tickling my fe-hee-hee-hee-heet! Please! Sto-hah-hah-hah-hah-hahp! "
I would be pitiless in my torturing of Javier's bare feet. The lightness of my touch wouldn’t waver. My short fingernails wouldn’t scratch . . . would only flick teasingly on the skin. I’d be oblivious to Javier's screams for mercy, but totally fascinated with the sensations I knew my fingertips were producing on the skin of his feet. As I did this my penis grew rock hard in my pants. I didn’t have to touch it, the mere friction of my movements had my sensitive rod pulsating and dribbling precum dogwater. And all the while I tickled the laughing Latino like mad. And all Javier can do is laugh his handsome head off. Eventually his mind wouldn’t be able to form the words he’d need to continue pleading for mercy. All that would exist in his world would be helpless laughter and the constant tickling from my fingertips which pranced and danced all over his bare feet! I didn’t stop until I accidentally, unexpectedly shot a load in my pants
When my daydream was over, I realized I realy had shot a cum load in my pants!
