by Dick
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I was always an extremely ticklish boy.
I don’t know why – I guess it was just one of those freak accidents of nature. But whatever the reason, I was very ticklish . . . I mean, very. You could attack the bellies or the feet of most boys with 10 wiggling fingers and they’d probably start squirming and giggling, but all you had to do to me was blow on my chest, or brush past the sole of my foot once ever so gently, and I would literally curl up into a ball howling with laughter. I went to doctors and everything – the universal diagnosis was simply that I’d been born with overly reactive skin nerves, and was doomed to be freakishly ticklish for the rest of my life.
Sad, huh?
My name’s Dick, and I’m not sure why I’m writing all this down, but I really need to get it out somehow. I discovered this weakness pretty early. I was really young and clowning around with a baby sitter, this guy in high school. We were just playing, and suddenly he pinned me down and started doing the “type-writer” on my stomach, and I almost passed out. My face turned bright red and I began to shriek so loudly the neighbor came over to see what was wrong. It shook the babysitter up pretty well, and he stopped right away.
I wish I’d been that lucky later on.
I’d always been a bit of a loner, not too many friends and not too popular. I mean, I was cute – small and wiry, but with nice abs and sandy blond hair, and there had always been a few girls with passing crushes on me, but for some reason I had never really reciprocated. Anyway, later in high school, when my troubles began, I got to be too pathetic a figure for any girl to have a crush on.
My oversensitivity meant that I had to be a little more careful than most kids. For starters, I had to be very careful to never, ever could go around barefoot, because my feet were just too appallingly tender – shoes had to be worn at all times. If I ever tried to walk barefoot, even on soft carpet or grass, my feet immediately began to tingle wildly and I couldn’t stand up straight. And so of course I could never go swimming with the other kids, or make paint foot prints, or any of the other activities other young kids did. Still, I managed to make it through middle school without anyone catching onto my condition – I got lucky.
Then, my freshman in high school, all that changed.
Jack was two years older than me, and even back in high school he was one of those star athletes who girls all adored and guys all worshipped, with a great body and an incredible smile and a laid back coolness. He was a starter for varsity soccer, which was huge at my high school, and his muscular body always flew down the field with effortless ease.
He was also a huge asshole – he loved to haze younger teammates, mock ugly girls, relentlessly pursue, fuck and discard the hot ones, and generally give shit to anyone he judged less cool than himself. I didn’t play on a team, was a lot less popular than all-American Jack, to whom I clearly fell in this last category. Jack and some of his soccer team-mates used to enjoy giving me shit at the end of school each day – my name was Dick, but they always called me “tiny dick.”
“ Hey tiny dick, how tiny is it really?”
“ He tiny dick, keep an eye on it now . . . ya wouldn’t want it to get lost.”
And so on. And as my freshmen year progressed, it began to escalate in small ways; a shove here, a push there, always followed by a host of snickers.
And then one day it got much worse.
It all started in gym class. We were on the wrestling mat, and we were taking turns tumbling – most of the guys had their shoes off, but I of course didn’t and no one was giving me a hard time about it. I faced off against another kid, and as we went down on the mat, his hand accidentally went up my sleeve and brushed past my armpits, and I immediately doubled over in incapacitating hysterics, my whole body going slack, and the other guy quickly gained the upper hand in the match.
“ Hey . . . you alright man?” the kid asked.
I nodded weakly. “Yeah, yeah . . . don’t worry about it.”
But the damage had been done. A few hours later, as I was leaving school, I heard Jack’s voice behind me.
“ Hey, tiny dick!” He strode up with an insufferable swagger, two of his muscular team mates in toe. I recognized one of them as Larry. Larry was Jack’s best pal, another starter on the team – tall, with big blue eyes and closely cropped blond hair. Girls loved him too – and I could see why. Both of them seemed almost flawlessly built, equipped with uniformly muscular bodies.
Jack continued to talk. “I hear you had some trouble in gym class the other day, Tiny!”
“ What’re talking about?” I wanted to know.
He looked innocent. “Oh, I just heard you were a little over . . . sensitive.”
Suddenly the three of them grabbed me, grinning like idiots. “Get his arms up, get his arms up!” I heard Jack exclaim eagerly. Larry and the other guy were on either side of me, and hoisted my arms into the air. Then, like a searing jolt of electricity, I felt Jack’s finger tips dancing at my arm pits. I went berserk – I screamed wildly, desperate to escape the torture, but all three of my assailants were bigger than me, and it was to no avail. The tickling had been going on for only a few moments and already it was unbearable – I shut my eyes and shrieked louder.
“ Jesus . . . he’s SO fucking ticklish . . .” I heard Jack say.
They let me go then, because they were afraid I was so loud that someone would find us. But my reprieve was short; they were waiting for me on the way home from school that afternoon. I rounded the corner, 10 blocks from my house, and discovered to my horror that Jack was sitting lazily on the lawn of a neighborhood park, chewing grass. His two buddies from the soccer team were there with him. They were all in uniform, they looked like they had come directly from practice, and they looked pretty excited to see me.
“ Now, let’s have some fun. Grab him!” Jack said.
They did.
This time they’d come more prepared. Larry took off his soccer cleat, pealed off his sock, and stuffed it down my throat as a gag – Jack promptly yanked a piece of duck tape over my lips. “Now he won’t be able to shriek like a little girl. Will ya, tiny dick?”
I struggled hard and tried to say something through the gag.
“ What’s that?” Jack cupped his hand behind his ear. The other guys snickered. “Did you say ‘Please tickle me?’”
I struggled even harder and shook my head vigorously. “MMMHHMM!” I groaned.
Jack grinned a sexy boyish grin. “I think he said ‘yes! Please tickle me! Please tickle me everywhere you fucking can!’”
They grabbed me, lifted me up, and carried me deeper into the park so we were hidden behind a grove of trees. I was dropped to the ground and I felt three pairs of hands seize my body.
“ Where should we start?” I heard one of the boys ask.
“ Where’s he the most ticklish?”
“ Start with the armpits,” Jack instructed. “That’s what we did earlier. He can’t STAND that.”
I felt strong arms pull my hands unwillingly away from my head as other bodies pinned mine tightly to the ground.
Then the torture started.
It was so much worse than anything I’d ever had to cope with – I can’t describe the sensation. Jack’s nimble athletic hands flew back and forth along my arm pits – every fiber in my body strained to escape his awful fingers, but I was held immobile, my tender skin completely at his mercy. I tried to scream but, with the gag, it came out as a dull “URRRRMMMM!” far too soft to summon any help. I tried to kick, tried to roll over, strained to do anything to get away from the awful tickling, but I couldn’t – and I was laughing so hard my breath refused to go in and out like it was supposed to. I gasped for air desperately, and found myself breathing in the foul stench of the sock.
But it was about to get worse.
“ I think he likes it,” Larry opined.
“ Try his belly,” the other guy urged.
Jack shifted to the sides of my stomach, attacking the deadly tender spots right above my hips. I convulsed again and again – I thought I would surely lose consciousness. It was unbearable, the sheer agony of being completely out of control, of being at the total mercy of a group of older boys who love humiliating you.
Between the armpits and my belly, they kept themselves amused for over twenty minutes. Then Jack said if I wanted him to stop tickling me, I would have to kiss his feet.
I didn’t hesitate – as soon as they removed the gag, I eagerly leapt forward and planted my lips on his soccer cleats. Anything to stop the horrible sensation.
“ No no,” Jack snickered. “You gotta kiss my FEET.”
Again, I didn’t hesitate. He made me unlace his cleats, pull them off, take off his sweat-soaked socks and then, with his two teammates looking on with intense amusement, bow down and kiss his smelly toes.
“ Ahhh. That feels good,” Jack declared with satisfaction. “So good that you gotta kiss the soles of my feet now.”
I paused ever so slightly.
Jack shrugged. “Okay. Let’s tickle him some more.”
My eyes widened in horror and I immediately threw myself to the ground, enthusiastically heading for Jack’s feet. All three laughed loudly now. Jack shrugged, raised his foot into the air, then planted it down firmly onto my face. I kissed each sole.
“ Do you like my feet?” Jack inquired.
“ Of course!”
“ That’s right. You better like my fucking feet. You’re gonna be kissing them a lot from now on. .”
Jack was right.
The ambush “tickling sessions” quickly became a near-weekly occurrence. At first I of course tried to avoid them, finding new routes home, trying to go home when I knew Jack and the team were in practice. But somehow they always got me – whether by anticipating my route change, or by surprising me the next day instead. And when I did get caught after trying to elude them, there were always severe punishments.
“ Ya think you can get away from us?” Jack demanded the first time this happened. By now the weekly tickling had been going on for over a month, and the ambush group had grown to 5 or 6 guys, all studs from the soccer team, all buddies of the ever popular Jack. “Well, think again. We’re gonna tickle you today for a solid hour.” Not only was he as good as his word, but that day, for the first time, they pinned me down, dragged off my tennis shoes and attacked the soles of my feet, protected by only my socks. I’d been dreading the moment for a while – and it was worse than I had feared. Of course, tickling my stomach was bad enough, tickling my armpits was excruciating, and all the other places Jack had begun to target – behind my knee-cap, underneath my chin, along my inner thighs – were equally unbearable.
But my tender feet, which had never once been exposed to the outside world, were another matter altogether. Just lightly brushing the undersides of my soles, with my socks on, was enough to drive me completely crazy. And now, as Jack ran his finger tips gleefully up and down along my socked sole, it felt as though knives were shooting up my legs. My feet writhed like fish on a hook, flipping frantically back and forth as I screamed hysterically into my sockgag, but each ankle was pinned down to the ground by a grinning midfielder, and Jack was taking his sweet time tormenting my agonizingly ticklish soles.
“ Kootchy kootchy koo!” Jack exclaimed, as the other boys snickered.
And then, one of the midfielders said something chilling: “Take his socks off, man!”
I broke down completely at that, sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down my cheeks, shaking my head emphatically.
“ What . . . you don’t want me to tickle your feet?” Jack taunted me.
I shook my head vigorously again.
“ You sure?”
An equally vigorous nod.
“ Wait . . . so you do want me to tickle your feet.” He began to pull my socks off.
From behind my gag, I sobbed again with frustration.
For that day, after a little more mockery of my sorry state, Jack – much to the disappointment of his other eager team-mates, decided to spare my naked feet, allowing me to meekly put the socks back on. But he made me kiss the soles of his feet again, and this time . . .
“ I think you owe me a little more for my mercy today, don’t you, tiny dick?”
“ Absolutely!”
He smirked. “So . . . from now on . . . call me ‘sir.’”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“ What do you say, Bitch?” Larry barked.
“ Thank you . . .sir,” I stammered.
“ Again!”
“ THANK YOU SIR! I APPRECIATE YOUR MERCY SIR!”
Before he let me go, Jack now made me kiss the sweaty feet of every boy there.
“ THANK YOU SIR! I ENJOY KISSING YOUR FEET SIR!!” I said each time.
I was tickled again the next week, and again the week after that. Each week the crowd of eager boys seemed to grow by one person, and the duration of my ordeal stretched on a little longer. They had never returned to my feet thank God, despite the urgings of several on the team, but they showed me no mercy anywhere else. My forearms, my back, every square inch of my belly and along my sides, up and down the backs of my leg – their flying finger tips reached nearly every square inch of my body, each region appallingly sensitive. Like a musician learning to play his instrument with sadistic patience, Jack began to feel out my worse spots and hit them with devastating effectiveness. By the end of each session, I thought I would surely lose my mind.
The following week, unable to stand it any longer, I ditched my last class and dashed home early, before school was out. As soon as I got home I hastily locked the door, ran up to my room, and stayed there for the rest of the night. I didn’t even come down for dinner.
I didn’t want to go to school at all the next day, but I didn’t have a choice. I saw Jack pass me in the halls, smirking at me with a look of spine-chilling pleasure. Again, that afternoon, I ditched my last class . . . or tried to. As I was hurriedly leaving the building, I felt strong arms suddenly seize me.
“ Nice try,” I heard a deep voice say . . . it was one of the juniors on the team – the goalie, I recognized. The goalie was shorter than the others, but powerfully muscular, with dark brown hair and a mischievous glimmer in his green eyes that sometimes, to me, seemed to border on sadistic. Still, I had to admit he was another hot stud. “But I don’t have class this time of day, so Jack got me to keep an eye on you . . . don’t you know you should stay in school?” He chuckled at his cleverness.
Before I knew what had happened, he had jammed another sock into my mouth and spirited me away to the gym locker room. I tried to struggle, but as usual I was much weaker than my attacker.
“ Enjoy,” he grinned, and with that he forcefully hefted me into one of the tiny lockers that lined the room. “This one’s been specially prepared for you.”
I wouldn’t fit, and I was still fighting against his tight grasp, but he pushed again, hard, and I slid into the tiny compartment as the locker door clanged shut behind me. It didn’t take me long to discover what he meant by “specially prepared” – the locker had been crammed ahead of time with a big load of dirty socks.
I barely had room to move, and between my sock gag and the dirty laundry surrounding me, the stench was stifling. Still, they made me wait in the locker until the end of school – I could hear the bell ringing off in the distance – and then all through a lengthy soccer practice. I could see their sweaty bodies filing into the locker room through the slats in my door.
They waited for their coach and everyone else to leave. Then a huge group of them – at least 12, probably more, crowded eagerly around my locker.
“ Ya ready to come out now, Tiny Dick?” Jack asked cheerfully, standing in front. Half of the entire team seemed to be there.
With the gag, all I could manage was a moan.
“ See . . . you escaped again yesterday, and we all wasted almost an hour of our time trying to find you,” Jack continued. “I warned you about that. So today, we’re gonna get even.”
They did.
They kept me there for two hours. First they made me strip down to my underwear. This time, they had gotten ahold of some rope, so they hogtied me. Then, after all ruthlessly going after my pits, my belly, my thighs and my whole body relentlessly, reducing me once again to a mass of tears, Jack declared it was time for the main event.
“ We’re doing your feet now, little man,” he grinned. “But first, your gonna thank us for tickling you, and ask us to tickle your feet for a good long hard time. And if you don’t, we’ll gag you, stick you back in that fuckin’ smelly locker, and make you stay there until after practice tomorrow night, when we’ll repeat the whole exercise again.”
He removed my gag.
“ Please, sir . . .” I swallowed, shutting my eyes. “Thank you for tickling me, sir.”
Jack stared down at me, waiting.
“ Please Sir,” I begged, desperately. “Please, have mercy on me again. Let me go home now.”
“ Dude, he’s so fucking pathetic,” I heard one of the forwards say.
Jack shook his head and clucked disapprovingly with mock disappointment. “Now tiny dick,” he said patiently, “that’s not what I told you to say.”
“ Please don’t! Please! I’ll kiss your feet. I’ll LICK your feet. I’ll lick ALL your feet.”
Jack shrugged happily. “OK, we’ll make sure you do that. But we’re still gonna tickle your little freshman feet.”
“ No! They’re too tender! I won’t be able to handle it . . .”
I heard Larry snicker behind me. Some of the newbies who hadn’t been to any of the earlier “sessions” were staring at me, slack-jawed, disbelieving. This was proving much more entertaining than they could have imagined.
“ Say it,” the goalie rumbled in a threatening low voice. “Say it, say it . . .”
Now they were all chanting. “Say it! Say it!”
Still I resisted.
“ Say it! Say it!”
Over the din, the goalie bent over and whispered in my ear. “Listen, fucker, you got five seconds, and then we’re gonna stick you back in the locker for the night, and tomorrow we’re still gonna tickle your fucking feet.”
That did it. “Alright!” I shouted desperately. “Alright!”
A dramatic hush.
In a defeated whisper: “Please, sir, please tickle me feet.”
Jack was really enjoying himself now. “Should I take off your socks and tickle your bare feet for 25 nonstop minutes?” he asked.
I shuddered. “Yes.”
“ Yes what?”
“ Yes sir. Please take off my socks and tickle my barefeet for 25 nonstop minutes.”
“ You can do better than that!”
“ Please tickle my barefeet for 25 minutes, sir!” I shouted.
Larry, still behind me, spoke now. “You know Jack, on second thought, I think we might want to go on for a little longer. Don't you, Tiny Dick?”
I hesitated again, then saw Jack’s steely stern gaze.
“ Yes Sir!” I said quickly
“ Maybe we should tickle your bare feet for 45 minutes,” Larry continued. There was a pause.
“ I can’t HEAR you, bitch!” Jack roared.
“ YES SIR! PLEASE TICKLE MY BAREFEET FOR 45 MINUTES SIR!”
Like the executioner being led to the block, I watched them take off my shoes.
I watched them remove my socks.
Jack lifted my feet into the air and, with pure sadism, blew lightly on my soles.
I began to giggle uncontrollably.
“ Oh man, this is gonna be rough, boys . . . Gag him heavily and tie his ankles together,” Jack instructed his team mates.
They hurried to obey.
The minute Jack started in on the soles of my feet, the sheer sensory overload literally almost knocked me out – all went black. I thought I would simply lose consciousness . . . somehow I managed to hang on. Jack attacked enthusiastically – I was beyond laughter, all I could do was scream continuously at the top of my lunges. My whole body went absolutely rigid – it was on fire – it was unbearable. Tears began to stream once again from my eyes uncontrollably – now I really couldn’t breath. I couldn’t do anything, except sit there and suffer in ticklish agony as Jack ran his evil fingertips along my soles. I couldn’t think – my field of vision became a nonsensical blur of taunting faces and swirling color.
Jack was relentless. His fingertips probed the soles of my feet, of course, but they flared down around my ankles, up past the foot arch, along the balls of the feet, and then still worse, in between my TOES! He traced a path up and down along the crevices between each toe, prying his fingers into the deadly extra-sensitive joints. Then he went after one foot at a time, using one strong hand to pry my toes back, flaying them out so as to be totally exposed, then ruthlessly attacking with his other hand. Even with two socks stuffed firmly into my mouth, I was screaming audibly. “RAHHHHHHHHH!” I cried continuously.
“ Done!” Jack at last announced with satisfaction, like a boy who has just taken a race car for a successful lap. My shoulders slumped with relief. But then: “Who else wants to give it a try?”
And then I heard 12 eager voices all chime in at once. My shoulders slumped again, this time with despair.
Jack had said 45 minutes, and he was as good as his word . . . sort of. After passing out again, I was revived and told that I would be released . . . if I could pass a test. I was to be ungagged, and had to sit there for just thirty seconds quietly, holding my feet motionless, while Larry gently poked them. Not tickle. Not even brush . . . just poke.
“ I’ll time it with a stopwatch,” Jack promised. “If ya can do it, we’ll let you go and we’ll leave you alone for a whole fucking month.”
I tried . . . really I did. Jack hit the stop watch button, and I gritted my teeth, sucked in my breath, and tried to freeze my feet into position. But it was no good. As soon as I felt Larry touch my feet, ever so gently, my legs involuntarily rocked back, and I giggled.
“ Aww,” Jack said in mock sympathy. “We’ll give you another chance. Ya just screwed up on that one. Oh, by the way, fuck up again, and we’re gonna tickle you for another 30 minutes.”
I held still this time for five whole seconds, before collapsing again into a fit giggles.
I saw the guys standing around me, stunned.
“ Too bad . . .” Jack said with a sigh.
Someone stuck a sock into my mouth, one of the midfielders eagerly grabbed a hold of my ankles, and the torture continued.
Even after that, my ordeal wasn’t over. “Now, tiny dick, I’m pretty sure you said you’d lick my feet,” Jack said.
I stared at him.
He sat down on one of the locker room benches and thrust his cleats into my face.
“ But . . . but that was only if you wouldn’t tickle my feet . . . sir.”
Again I heard the Larry’s voice behind me. “You stupid or something, fuckface?”
The goalie grinned. “Yeah . . . I thought he’d have learned his lesson by now . . .”
“ Maybe his feet haven’t been tickled enough . . .” a defensemen suggested.
I practically dove for Jack’s cleat. “PLEASE SIR! PLEASE I’D BE DELIGHTED TO LICK THE LINT FROM BETWEEN YOUR TOES SIR!!” I shouted.
I heard more hoots of laughter.
“ Untie my laces using only your teeth,” Jack instructed.
I did.
His socks were even more sweat-soaked than usual. He made me lie flat on my back as he peeled them off. Then he stomped on my face . . . hard . . . with his barefoot. I yelped with pain.
“ Lick it, boy!” he said. “Lick it good and clean.”
“ Lick it! Lick it!” I could hear the others chanting around me.
It tasted salty and incredibly bitter. I could smell the thick stench of sweat and male odor, but I licked and licked, sweeping the sock lint away from between his toes with my tongue.
“ Now the other one,” Jack said when I was done. “And then, when you’re done with that, everyone else on the team.”
They all cheered.
“ Oh . . . and tiny dick . . . don’t ever try to escape from us again. Cuz it’ll be much, much worse the next time.”
They stopped waiting in ambush for me on the way home. Now, Jack just picked a day of the week and instructed me to wait quietly at school until practice was over. Usually Jack made me wait for them in the locker room – you wouldn’t have thought it mattered, but somehow waiting in the sweat-soaked room for 2 hours, all alone, prohibited from doing anything but waiting for them to come in from the field and tickle me was especially humiliating. So that everyone on the team would know which day was the special day, Jack made me wear the same very tight, very gay pink shirt on the day of ever time. Whenever one of the soccer guys saw me in the hallways with that pink shirt, he smirked knowingly at me.
That wasn't all. Jack began to find other ways of illustrating that he had more control over me, that I was more powerless than ever before, and he cooked up all kinds of ways to do it. On arbitrary days he would make me wear flip-flops to school, an agony for my overly sensitive feet, just to show that he could. In a thousand trivial and not so trivial ways, he began to make my life more unpleasant. He made me stick pink heart stickers on my school folders, made me buy him and his buddies candy bars from the vending machines over lunch.
He would make me go eat lunch with the soccer team rather than with my few friends, and then take my packed lunch, dump it onto the ground, and make me eat it off the floor – or worse, off of his shoes. When he wanted to be especially vindictive, before I could even eat, he would make me strip down to my boxers in the middle of lunch, and then, chuckling with glee, he and his friends would grab me and thrust me into a garbage can in the middle of the school . . . and leave me there.
I’d have to wait there, terrified, unable to emerge in nothing but my underwear for fear of being the laughingstock of the entire school, until at the end of the day Jack and his buddies would return with my clothing – and once or twice they simply forgot to come back at all, and I had to run home almost naked. To get my pants back, they’d make me confess that I had a “tiny dick.” “Yes sir! My dick’s tinier than a safety pin, sir!”
One day, a crowd of them gathered around the trashcan. Jack instructed me to stick my bare feet out of the can; I did, and I felt him tie my ankles together with twine. Then they tied the garbage bag around my ankles, and heaved the whole garbage can outside behind the school building, onto the big back field where the whole school sat eating lunch. Jack took a felt marker, had two of his buddies hold my ankles firm so I couldn’t squirm too much, and wrote “ticklish” on the soles of my feet in big black letters. Then he tied a big feather to the twine around my ankles and, snickering, began inviting people to step up and “give it a whirl.”
Before long, at his instruction, I was screaming out my name to whoever my assailant at that moment happened to be. “But you can call me tiny dick! I don’t know know who you are, but I know your dick is ten times bigger than mine!”
I wasn’t the only one who Jack picked on, of course – although clearly, by this time, I was the most extreme example. There was a freshman on the team named Tommy who was muscular and lean, but he was a little awkward, and clearly trying to fit in with the older crowd of jocks on the team. Because it was becoming, more and more, the “cool” thing to do, Tommy had started attending and participating in my weekly torture sessions, grinning along the rest of the guys as I was humiliated and abused.
One day, after the tickling had finished and I had been allowed to slowly, wordlessly put on my clothes and limp out of the locker room, Jack noticed that Tommy had stripped off his pants and was wearing whitey-tightie briefs. With the rest of the team crowding around, Jack revealed to Tommy a new team initiation practice of which Tommy had been previously unaware:
“ You gotta wear those briefs for as long as I say, kid,” Jack explained casually, with condescending helpfulness, the air of an older brother about him. “Can’t take em off to sleep, to eat, even to whack off. Only to shower . . . and you certainly can’t wash ‘em. If you do change ‘em, or wash ‘em, I’ll know. Got it?”
Tommy did.
Three weeks later, Jack pulled me aside in the halls, right after fourth period. It had gotten to the point where all I had to do was see him coming to start shivering with fear, and I started now.
“ ‘Sup, tiny dick?” he said cheerfully.
I cut to the chase. “When should I report to the locker room for tickling this week, sir?” I asked, swallowing.
“ Well . . .” he said, lazily, “I was thinking about giving you the week off, my little freshman.”
My heart practically sang with joy. “Really?!” I gasped.
“ Yeah . . . only cuz I’m feeling especially generous this week.”
“ Thank you sir! That’s very generous of you!”
“ There’s just one thing . . . I think maybe you should get down on your hands and knees and kiss my feet. Right now. Only to show how grateful you are, of course.” He pointed forcefully down toward the big red flip-flops he was wearing on his otherwise barefeet.
I swallowed hard and looked around. The hallway was filled with students.
“ Couldn’t we . . . couldn’t we at least do it where there’s more privacy?” I said in a low voice.
He grinned that infuriatingly sexy grin. “I don't know, tiny dick . . . I don't think it's right for us to keep your love of my sweaty feet a secret anymore . . . do you?”
I sighed, looking around at all the students, picturing their incredulous looks of disgust. I looked back at Jack's stern face, and slowly began to sink to my knees.
Jack stopped me. “You know, actually,” he said in a low voice, “it might be a much better show if you beg me a little first.”
I blinked. “Whatya mean?”
He snickered. “Well, I want you to walk away, then come back here in a minute and say in a really loud voice 'Please, Jack! I can't take it anymore! I have to lick the sock lint from between your toes!' And then we'll argue for a little bit, and then you can finally persuade me to let you lick my feet. And then you can lick my feet.” He glanced around. “And be sure to make it convincing, Tiny. I want this performance to be Oscar worthy.”
I stared at him, unbelieving.
His face darkened. “Well, whatya waiting for Tiny Dick . . .” he smirked.
I swallowed. I tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. Something in me, some scrap of public dignity, gave way, and turning, I fled down the hall, too scared to look back behind me.
I didn't even want to imagine what they would do to me that afternoon.
But they didn't do anything. They left me alone.
And the next day.
And the next day too . . . which was a Friday. It was the end of the week now, and somehow, despite the fact that I had not done Jack’s bidding, I had managed to make it through the week alive. I was glad beyond words, but I also had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was going to get my come-upance very soon.
Sure enough, when I went to my locker to get my bags at the end of the day, I saw a note which had been slipped into the crack. I unfolded it.
DEAR TINY DICK:
Hope you enjoyed the reprieve. Cuz next week we’re gonna more than make up for it.
PS I have a new rule when, where, how and in what way you have to LICK my fucking feet. By the end of next week, I think you’ll remember it.
The note wasn’t signed, but I had a pretty good idea who had written it.
I couldn’t eat for the whole weekend. I kept wondering what they were going to do to me.
But Monday rolled around, and then Tuesday, and then Wednesday. Some of the soccer players kept giving me looks of almost pity in the hallways and in the middle of class, and the muscular goalie kept snickering uncontrollably whenever he passed me by, but Jack completely ignored me. My sense of dread only grew.
Then, on Wednesday night, I got a call. The voice sounded like Larry’s.
“ Listen carefully, cuz we’re gonna punish you if you make any fucking mistakes,” he voice said as soon as I identified myself. “Tell your parents you hafta go out of town, starting tomorrow, until Sunday for a school trip. You’ll be back sometime on Sunday. Tell them you’re sorry but you forgot all about it until now. Report to the locker room after school tomorrow.” The line went dead.
I stood there staring at the phone. What the hell were they planning for me? But I had learned my lesson by then. I told my folks I had forgotten to give them the school trip permission slip – I even packed a small duffle bag for show.
“ Long time no see, Tiny Dick!” Jack said the next day.
It was after practice, I was sitting obediently on the locker room bench, and 18 guys had crowded around to watch the big event – this time, not only were all of Jack's buddies from the soccer team there, but 4 muscular jocks he know from the varsity swim team were sitting in on the festivities as well.
“ Yes sir,” I mumbled. By now I new the drill. “Should I strip, sir?”
Jack said that I should . . . and then, as usual, he grabbed me and pinned me down when I was wearing nothing but my boxers and my socks. But the tickling I’d been bracing myself for didn’t come.
“ So . . . you don’t like kissing my feet anymore, boy?”
“ No sir! I mean, yes sir . . . I love kissing your feet! I apologize deeply for my earlier behavior, I should have never hesitated in kissing your feet regardless of the humiliating way in which you asked me to do it, sir! I accept my punishment whatever it is and it won’t happen again!!” All this came out in rapid-fire succession. Everyone around me began to laugh.
“ Obedient little fucker!” I heard one of the swimmers snicker.
“ Not fucking obedient enough for me,” Jack said with a little grin. “Freshman, from now on, you will not wait until you are asked to kiss my feet. From now on, whenever you see me in the hallway, and there is not a teacher in the immediate vicinity, you will bend over and kiss my feet!!!”
“ Yes sir.”
“ Moreover, from now on, whenever you see any of the soccer team juniors or seniors in the hallway, or any of these fine four swimmers, you will bend over and kiss their feet as well. If at any point you fail to do so, what is about to happen to you now will happen to you again.”
“ Yes sir.”
“ When I tell you to, you will make a big show out of begging me, or other soccer team upperclassmen, to let us allow you to kiss our sweaty feet, and your acting better be pretty fucking convincing.”
“ YES SIR”
Jack smiled broadly now. “Commere, Tommy.”
The freshman Tommy stepped forward. I suddenly noticed that he was looking pretty uncomfortable, and had been for the last two weeks or so.
“ Tommy, take off your pants and remove your tidey-whiteys.
Tommy did. I was pinned down on the bench, but even from where I was, a good 15 feet off, I could see that they were the nastiest set of briefs I had ever laid eyes on. An entire side was light brown, the cloth was completely splotched with dark icky stains, pubic hairs visibly littered the fabric, and even from far away I could smell it – it reeked.
“ Tiny dick, this is what happens to underwear when you wear it for . . . how long has it been, Tommy?”
“ Uh . . . a month,” Tommy replied obediently. He looked overwhelmingly glad to take the vile things off.
“ 29 days, to be exact,” Jack continued.
There were whistles and murmurs of disgust from the pack of guys, all of whom were staring at the underwear with a mixture of fascination and repulsion.
“ Tommy here has farted in those things,” Jack was saying. “He’s sweated in them. And he’s even whacked off in them . . . how many times, Tommy?”
Tommy looked down. “Uh, basically every night.”
There were shrieks of laughter. “Every night!” someone hooted.
“ And whatya use to clean up your cum?” someone asked.
Tommy pointed wordlessly toward the tidy whiteys.
Jack looked at me, and I didn’t like the _expression I saw. Gingerly, he picked up the underwear, plucking it lightly between his thumb and forefinger and holding it away from him from a distance as though it might be diseased – as indeed, it probably was. “So, anyway . . . open up, Tiny Dick.”
I gaped at him. “What?” I exclaimed.
Jack stared back casually at me. “Well, frankly tiny dick, you’ve got a really high pitched and girly-ass voice, and I don’t want to hafta listen to it for the next four days when I don’t absolutely have to, and neither do the boys here. So I’m gonna stuff Tommy’s tidey-wideys down your girly ass throat.”
I heard laughter.
“ Oh, no. Please don’t make me do that,” I begged.
He shrugged. “Hey Tommy,” he said to his freshman teammate who had just finished pulling his pants back on. “Why dontya drop those trousers again and wipe your buttcrack with Tiny Dick’s new gag here while he tries to make up his mind.”
He tossed the undies back to Tommy, who obediently bent over, balled his undies up and ran them up and down his ass crack like a wad of toilet paper.
“ That’s good,” Jack said after a second. “Now, let’s see if Tiny Dick’s gonna take them like a good little slave, or whether we’re gonna even more fun this weekend than we were already planning on.”
I heard scattered snickers. I realized it was useless to resist . . . I was going to have to take whatever they had coming for me.
“ Alright,” I said. I slowly opened my mouth.
Grinning, Jack took the underwear and stuffed them into my mouth. The smell was overpowering – I gagged violently. Jack kept stuffing them in. I convulsed again, gagging a second time. I had never tasted anything so foul in my life. But Jack already had the duct tape out, and was sealing my mouth shut.
“ D’ya like that, tiny dick?” Larry grinned.
At first I didn’t respond.
“ Answer his question!!” Jack barked at me, jerking me up off the bench by the scruff of my neck.
I had a month old pair of underwear stuffed down my throat, so all I could do was shake my head.
Larry suddenly bitch slapped me across the face, hard. THWACK. It made a popping sound. “That’s not the answer, BITCH,” he said. “Do you LIKE that?”
I nodded slowly.
Jack chortled. “You’re gonna like it a lot more before we’re done. Let me show ya something, Tiny.” He abruptly picked me up like a sack of vegetables and, carrying me in his arms, headed down toward the other end of the locker room. I could hear his herd of soccer jocks following behind. I realized we were heading for the toilet stalls, and I wondered with a sense of dread what was coming next. I didn’t have long to wait.
Jack threw the door open to one of the stalls and pushed me forward. I stumbled in. He was right behind me. I felt him picking me up by my ankles; suddenly I was dangling over the toilet bowl, staring down into the water.
“ Swirlie!” Jack shouted, and he lowered me in.
I felt the ice cold water envelope my head. There was a FLOOSH, a swirl of water, and then I heard everyone laughing their heads off.
“ Do it again!” I heard someone shout.
Jack did.
Now I felt myself being set back down on the ground, but I had barely caught my breath when I felt Jack’s forceful grip on my neck, and he dunked my head back into the toilet bowl for a third time. This time, however, I was not submerged – my nose was just half an inch away from the water level. Now I heard the sound of duct tape again – the long, long stretching sound of an entire role being unwound. The next thing I knew, five pairs of hands were wrapping line after line of duct tape around my body, and then down underneath me onto the toilet seat. Before long, almost my entire torso had been mummified – I had been duct taped down securely to the toilet, so that I was standing on the ground with my head dunked down into the toilet bowl, unable to escape, my ass protruding out toward my tormentors. I felt my arms being tied down around the base of the toilet, so that I couldn’t move them either.
“ Alright!” I heard Jack declare. “Hey . . . Hank, didya bring the paddle?”
I heard a shuffling sound. Then: “yup.”
“Alright . . . this is a frat paddle. Now, whoever can give the freshman the hardest spanking doesn’t hafta run laps tomorrow at practice. Who wants to go first?”
I felt someone peeling my underwear – my last shred of clothing, aside from my socks – down to my ankles, making my tender bottom fully vulnerable to their attack
I don’t know who won the contest – all I know is, for my money, each of the soccer studs tried their hardest to win. There were 18 very loud THWACKS, one after the other, and a lot of laughter and cheering after each one. Jack went last – and beat me the hardest. My ass felt like it was on fire.
“ Oh man,” I heard one of the guys say – it sounded like one of the swimmers. “That was awesome. Can we go in for seconds?”
From inside the toilet bowl, I moaned in despair.
“ Awww . . . I don’t think tiny dick is having any fun! Maybe we should wait till tomorrow to spank him some more.”
One of the guys laughed. “Ya mean, we’re actually gonna leave him here all night?”
Jack put on a voice of mock concern. “I think he likes it in there, man. I’d just hate to pull him out before he’s ready.”
“ Dude, that’s so fucking evil.” More laughter.
“ What if someone finds him, though?”
“ That’s no problem,” Jack explained. “The janitor doesn’t come tonight, see, and we’ll hang an ‘Out of Order’ sign on the stall door to make sure Tiny Dick has his privacy.”
I heard the deep voice of the goalie. “It would be a shame, though, to put the toilet to waste for a whole day . . .” his voice trailed off. I heard a fly unzipping, followed by the sound of more hysterical laughter.
“ You’re not . . .”
“ Dude . . . when a guy’s gotta go . . . “ his voice trailed off and I suddenly felt a warm trickle on my neck, splashing the back part of my hair and dribbling down my cheek into the toilet bowl.
“ Hey . . . I’ll do it too!” I heard Larry shout. “I gotta piss like a race horse.” I felt another warm trickle on my neck, this one much longer and more forceful. The water below me had now turned completely yellow, and the water level and risen a bit so that my nose was almost wet.
“ OK,” Jack said, laughing, when Larry had finished. “That’s enough for now. We’ll leave tiny dick alone with his thoughts. But . . .” and he paused, “I think we should all pay him a visit tomorrow in between our classes. I mean, if we gotta go piss, we might as well keep him company while we’re doin’ it. It could get lonely in here . . . “
They all laughed, and I heard them beginning to file out of the stall. I couldn’t take it anymore . . . I began to moan as loudly as I could through my disgusting gag.
“ Hey, cut that out,” Jack barked. I felt another searing THWACK on my ass, then another, from the paddle, and I winced. “Doya wanta have your feet tickled too today, on top of everything else?” I felt his hands grab my ankles, still sheathed in socks, and begin to heft them into the air.
I abruptly stopped moaning.
“ That’s what I thought.” My ankles were released and my feet dropped back to the ground. “Just stand there and take it like a man.” He gave my ass a final smack, and then I heard the stall door swing shut. There was the sound of fumbling, of lockers swinging open and shut in the distance. I heard a lot of giggling, and a few whispers. Another scattered burst of locker banging. Then . . . silence.
I stood there, my head bowed, the smell of urine powerful in my nostrils. The locker room was a little chilly, and in nothing but socks, I began to shiver a little. Tommy’s putrid underwear in my mouth still made me want to gag.
Suddenly, I heard a click, and the lights went out. I was left in total darkness.
Shit! It was one of those motion controlled lights.
I stood there, totally alone. I struggled and struggled, trying to free myself from the duct tape, trying to work my arms free of the rope bondage, but it was to no avail – I was securely stuck in the toilet prison Jack had devised for me. The only thing I could move freely were my legs – but I could not use them to struggle free from the duct tape. Shit.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
After a while, I had no idea what time it was. It seemed like I had been stuck in that stall forever. My whole body felt like it was on fire. My ass hurt like hell. I was getting damn thirsty, although I wasn’t yet ready to drink the urine-filled toilet water – not that I could have if I had wanted to, because of the putrid gag. And, ironically, I really had to piss.
I tried to hold it in. The time ticked past. It couldn’t be that long until school started now, right?
But still there was only silence. And silence. And more silence.
I really had to go . . . and after all, since I was butt naked now, I couldn’t piss my pants. So I just emptied my bladder on the ground.
School did finally start in the morning. I could hear people moving around outside the locker room, and I heard the bell ring, marking the beginning of first hour.
Jack paid me a visit soon after that. “Hey buddy,” he snickered, swinging open the stall door. “Sleep well?” I heard him chuckle louder. “Dude, I really wish you could see how ridiculous you look.” I heard him unzipping. “Well, I gotta piss, mind getting out of the way?” He paused. “Huh, guess you can’t. Oh well . . .” he said again, and I felt the familiar warm dribble on my back.
Jack left, but I had two more visitors from the soccer team the next period, each with equally full bladders.
Thankfully, most people on the team did not come and piss on me that day, but a few did . . . including, of course, the goalie. He showed up at lunch time; after pissing, he paddled me about ten more times. Then he tickled me underneath the armpits for just a few seconds, which caused me to thrash around frantically in the toilet bowl.
Two of the swimmers came by as well. Neither of them pissed on me, but both were still very impressed by the novelty of my ticklish body, since they hadn't been in on all the earlier tickling sessions.
“ Hey man,” one of them said. He was actually pretty polite about it. “Ya mind if we tickle your feet, just for a few minutes?”
I groaned. Oh no, I thought. I grunted loudly and shook my body from side to side, indicating as firmly as I could that I did indeed mind.
“ But we haven't gotten to see you tickled at all yet,” the swimmer protested reasonably . . . as though he wanted me to feel sorry for him. “Couldn't we just try it for a little bit? I hear it's incredible.”
I had an idea. “Untie my first!” I tried to belt out through my disgusting gag . . . but it came out as “ummpa ma ferf.”
“ What's he saying?
“ Umpa ma ferf! Umpa me ferf, pers!”
They hesitated. “Dude, I totally would, but Jack might get kinda pissed . . .” the nice swimmer replied. “I'm only gonna tickle you for a few minutes, OK?”
The second swimmer spoke. “Dude, it's not like he can do anything about it.”
The first one: “That's true . . . sorry man, I promise it'll be quick.”
I felt big hands hefting my ankles up into the air, holding them firmly together. Another set of fingers suddenly set to work on the soles of my feet.
Instantly I became animated, thrashing wildly from side to side. My face was plunged in and out of the vile toilet water, now completely filled with urine, and the urine splashed all over my face and into my eyes. I twisted violently, energetically straining against the firm duct tape bonds holding me into place, but I wasn't going anywhere. I kicked furiously at my two tormentors, but their vice like grip on my ankles only tightenned.
“ Wow . . . this is incredible!” one of the swimmers declared.
“ Get him in between his toes.”
My head thwacked painfully into the porcelain side of the toilet, and I silently cried out, but they kept going.
They had said a few minutes. But apparently, to swimmers, a “few” meant 20.
Finally, school was over. The lights went off again, and I waited for practice to be over. For a second, it seemed like so long a wait that I wondered, with a sudden rush of fear, whether they were planning on leaving me here for a second night. The thought was too horrible to imagine.
But, finally, I heard the sound of locker doors slamming. And then:
“ Hello, tiny dick!” It was Jack’s voice.
“ Dude, he hasn’t MOVED,” one of the boys exclaimed. “Fuckin’ sick. Man, that’s gotta hurt.”
Finally, I felt the duct tape being slowly peeled off. It hurt like hell – it felt as though I was having my skin removed from my back as line after line was torn away. Finally, my arms were released, and with a grunt of relief I stood up and lifted my head out of that vile bowl.
I turned around and saw the whole group of them smirking at me – Jack, Larry, the goalie, the whole team including Tommy, and the swimmers. I was completely naked by now, but I was already so humiliated that I didn't care.
Jack tore the duct tape off my mouth, and I immediately spat out Tommy’s whitey tideys. They still smelled putrid.
“ Well . . . didya enjoy your night, tiny dick?” Jack asked.
I wanted to kill him, but I knew better by now than to show him even a flicker of resistance. “Yes sir! I loved it, sir!” I quickly remembered his new rule, and immediately bent down on my knees. He still had his cleats on – I was of course completely naked. “May I kiss your feet to show my gratitude, sir!”
Jack smiled, clearly thoroughly enjoying his near total control over me. “You may, freshman. Take off my cleats, strip off my socks and lick every last piece of lint away.” He grinned at his team. “He likes it so much, maybe we should duct tape him to the toilet for the rest of the weekend. Whatya say?”
I shuddered, but I knew it would do me no good to beg.
“ Whatya say, tiny dick?”
“ I’m sure you know best, sir,” I said obediently. His cleats and socks were off now, and his feet were drenched with sweat from practice, but compared with the underwear gag and the toilet this smelled like roses. I inhaled deeply and began to lick.
“ He’s starting to like it!” one of the guys exclaimed.
Jack made me lick everyone’s feet – all 18 pairs. The soccer team's feet all smelled sweaty and sock-like – the four swimmers smelled more like drain water. But it didn't matter – I licked them all clean.
I was beginning to think I was done. After all I’d been there the whole night, I was exhausted, every muscle in my body ached . . . and to top it off, I was hungry as hell, having not eaten in almost a day, and even thirstier. I wanted a drink of water so badly I thought I’d surely collapse if I didn’t get one right away.
Then I heard Jack say: “Alright, tiny, ready for the rest of the weekend? It’s gonna be fun, I promise!”
I suddenly remembered that I had been warned that my punishment would take the whole weekend, and a renewed sense of dread flooded me.
“ Well . . . can’t I at least eat something first?”
“ Maybe later,” Jack replied curtly. “Right now, we gotta get moving.”
“ What about just a little drink of water then?” I asked. “I promise, I’ll be quick.”
I saw Larry suddenly get a funny smirk, and I instantly began to regret pressing even this modest request. “Awww,” Larry cooed in mock sympathy. “Poor tiny dick just wants a little drink, Jacky.” He paused, and gestured suddenly at the toilet, still filled up with jock urine. “And the way I see it, we got plenty of liquid left over.”
“ uh . . . that’s Ok, I can wait,” I said very, very quickly.
Too late. “You wanted a drink,” the goalie said with his sadistic grin.
“ Yeah,” a forward agreed. “You said you wanted a drink.”
“ Ok, boys, let’s give tiny dick what he wants!” Jack exclaimed gleefully.
I felt strong arms picking me up once again. Larry on one side, the goalie on the other, and two others helping them in front or in back. I was turned upside down, and the toilet prison in which I had spent the last twenty four hours loomed once again in front of me.
My self control collapsed. “No,” I whimpered. “Please, no, not again!!”
“ Hey, ya said you were thirsty,” Larry snickered. “We just live to fucking serve you, dicky.”
“ Not again . . .” I sobbed pathetically.
Now Jack spoke up. “I think what you’re trying to say, my little man, is you want another night taped into the toilet bowl. Is that right?”
“ No! Please, let me lick your feet again . . . I want to lick your feet, sir.”
A pregnant silence. And then . . . “Here’s what I’ll do Tiny,” Jack said. I could tell he was loving every minute of this. “I’m a sweet nice guy. So I’ll give you a sporting chance. Drop him, guys.”
I was dumped to the cold floor like I sack of flour, where I lay crumpled in front of the toilet.
Jack nudged me with his bare foot. “OK, boy. Here’s the deal. Get up. Crouch over the toilet, like you have been for the last day, except this time without the duct tape, cuz I’m so sweet. In the next 10 minutes, you gotta lap up the entire fucki
