Being 17yo is a period of crazy hormones, self-discovery, gaining independence, but also in my son's case, getting a cocky attitude that I wouldn't tolerate. The fact that girls loved him had boosted his confidence. Every time a woman walked by, Rhett's eyes scanned her up and down. Instead of thinking more seriously about college, he only cared about girls and sports. We had to fix that. "I know what you mean" Dr Smith said. He was seated behind his desk taking notes and speaking in measured, calm tones. 50yo, yet no family, probably a faggot. He offered us something to drink and I asked for an orange juice. Now my juice was almost gone and I began to feel a little light headed. I noticed Elizabeth and the doctor exchanging suspicious glances. Minutes later I was feeling too tired to keep up with the conversation. Struggling to stand still, my head spinning like crazy, I looked at my wife as she was backing away from me. "Elizabeth! What's going on here?" I said slurring my words, feeling weaker and weaker. Next I saw a large male nurse standing in the door frame, practically filling it. The last thing I can remember before I lost consciousness is two strong arms grabbing me so I wouldn't fall down.

* * *

I woke up strapped to a gynecological chair. "This has to be a horrible mistake" I tried not to panic, but the mistake was mine all along. Elizabeth would do anything to protect her son, I should have known. I noticed a ceiling camera blinking it's green light so I guess it was recording me being completely naked, my legs spread wide apart and tied into stirrups. My cell phone was nowhere in sight. I felt an itch on my nose but was unable to scratch it. I started to sweat, terrified that I might have to undergo what TCTM was about. Dr Smith entered the room along with that large male nurse and pulled up a chair next to me. "Why the wide eyes, Mr Stevenson? This was your idea after all" he said in his typical calm tone. Fucking fag. I alternately begged and threatened him: "Please, doctor... You can't do this to me... I'm a grown up man, damn it... Rhett should be here instead... I'm not even ticklish... Lemme outta, you fucking faggot... You get off tickling guys? Touch me and I'll fucking kill you... You're dead already... Let's pretend this never happened... I won't tell anyone... Please..."

"Well kept feet, Mr Stevenson. Nice and soft. Does Ms Stevenson ever worships them for you?" Dr Smith caressed my size 12's ignoring my pleas. He licked them heel to toe saying my wife doesn't know what she's missing. "People tend to think ticklishness fades away with age. What do you say, Mr. Stevenson?"

"It does not" I murmured. What was the point in lying anymore? He would know soon.

"Are you ticklish? That's what you're implying?" He gripped my big foot in my hands and digged his finger into the meaty arch. My toes curled reflexively to avoid the tickling sensation. "We'll have time for that later" he said pleased.

Dr Smith slipped on surgical gloves and dipped his middle finger into a lubricant jar while the large nurse raised the stirrups, spreading my legs further. My eyes followed their every move. The nurse began to gently massage my dick into an unwilling but helpless erection. The doctor asked me if I ever had my prostate examined. Men my age should, he said. He gently pulled my butt cheeks apart and worked his middle finger up my resisting hole, saying this will only take a minute. When he reached the hard little joy button deep up my bowels, my eyes rolled, my stomach muscles turned rock hard, my nipples stiffened and my toes curled. My fat dick knob widened, going glassy smooth. That firm finger had me leaking already. Before long, I moaned and spasmed, spitting long ropes of thick white gism into the air. Dr Smith kept poking my used nut until it was totally drained, then took off the gloves and left the room, telling the nurse (who's name was Angelo) to clean me up and get me ready, whatever that meant.

I protested when I realised he was about to put me in a chastity cage but there was nothing I could do to stop him. He plugged an electric trimmer and ran it at my genitals, removing my public hair, then he locked the cage in place. I was walked barefoot and bare-assed to the showers through a large room where men dressed in hospital gowns were watching TV. The place looked a lot like prison, with tables and chairs bolted to the ground. I was given the same hospital gown and a pair of flip flops. No underwear.

* * *

The cell was windowless. It had two wall-mounted stainless steel beds, stainless steel toilet and stainless steel hand basin. My cellmate was a 19yo kid. Finn was arrested for football hooliganism and TCTM was his alternative to jail. I told him I had a son almost his age and he asked whether we get along well. Tough question to answer. Parenthood is no easy job. "Being a son isn't easy either", Finn said and I guess he was right. He seemed to be a smart kid. I felt bad for his aimless life, wasted skills, and lack of motivation. We spent the day watching TV in the large room. There was also a ping pong table with men gathered around and I asked Finn about some of them being naked. "They've lost their gown rights. It's a frequent form of punishment here. It usually lasts 24 hours". I also asked about a man my age standing naked in front of a wall. "That's corner time. I've been there more than once" Finn said smiling. That night, I crushed to the bed but couldn't sleep, thinking of Rhett. Had I turned into my strict dad, repeating his mistakes with my son? Finn was lightly snoring next to me so I took advandage of the privacy to use the toilet. Having to piss sitting was a side effect of the cage.

Next morning I woke up to the sound of male laughter. Dr Smith had started his morning visits and a nurse came to prepare us pushing a medical trolley full of tickling tools. I noticed a hair brush and a baby oil bottle among others. I was asked to remove my gown and didn't dare to resist as the nurse added medical restraints to my bed and strapped me down. I tested the bonds to see if I could get free and started to sweat as I realized how helpless I was. Hearing all these grown up men scream their lungs out, while waiting for my turn, I started to freak out. Finn just laid there staring up at the ceiling. He said that would be my daily routine from now on, so better accept it. Dr Smith entered, followed by three nurses. He checked for tickle spots all over my body along with a nurse, while the other two went for Finn. I didn't prove much of a challenge as I was ticklish pretty much everywhere, from my neck to my armpits, to my sides and belly. They taunted me with "coochie coochie coo" and "look who's ticklish", their expert fingers dancing on my skin. When the nurse gently dug his fingers into the soft spot just above my hip bones, I broke into a full scale laugh.

"Ha ha ha ha!!! Hee hee! Stop it!!! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!"

"What's the matter? Does that tickle you?" the nurse asked as if he didn't know.

Moving to my feet was the worst. My laughter and fierce struggle made the men in the room smile from ear to ear. I guess it's funny to watch a grown up man act crazy. Finn was laughing too, but nothing like me. I was more ticklish that a kid my son's age! How sad... Dr Smith rubbed his pants and I noticed a bulge beneath. Fuckin fag. He pointed to the nurse to get the baby oil and I was told this would make me even more ticklish. "How will it do that?" I asked in panic. "Wait and see!" was all the explanation I got. The nurse tipped a generous portion into the palm of his hand and spread it all over my large soles and in between my toes. Dr Smith searched on the trolley for the proper instrument to use. He picked up the hair brush I had seen earlier. The feel of that brush on my slippery feet slayed me. It worked its magic over my tender arches, up the toes and down the heels, and had me begging easily. I was hoarse with laughter and struggling, not believing this was happening to me.

"PLEEEEEEEEEESE!!! DON'T TICKLE MEEEE! Hee hee hee hee hee hee!!! I'm begging! NO MORE! NOOOOO!!! STOP IT!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!"

This was a whole other level. I had no reference for the intensity of the feeling. I struggled so hard I though for a moment I could actually bust out the straps but I was just tiring myself out of course. Thankfully Dr Smith told the nurses to unstrap us before he left and we were free to go watch TV. Finn was looking at me enigmatically, both still breathing fast. "Be honest, Mr Stevenson. Didn't you enjoy it one bit?" Why did he ask that? Let's say getting tickled made me feel alive, so what? Pain also makes us feel alive. Does it mean we like pain? "I don't know" I mumbled and let my head fall back to the pillow.

* * *

Rumor has it that nurse Angelo liked to turn inmates into his personal foot bitches. I tried to stay away from him, but that wasn't easy. When he called me to his office to sign some papers, I knew all along it was an excuse. He locked the door behind me and I tried to protest but he warned me not to or pay the price. The large man sat down and got the laces loose enough to take off his boots, revealing a pair of white socked feet radiating heat. "Do you know what I do to boys like you, Mr Stevenson? I make them worship my feet". He pushed me to my knees in front of him. Then he peeled the socks off and raised his bare foot, bringing it to the level of my face. His sole was light-colored and soft, so masculine yet so vulnerable. "Kiss it, boy!" I stood still for a second or two, when a hard slap took away any resistance. He laughed as I leaned forward and softly put my lips to his foot in abject despair and acquiescence. It tasted salty and slightly soapy. Not bad, as I thought it would. I suppose a foot bitch would find that wide manly sole sexy, but I wasn't one, so why was I getting horny?

I felt the growing pressure of an erection. I could not create an actual erection because of the cage, but the pressure was there, slowly staining my gown with precum. Nurse Angelo made me put his foot in my mouth and it stretched my lips to the max. I looked up and saw him smiling down at me and taking photos. He signaled me to lay flat on the floor (my precum stained gown in full sight) and rested his size 14's on my face, wiggling his skillful toes over my lips. There was something about this man dominating me. I had fantasized about men before, at my experimenting years of college, but had no such experiences. Nurse Angelo gave me quite a show, squeezing his crotch and rubbing his big, strong hands all over his body. He then stood up and pushed his pants down to just his white briefs, proud of the bulge he had developed. I watched as the huge head of his dick thrust out the side of his briefs, wet and sticky, a stream of precum dripping down. He spit his palm and began to jerk off. He sat back down totally naked and crossed his feet in the front, which I started to lick all over again.

"Yeah boy... You get me going... I knew you'd be a good bitch the minute I saw you...  I've broken lots of straight so to speak men like you..." He threw his head back as he grunted "Fuck... I need to get off... I need it bad..."

It didn't take more than five minutes for him to squirt seven nice long streams of cum. It shot up and then down, landing in splats on the floor. More cum just rolled out of the knob, covering his fingers, which he had me suck one by one. Nurse Angelo slipped into his pants, bouncing on one foot as he pulled his legs through, and gave me a petting on the head, calling me his good boy. He put his hands behind his head and let out a relaxed sigh, as I planted grateful kisses at his arches, moaning with pleasure. I worshiped his feet many times since, always getting the same response from my dick, putting my sexual orientation in question.

* * *

They came for him at 3 in the morning. Four men burst into the bedroom, grabbed Joe and pinned him down before he had time to react. They injected him with something that quickly made Joe light headed. He thought of his family being in danger, but that wasn't the case. He was marched naked out of the house, into a waiting black van. Τhe street was deserted at that time so noone noticed the slightest thing. "He'll be broken before he knows it" Dr Smith promised the wife. Joe was already a month now at TCTM. He was cocky and that always got him into trouble. This time he earned himself some corner time for calling a nurse "son-of-a-bitch", so he had to take off his gown in front of everyone and stand with his nose touching the wall. The 30-year-old construction worker and father-of-three was built like a retired linebacker, solid but with a beer belly that showed he didn't work out like he once had. His balls under the chastity cage were so big I thought of billiard balls right away. He covered his groin with his hands, his muscular butt pumping as he walked to the corner and turned his head to the wall.

Dr Smith called me to his office for an one-on-one. He wanted to know more about me and we ended up talking about my father being strict and spanking me over the knee. The doctor said something about rewritting childhood traumas through tickling that I didn't quite get. He also informed me about Sunday's visiting hours so I had to call Elizabeth to let her know. Leaving his office, I heard men running to the large room. Joe had punched a nurse in the face and was overpowered by a group of men who immobilized him using duct tape. Several rolls of tape later, his entire body was mummified except for the head and the big feet. Nurse Angelo picked Joe up like a sack of potatoes and carried him on his shoulder to the discipline room, a white padded cell, for some quality time together.

The payphone to call Elizabeth was next to the discipline room so I took a look inside through a little window and saw the mummified 30-year-old construction worker laid face down, helpless in his tight cocoon, giggling and laughing and coughing. The nurses were laughing almost as much, only Joe's reactions were deeper and throatier. They brushed his soles and scratched his toes and drew little circles with their fingers, while he was screaming "Enough!!" and "Please stop it!!" Joe was about to learn that vulnerability isn't weakness, that being sensitive is the real strength of a man. Nurse Angelo gave him the option to lick his toes for the tickling to stop and the poor father-of-three nodded to everyone's surprice. I felt my dick move inside its cage once again for the dominant large nurse. Watching Joe open his mouth to that big toe, I wished with all my heart that was me instead.

* * *

Sunday morning the loudspeakers were calling names and men in gowns and chastity cages were rushing to meet their families and future keyholders. I'd love for Elizabeth to be here but she never answered my calls. Dr Smith found me bored to death watching TV and asked me to follow him to one of the many rooms of TCTM. Inside there was a bench made of pine wood with soft leather padded parts. I was asked to kneel on the heavy-duty piece of furniture in a bending forward position and he securely strapped my arms and legs. The knee rests were mounted with a 10-degree angle pushing my legs to spread apart. Dr Smith lifted my gown exposing my bubble butt.

"Perfect ass-checks for a smack. I am right Rhett?"

"Damn right, doc!" I heard my son's teenage voice behind me. "Hup! That's me, dad! Surprise!"

This was the most humiliating thing ever. I twisted my head around, trying to follow him as Rhett walked in. They chit chatted a bit, talking about me as if I wasn't there, then Dr Smith left us saying he had to interview some newcomers. Rhett looked me right in the eyes with his smug grin. It was just the two of us now. He leaned over and brought his face close to mine. His lips just touched my ear and I shivered as he whispered:

"How does it feel, dad? Pretty embarrassing, huh?"

"Rhett, what are you doing here?"

"I'm about to find out what TCTM is all about. Tables turned, big boy! Where should I start?" he asked rhetorically, making me shiver in anticipation.

I had already started to nervously giggle even though he wasn’t touching me. He very very lightly drawed a little circle on my skin testing me. I was highly sensitized and squirmed at his touch. When the actual tickling started, my laugh came forth in a burst, like a roar that echoed throughout the room. "HA HA HA HA HA!!!" Rhett's playful fingers tickled my pits, quickly moving to my sides, attacking my unprotected ribs, finding just the right tickle spots all over my body that would make me scream. "Ah, that's the spot, isn't it, big boy? Oh, you're ticklish on your neck too? Gash! Is there a part of your body that isn't ticklish? Wait till I go after your feet. I'm gonna tickle those tootsies till you scream. Ready for some fun? This little piggy went to the market..." I was totally at my son's mercy now. He touched my sole and it felt like an electric shock. His fingers scrathing my arches worked their magic and I bounced all over, struggling to set myself free. He got under my toes and I jerked mightily, but the bench wouldn't move an inch. I was impressed how stable that devilish device was. I pleaded for forgiveness over and over again but no apology could ever replace the sheer enjoyment Rhett was getting. "You talk too much, dad. I'm afraid you've earned yourself a spanking". He held up a frat paddle for me to see.

"Rhett, don't spank me! Please!" Memories of my father spanking me as a kid made me feel like crying. He left the paddle aside but this time he got the hair brush. "Oh god, no! Not that brush again!"

"Is our big boy afraid of the hair brush? Are your tootsies too ticklish to take it, sweetie? Would you prefer the paddle instead?"

I shook my head no. Rhett happily tickled me with that hair brush, randomly changing the tempo and the pattern, keeping me all jumpy and laughing crazily, while telling me I was going to "get it" and that "payback is a bitch". He seemed to have a definite plan. Man, I didn't like this at all. He worked my feet for over an hour and I hate to admit it but he made me piss myself. There's a 4K resolution video in his cell phone to prove it.

* * *

Brad was no newcomer to TCTM. It's been a long time since that insensitive, aggressive, toxic man was turned into a loving husband thanks to Dr Smith. He was now a regular visitor for some quick attitude adjustment, usually along with his brother, Marshall. This time Brad found himself naked in a room, strapped down to a bed, except for his feet that disappeared through holes in the wall. The holes clamped his ankles immovably. His big toes had been tied and pulled back with thick strings, streaching his soles. Brad was trapped for good. The large room at the other side of the wall would be full of inmates any minute now. What would happen to his exposed feet? The 42 yo father-of-two started to sweat thinking about it. He had manly feet, with long slightly squared-off toes and a strong arch, yet too damn sensitive.

Dr Smith entered the room followed by a nurse pushing a stainless steel tank that was a milking machine. Brad's dick sprang proudly into a stiff erection once out of the cage. His wife now kept him on a strict sex schedule, hardly ever letting him nut. Dr Smith guided that hungry dick into a plastic clear tube that ended to a metal sucking head. A slurping sound was heard and the tube immediately swallowed the shaft and started its mechanical sucking job. It felt great at first, like a girl's warm mouth, only better. Brad took in the rhythm of the sucking and began to thrust his hips up and down, trying to push his dick further and harder inside. Suddenly his moans of pleasure turned into screams and he thrashed like mad, squirming and bouncing his ass on the mattress in an instinctive attempt to avoid what was happening.

"What's wrong, Brad?"

"Someone is tickling my feet, sir! Ha ha ha ha!!! Hee hee! Please tell him to stop! It's killing me! NOOO!! NOT THE TOES!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!"

The sight of a pair of helpless feet was quite inviting and men started to gather around. Brad could hear them talking behind that wall. In the large room there was a line of inmates now waiting their turn to tickle him. Despite being tortured like that, Brad soon squirted a large river of cum into the waiting tube. He hoped for the machine to stop, but it didn't. The sucking got annoying on his over-sensitive cock, keeping him hard against his will, while the wire bristles of a hair brush on his size 12's had him losing his mind. I took my turn starting with light scratches along the entire length of that smooth sole. Brad's long wiggling toes left a wide gap to the ball of his foot so I digged my fingers there. His laughter immediately went up an octave. I had tickled girls before, but turning a big strong man into a kitten was different. Brad screamed, shrieked, cried for help, gasped for breath, beat his fists on the bed, begged and pleaded, but nothing he did made the slightest difference. His laughter turned to sobbing by the time we were done with him. He was forced to carry out multiple orgasms before that.

* * *

Next time I took a taste of the milking machine myself. Dr Smith had me to the gynecological chair again. He guided my dick into the plastic clear tube and it immediately swallowed my shaft and started its mechanical sucking job. It was obvious by my little moans escaping that I was clearly approaching an orgasm so the doctor decided it was time for some tickling. My eyes opened wide and I let out a scream of laughter as I felt his fingers scrutching my soles, but that didn't stop me from shooting my load into the waiting tube. Dr Smith stuck a well-loubed vibrating bullet up my exposed butt, easily surpassing my ressisting hole, and I was forced to a second orgasm in no time. Being so sexually stimulated, I confessed to him all about those strange urges that kept me awake at nights, fantasizing of nurse Angelo's muscular feet, or looking at Finn's 19-year-old soles sticking out of the blanket as he was lightly snoring next to me.

"What would you like to do to Finn's feet, Mr Stevenson?"

"Honestly? If I wasn't afraid he might wake up, I'd kneel before him and suck his toes" I admited carried away by the tube that kept draining me. Finn was almost the same age as Rhett. What the hell was wrong with me?

The milking machine had me on the edge again. I shot my third load that was no more than a few dribbles of almost clear cum instead of the typical milky-white color. Dr Smith walked out the room leaving me helpless against the machine. The exhaustion and over-stimulation had me almost crying but that made no difference to the tireless tube. When the doctor returned, I was dry-shooting my fifth load with nothing coming out. Thankfully he turned off that devious machine and gave my tormented penis a gentle kiss saying I had enough, which was more than true, then he stood before my spread feet and started licking them. The room was so quiet I could hear the slurping sounds of his tounge between my toes. It felt nice but my dick was too tired to react. Dr Smith decided I was ready to go back home.

* * *

The day of my release, both Elizabeth and Rhett were there. I hadn't seen my wife since I entered TCTM. I told Rhett I was really sorry about everything and he accepted my apology. No hard feelings, he said. Dr Smith suggested that Rhett keeps the key to my cage and I knew better than to object. I finally had my clothes and my cell phone back with tons of emails that I couldn't wait to answer. In my pants pocket I found a piece of paper with a number on it. "My feet already miss you. Call me. Angelo". The gentle breeze of the outside air felt great on my skin after being locked in that cell for so long. It was a sunny morning and I tried to be optimistic about what my life would be like now on.

* * *

Fast forward to today. I'm at the bathroom, at the edge of an orgasm, trying to make it last as much as possible. Rhett was in a good mood this morning. I asked him kindly for the key and he didn't cause me any trouble like he usually does. My wife is impressed how well we get along lately. I jerk off thinking of an 20-year-old girl in a red tank top Rhett brought home the other day. Is he fucking her? Most definitely. I shoot my load into the waiting tissue, then I have to clean myself and get ready for my apointment with Dr Smith. Rhett is sitting in the living room watching sports with his feet on the coffee table. His thighs look huge in his running shorts. He has gained lots of muscles this year. Elizabeth is gone out with friends, so it's just the two of us. I thank my son for the key but he wants to make sure I'm locked back in cage, so I have to pull my pants down, which I hate, yet I comply, cause my behavior is directly tied to my releases. The agressive toxic man I once was has been successfully replaced by a loving one.

"Will you join me at TCTM today?" I ask Rhett hoping he might not.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, dad".

I get shivers thinking of his playful hands at my "tootsies" as he likes to call them. This time though Dr Smith has a deal for me. I can avoid the tickling but I'll have to massage my son's feet. Ten minutes of foot massage instead of an hour of tickling. I know I'll regret it later, but I take the offer. Rhett quickly unlaces his shoes with enthusiasm. He pushes aside the doctor's papers and puts those feet up on the desk, legs spread wide apart, a huge grin across his face. He has nice looking feet, I already know that. "Don't keep me waiting, dad! My dogs are sore!" he yells at me wiggling his toes impatiently.

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