From: Cody & Cory Foster <102772.1536@CompuServe.COM>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.tickling
Subject: [M/M] The FIEND
Date: 27 Sep 1995 20:49:54 GMT
Organization: CompuServe, Inc. (1-800-689-0736)
Lines: 324
Message-ID: <44cddi$kh5$3@mhade.production.compuserve.com>

                             THE FIEND

     It was the start of John's second week in Hell.  He'd skidded on some
diesel in the road and driven his motorcycle into a tree.  The next thing
he'd known, here he was.
     It was not actually quite as bad as he'd expected.  It wasn't
continuous boiling oil, sulphurous fumes and everlasting fire -- the
demons and fiends worked an 8-hour day torturing souls and everyone had
the weekends off for sight-seeing.  Accomodation could have been worse,
too -- he shared a room with a serial killer who didn't want to talk about
his punishments and there was a reasonable view of the general devastation
from his window.
     His first week had been a getting-to-know-you kind of time: he was
shown around, introduced to various dignitaries (he even caught a rare
glimpse of Mephistopheles himself, getting into a hearse) and met his own
personal torturer -- a fiend named Elmet.  There then followed a variety
of torments and tortures, to find out what John was most susceptible to.
They started out with the usual physical things -- foot crushing, bamboo
under the fingernails, branding -- (the nice thing was that however he was
abused, at 5 PM prompt everyone reverted to their undamaged state so they could be worked on again tomorrow), but he reacted no more and no less to
these crude methods of torture than did anyone else.  Elmet was looking
for something better -- something personal to John -- something he
*particularly* couldn't take.  The fiend found just the thing on Friday
afternoon.  It was 4:55 PM, almost time to quit, and Elmet had John
spreadeagled on a table.  He'd been gouging out bits of the boy's body
with pincers and was getting bored.  To be fair, John had been screaming
quite well, but it just wasn't right somehow.  By accident, Elmet's clawed
hand slipped and a long, bony finger scraped across the boy's bare sole. 
The resulting yell and convulsion of the biker's body had made Elmet
pause.  This boy is ticklish, he thought.  He put the pincers down and
experimentally scraped a fingernail slowly doown the length of John's left
foot.  The ensuing scream caused the demon next door to bang on the wall.

Elmet looked at the boy, considering.  He reached over and tickled both
armpits lightly.  Now John was strapped down with good-quality canvas
restraints, but his conculsion was so intense that he actually broke the
one holding his right wrist.  At that precise moment the end-of-day
whistle went and all torturing stopped for the weekend.  Elmet ran his
eyes over the young, hunky body before him.  What he saw was not a
healthy, 22-year-old boy with a firm, well-muscled body but an infinite
number of intensely, *unbearably* ticklish spots.  As he released the boy
from his restraints and sent him off with a cheery, "See you Monday," he
realized that this weekend would not be spent as usual watching re-runs of
"Baywatch" but in constructing a suitable restraining device and thinking
of fiendish ways to make an excruciatingly ticklish -- and horny -- boy
suffer as much as inhumanly possible.  Elmet was good at that sort of
thing.  As he blew out the torches on the wall and left the torture
chamber he smiled in anticipation.
     When John entered the room on Monday morning he noticed some changes
 First off, the walls had been soundproofed.   Secondly, there was a large
wooden device standing in the middle of the floor.  Elmt greeted him.  The
fiend was looking especially ugly today, John thought.  He was wearing a
brown Monk's habit, the loose hood of which hid the back of his bald head,
and his ebony-black face seemed particularly grotesque with its sharp,
pointed nose and gash of a mouth.   John noticed that the fiend had
recently filed his teeth.
     "Now," said Elmet, drooling slightly, "we're going to try something
different today.  Observe the device."  He pointed to the wooden
construction that dominated the chamber.  "You kneel on this board here. 
Your wrists are held high above your head by these metal rings and your
tootsies are roped tightly to these rods at the side.  Are you with me so
far?"
     John nodded, although he wasn't altogether sure about the way things
were going; he had seen the look on Elmet's face when he'd tickled him on
Friday.  This device would be ideal for that sort of thing.
     "This," he indicated a rod which stuck out at an angle a couple of
feet above the kneeling board, "will go inside you.  It will help to keep
you..."  He searched for a word, drooling some more.  "...*interested* in
what's happening."  The fiend gave vent to one of his ear-splitting
cackles.  He really did have an unpleasant voice, thought John -- thin and
reedy.
     "Very well, on you get."  Elmet helped the boy onto the device,
lubricating the rod and making sure it was ffirmly up his ass.  He
secured John's wrists and ankles, pulled up a stool and sat in front of
him.  Reaching into the voluminous sleeves of his monk's habit, he
produced a length of thin rope which he tied carefully around John's balls
and the base of his cock.  He then pulled it tight and fastened the other
end to a hook in the floor.  The effect of this was to pull John's already
stiffening cock and his balls away from his body.  His 8" cut cock stabbed
the warm air in front of him in a disturbingly vulnerable way.
     John was geting nervvous.  Beingg mutilated with pincers was one
thing, but being *tickle tortured* was something else altogether.  He
prayed that that was not what was going to happen -- he was not sure he
could take it.  Ever since he'd been little, John had been painfully aware
that he was unbelievably ticklish.  He had been known to punch people who
had playfully tickled him in the mouth -- quite involuntarily -- it was a
reaction he had no control over.  He was so inconceivably,
*incapacitatingly* ticklish that even the *thought* of being tickled
caused him to curl up into a tight ball to protect himself.
     Elmet knew this.  He had spent part of his weekend researching into
the ticklish aspects of his victim's past life and he had carefully
designed this piece of apparatus to make him as devastatingly vulnerable
to this unbearable torture as possible.  When he'd completed the
construction he'd sat in the Satanic Library swotting up on techniques of
Tickle Torture.  It was not something he'd had any experience of but
fiends -- even more than demons -- are quick and studious learners and
instantly became expert in their chosen field.  They also have powers they
can call upon which can assist them immeasurably in their work.
     John moved experimentally to find out just how much he would be able
to protect himself if his worst fears proved to be true.  It was not a
lot.  His arms were held immobile and the only part of his anatomy he
could move was his pelvis -- and every time he did that, the rod rode in
and out off his arse, making him extremely horny.  He would watch the
fiend closely, monitor his every move so that he would be prepared for
whatever he might do.
     Elmet had thought of that, too.  From the folds of his habit he
produced a strip of black leather.  "You know what's going to happen to
you, don't you?  I'm going to *tickle* you."  The fiend cackled insanely
as John's worst nightmares became fact and he shook his head in
desperation.  "And you need to see, don't you?  You need to be able to see where my fingers are, don't you?  Well,"  he dangled the strip of leather
in front of John's face, "can you see through black leather?  Imagine how
much worse it's going to be with this leather bliindfolding you..."  He
shrieked a cackling laugh.  "Here -- feel it."  The fiend wrapped it round the boy's cock, which jerked in response.  "It's going to make you so
much more ticklish -- and *horny*."  Elmet took the leather and, in spite
of John's pleas for mercy, tied it over his eyes.  The leather was
extremely thin and molded itself to the contours of his face, cutting out
all light and bindfolding him completely.
     John was already on the verge of losing it and he hadn't even been
touched yet.  "Please, Elmet.  Look -- what you were doing with the
pincers was unbearable.   Please do that.  This is silly.  Whoever heard
of *tickling* as a torture?  Anyway, I'm not very ticklish.  You'll be
wasting your time. Honestly.  Let's go back to the branding irons. 
Please.  Don't do this.  Please."
     Elmet grinned.  "Well, tell you what -- we'll try it for a few hours
and see how it goes.  Who knows, you might like it!"  He sat on the stool
again and waited, enjoying the sight of the hunky boy's body quivering
with dread.  He had no way of knowing when -- or where -- the torture
would start.  Suddenly, he dug stiff, bony fingers into John's sides, just
above the waist.  He probed and wiggled them.
     Unfortunately, in Hell it's not possible to faint, otherwise John
would have done, then, instantly.  As it was he let out a shriek that
tested the newly-installed soundproofing to its limit.  Every muscle in
his young body tensed and he used every ounce of his strength to escape
from his restraints.  Elmet had constructed the device well, though, and
it was far stronger than John was.  The fiend's fingers walked slowly
upward toward the boy's armpits.  John was shaking his head violently. 
"No!  No!  Please, not the armpits.  I can't take it."
     Elmet cooed softly, "You're not suppsed to be able to take it.  If
you could, it wouldn't be torture, now would it?  Remember where you are.
This *is* Hell, after all."  He tickled John's armpits mercilessly and the
boy convulsed, involuntarily moving his pelvis back and forth on the rod. 
When Elmet had built the device, he had paid particular attention to that
rod.  He had studied John's internal anatomy, taken precise measurements,
and made the rod so that as it moved in and out it rubbed very gently
against the boy's prostate gland -- not enough to make him cum (it was
*vital* that it didn't do that), but just enough so that it would keep him
intensely horny, indefinitely.
     The fiend's fingers wandered over John's sensitive body, finding
every nook and cranny that was unbearably ticklish, and tickling every
single one.  He worked unpredictably so that the boy never knew where he
was going to be attacked next, and alternated slow, sensuous teasing with
bouts of merciless torture tickling.
     John was cursing the blindfold.  If *only* he could see.  If he could
see, he might just possibly stand some slight chance of being able to
prepare himself for the torture, alleviate it slightly.  He *willed*
himself to be able to see through the blindfold --- but that thin strip of
leather made him more helpless, vulnerable and *ticklish* than all the
rest of his restraints put together.  He tried to shake it off, but
wherever he moved his head there was no way he could shift it.  Once he
managed to lift it very slightly by pushing it against his bicep, but
Elmet saw at once and, with a cackling, "Now, now, that's naughty," he
pulled it back down so the boy couldn't see a thing and tied it tighter.
     Lunch break came and Elmet shared the usual hot coal sandwiches with
the boy.  John wasn't hungry. He was still shaking.  The fiend was very
pleased -- this torture was proving extremely effective.
     The afternoon was what Elmet had been looking forward to.  Not once
durring the morning had the fiend touched John's cock and balls.  John had  a rock-hard erection for the whole time and was desperate to cum and
this afternoon it was time for some genital tickling to get the helpless
boy *really* horny.  Elmet produced a feather and made himself comfortable
on the stool.  He closed his eyes, recited strange words, and called upon
powers to assist him.  Instantly two disembodied hands appeared, and three
more feathers.  The hands, unseen by the blindfolded boy, positioned
themselves at John's unprotected sides, two of the feathers readied
themselves by his bare feet, and the other two at his armpits.  Without
warning, the tickling began.
     Gently at first, the fingers probed into John's sides and the
feathers began their work on his feet and armpits.  Within seconds, John
was in hysterics.  He squirmed and struggled as much as his resteints
would allow and screamed at the top of his lungs.  The feathers worked
themselves between his toes, or turned and dragged their horny ends across
his soles; the disembodied hands dug their fingers into his ribs and
sides, hitting the boy's nerve centres bang on and stimulating
mercilessly.  The other pair of feathers were stroking gently across his
armpits, round and round, in and out, driving the boy crazy.
     Elmet cackled and directed his attention to the spunk-filled balls
and the eight inches of vulnerable, unexplored, sensitive, ticklish
boycock that swung helplessly above them.  He used the feather in his hand
to tickle the testicles, getting right into the crevices at their sides,
and reaching round to tickle the backs of the balls as well.  With his
other hand, he used just one long, tapering finger on the very *tip* of
the desperate young cock, moving round and round over the bare glans and
up and down across the piss-slit.
     John was in an ecstacy of hysteria and horniness.  He swore, pleaded,
begged, threatened, screamed, shrieked, laughed, cried and struggled
violently against his restraints.  The fiend ignored his cries completely
and the only effect the boy's struggling had was to make him even more
horny.
     In common with all fiends and demons, Elmet possessed a power that
enabled him to cause his victim the very maximum suffering possible: he
could feel *exactly* what John was feeling, but to a much attenuated
degree.  This meant two things -- first, he knew *precisely* where and
when to tickle the boy for the most intense effect; and secondly -- he
knew at any given moment how close he was to orgasm.  As his fingers
stroked and caressed the aching cock, sometimes working on the very tip,
sometimes gently enclosing the entire shaft, squeezing lightly, or
stroking up and down the full length, Elmet could feel exactly what John
was experiencing.  In this way he could keep the youth a hair's breadth
away from shooting his load.  He could keep him on the very brink of
orgasm -- and still make it impossible for the boy to get the relief he so
desperately craved.
     The main problem when someone else gives you a hand job is that
because every individual does it in his own particular way, it's never
quite right -- you could always, in fact, do it better yourself.  However,
because Elmet knew exactly what his actions were feeling like, he was
doing *exactly* what John woud have done himself if he had been trying to
bring himself off -- the only difference being that if John had been doing
it he would have brought himself off instantly, whereas the fiend was
making very sure that the boy *couldn't* cum.
     John was almost delerious.  He had beeen horny many times during his
life, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that it was even
*possible* to be *this* horny.  The hands tickling his sides and the
feathers working on his feet and armpits were driving him insane.  His
whole body, every square inch of his anatomy, was one big ticklish area. 
The chamber reverberated to his shrieks and screams. His voice was hoarse
with screaming, his throat sore with laughter. For hours, pre-cum had been
oozing out of the end of his cock, dripping stickily down to form a puddle
on the floor.  The fiend's fingers slipped and slid over the lubricated
glans, the feather did its ticklish work on his unprotected, vulnerable
balls.
     This went on for the rest of the day.  At 5 o'clock the hooter
sounded and all work stopped.  Elmet caused the disembodied hands and the
feathers to disappear and removed the boy's blindfold. John was desperate!
 "No!  No!  PLEASE -- YOU CAN'T STOP NOW -- MAKE ME CUM!  FOR GOD'S SAKE
MAKE ME CUM!!!"
     Elmet shook his head slowly.  "For who's sake?  God can't hear you,
sorry.   I might let you cum tomorrow -- or Wednesday -- or a week on
Thursday..."  He shrieked one of his cackling laughs.  The fiend released
John from the wooden restraint device and smiled evilly (which, for him,
was easy to do).  "Same time tomorrow, please."  As John was leaving the
chamber, Elmet called after him, "Oh, and don't try to bring yourself off
-- I've put a holding spell on you.  Don't want to waste all that lovely
spunk I've been building up all day."
     John ran back to his apartment, flung himself on the bed, took his
cock in his hand and began to jerk himself off.  Within seconds he was on
the verge of cumming - *but he couldn't!*  He beat his cock desperately,
but he couldn't cum. No matter how hard, how fast, he tried, he just could
not cum.  With a scream of frustration he punched the bed and cursed
Elmet's name.  His cock, rock-hard and aching for release, rubbed against
the sheets.  Again he tried, and again he failed.
     That night he got no sleep at all.  Every couple of minutes his hand
went to his cock and he tried to bring himself off.  It was no good. He
spent the night with a permanent erection.  His cock *begged* him for
release.  Whenever he moved, whenever he turned over, opened or closed his
legs, his cock made its urgent need known again.  By the morning he was
almost mad with lust and frustration.  On Tuesday morning he arrived at
the chamber an hour early.  Elmet did not seem surprised to see him.
     The morning was a repeat of the previous afternoon.  Lunchtime came,
but John insisted the fiend didn't stop.  Elmet made some comment about
Union rules but carried on torturing the boy anyway, out of the goodness
of his heart. John was not allowed to cum on Tuesday.

     Nor Wednesday...

     Nor Thursday...

     On Friday morning Elmet announced that he was going to let John cum.
He tickle tortured him for an hour or so and then brought the boy off by
using a small, soft brush on the tip of his victim's glans, tickling the
boy's balls with two stiff feathers and causing the disembodied hands to
tickle his feet, sides and armpits very gently and teasingly.
     The boy's orgasm was the longest and most shatteringly intense he had
ever experienced.  It went on and on.  Thick, white gobs of hot, sticky
spunk, which had been encouraged and built up so carefully, but which had
been so sadistically denied release for so long, exploded out of his cock
like water from a fire hose.  Elmet carefully collected every drop.  The
boy's reaction was so violent that at one point the fiend wondered if the
restraints were going to hold him -- but they did.
     Eventually it was over.  John subsided, a quivering, shuddering
wreck.  His body relaxed for the first time in ages.  He waited for the
fiend to release him.
     But Elmet did not release him.  Ten seconds after the last drop of
spunk had been milked from his throbbing cock, the torture began again.
     This was a hundred times worse than it had ever been.  Having just
had the most intense orgasm of his life, the boy was at his most
sensitive, his most *ticklish*, and Elmet was not going to let that
hypersensitivity go to waste.  Oh, no.  The feathers tickled, the fingers
probed and prodded and the torture went on -- and on.
     Today was Friday.  By 5 PM John was once again half insane with
ticklishness and the urgent need to cum.  He faced a weekend of constantly
needing to bring himself off but not being able to, followed by another
week of pure torture at the tickling hands of the fiend.
     After a while it settled down into a routine.  Elmet had decided that
the boy's torture would be worst if he was made to cum on a Thursday
morning.  That way, by Friday evening he was at his most desperate for
orgasm and had to get through an entire weekend of unrelenting frustration
and three more days of tickle torture before he had any relief.
     John came to fear Thursdays more than any other time.  Although the
orgasms were the most wonderful thing he could imagine, the tickle torture
immediately afterwards was horrifying to think about.  His only relief
came on Christmas Day.  Elmet removed the holding spell on Christmas Eve
until work resumed on Boxing Day.  Christmas Day was the only time he ever
got any sleep -- and even then he didn't get much as he spent most of the
day jacking himself off.
     In odd moments he contemplated his fate.  He had been in Hell for
just three years now.  Unlike some of the other poor souls, he had a fixed
sentence -- he would not be here forever.  At the end of his time he would
go to the other place to spend the rest of eternity in paradise.
     How long had he got to go?  Every week Elmet put the spunk he'd
milked out of the boy into a container.  When that container was full,
John would be free to go.

     The container was a bottle.

     It was ten feet in diameter.

     And one mile high.



-- 
Cody & Cory Foster (6'4" Bl/Bl 25 y/o 205# GAY)<<PERSONAL QUOTE>> 
"It's NOT easy being young popular drop-dead-gorgeous wealthy 
identical TWINS with bodies for SIN, but HEY !! Somebody's got to 
do it !!" PEACE!!