When you live, eat, and sleep with a bunch of guys day after day, and when you spend a good amount of time rolling around with them on the mat and on the mattress as well, you can pretty easily fool yourself into thinking you know them inside and out. For the most part you'd probably be right, but every once in a while you might see a whole new side of somebody. And maybe you'll end up discovering a whole new side of yourself as well.
It was early on a Tuesday evening and I had some team business to talk over with Brady. His room was just down the hall and I found his door unlocked and swung it open; we were used to walking in on each other without knocking. This time though, I stopped in my tracks. Brady was laid out on the bottom bunk spread eagle and stark naked, lying on his back with his wrists and ankles lashed to the four bedposts. Willis was bare ass too, bent over him, doing something to him I couldn't quite make out.
Like an idiot I stood there frozen in the doorway until Willis glanced back over his shoulder and waved me in. I shut the door and locked it behind me, then took a couple steps closer. Willis had a feather in his hand, big and black like the wing feather of a crow, and he was tracing the lines of Brady's abs. My boy had his eyes shut tight. His face was beet red and sweat was rolling off his forehead. With every move Willis made, his abs would twitch and he'd tug at his restraints. His cock was stiff as a flagpole and oozing precum.
I watched in complete fascination as Willis ran the feather along his brother's V, down one side and up the other, then back again the other direction, carefully avoiding any contact with his cock and balls. Brady inhaled in a series of sharp little gasps as it crossed into his most sensitive zones, exhaled fitfully as his abs seized up in mini-spasms. Willis brushed him with careful strokes like he was painting a picture. He turned and waved me in closer, holding the feather out to me in his hand.
"Get his pits," he said in a hushed voice. "I'm gonna work on his legs."
I took the feather and moved in next to Willis. Brady's pits had been freshly shaved; the skin was still pink and tender. I dabbed at him and he winced, but it couldn't have been in pain. I gave him another dab, then ran the feather slowly down his underarm to his ribs. He tensed as if I was tormenting him, but in a pleasurable way. I reached across his body and attacked the other pit, more aggressively this time, and he tilted his head back and clenched his jaw, and let out a tiny whimper.
Willis slipped his hand into what looked like an inside-out mitten covered in plush synthetic fur, but it was nearly the size of an oven mitt and didn't seem to be designed for warmth. He teased the insides of Brady's thighs, first with very light touches and then building up to longer strokes that began just above the knee and ended dangerously close to the crotch. Brady's whimpers became louder and more desperate. His body quivered all over. I stepped up my game with the feather, searching out his most sensitive spots and badgering them, as Willis continued his assault.
It amazed me to see the kind of impact a few light touches could have. Very quickly I was hooked. I prodded his pits with the tip of the feather, dragged the edge along his biceps and down his ribs, testing and experimenting to see his reaction. Science class had never been so much fun. Brady squirmed frantically on the mattress, muscles straining; his cock head seemed to swell even bigger and the slit on the tip gaped open, preparing to shoot. I backed off, quit teasing him so brutally, and gradually he relaxed and settled down. Damn, I thought, I should be taking notes on this.
Throughout the whole scene, Willis's cock had been as stiff as Brady's. Now it was bobbing up and down with regular little twitches that signaled a nice big load yearning to come out. My own meat had begun to show an interest the minute I clued into what was going on, and as I watched my boy suffer and whimper and helplessly struggle against his restraints, it had grown into a full sized, rock-hard bulge in my shorts.
Willis didn't let up for an instant. His strokes were soft but relentless; he was determined to keep his brother hanging on the edge for as long as he could stand. Finally he began tickling Brady's balls, spurring loud cries that barely sounded human. He ran the fuzzy mitt up the shaft of Brady's cock, sending the boy into a fit of bucking and thrashing on the mattress. He latched onto that cock and jacked it, and Brady exploded.
A huge spurt of cum blasted clear over Brady's shoulder as he grunted loud and long. The second shot hit him square on the chin. The third splattered onto his chest and dribbled over his ribs and onto the mattress. Willis ditched the mitten, grabbed his own cock and jacked it furiously. He unloaded onto Brady's abs, adding his hot cream to what his brother was still squeezing out in urgent bursts.
Minutes later, with Brady untied and toweled off, they huddled together in a comfortable tangle as I wrestled with what I'd just seen from the relative safety of a desk chair.
"Did Andy get you guys into this?" I asked.
They traded glances. Willis's looked a bit guilty.
"It was me," he admitted. "I read about tickle torture online when I was like fifteen and it sorta became a major fixation. I dug up whatever I could find on it, and last summer I bought the gear."
"You can borrow it sometime, if you like," Brady added, trying his best to be helpful.
"Well, I'm not ticklish."
They looked at each other and snickered, in a way that told me there was more to it than I knew. My eyes narrowed.
"You guys don't... whip each other or anything, do you?"
"No, of course not," Willis answered quickly. "With all we do on the mat every day, getting beat up, busted up, bloody... you'd have to get whipped pretty hard to have any kind of impact. And then what? You're gonna wrestle the next day with fresh welts on your back? Tickling can be just as intense as whipping, but when it's over, it's over. No lasting consequences. No damage."
"It's like any other torture," Brady said. "The point is to break you down emotionally, till you give in completely. Like when you wrestle a match and you're absolutely gassed, but you have to keep going, and going, on into overtime... you've got nothing left but you keep going, just wrestling on instinct. Animal energy."
"But it can last a whole lot longer than seven minutes," Willis grinned.
"So, today..." I swallowed hard. "How long were you two..."
"An hour or so," Brady said.
"Hour and a half," Willis corrected him.
Brady smiled. "It takes a while to get ramped up."
"Jesus."
Bottom line is I completely forgot whatever the fuck I came into their room to talk about in the first place. Not that it mattered anyway, with my mind still replaying the images seared into my brain of Brady tied up and helpless, being relentlessly tickled, and gushing out a load of cum like a goddamn fire hose. I staggered back to my own room with my cock still hopelessly boned and made a futile attempt at distracting myself with a textbook.
The thoughts stayed in my head all evening and through the next day, at morning strength and conditioning, sitting in classes, and team practice in the afternoon. I'd look at the other guys and picture them tied down, and imagined myself teasing and tormenting them until they blew. After dinner, studying in my room, I couldn't even look at Carter without wondering how he'd respond to it, and how big a load I could coax out of him. I set the books aside and headed for Willis and Brady's room.
"I've been thinking a lot about what you guys were doing last night..." I started.
Brady grinned. "You wanna borrow the gear?"
"No. I want you to do it to me."
We talked it over for a while. Brady wanted to be sure I knew what I was getting into. He decided he should handle me alone; it'd be best for me to have my first time with just one torturer, someone I trusted completely. But I told him Willis was welcome to stay and watch if he wanted... and Willis most definitely wanted. I shed my clothes while Brady lashed the restraints to the bedposts.
Needless to say, I was already hard. With everything going through my head, I don't think my cock had been limp for more than twenty minutes at a time in twenty-four hours. I sprawled on the bunk and tried to act casual as he strapped down my ankles first and then my wrists. The cuffs were rugged nylon, well padded and fastened with Velcro, snug but not too painfully tight. I pulled against them just to make sure; they were anchored good and firm. I wasn't going anywhere until he let me loose.
"Okay, I'm ready," I said.
"Shhh!" Brady hissed. "Don't talk. Focus."
Brady stripped naked, then warmed up my nerve endings by running his fingertips lightly over my whole body. He started at my wrists and slowly worked his way down the insides of my arms to my pits, changed direction and ran them inward along my collarbones, then down my pecs grazing each nipple and skimming over my abs all the way down to my pubes. Started over at my pits again and moved along my ribs, over my obliques and around my hips with his thumbs following the grooves of my V, stirring up a couple involuntary twitches. Finally down my legs slow and steady, all the way to my feet. If my cock was hard before, now it was absolutely rigid.
He ran his fingertips over my soles, then turned them around to the nail side and ran them over my soles again with a little more pressure. The feeling of his hard fingernails rubbing against my soft feet was unexpectedly strong; I grunted, and shuddered all over. This was suddenly getting interesting. From the far side of the room, Willis perked up in his desk chair and eyed us closely.
Brady gave me a wicked grin, then ducked his head down. He was freshly buzz cut and he brushed the soles of my feet with the top of his head, trading off between one and the other. Swarms of shivers rocketed through me. My abs clenched in rapid fire spasms and I squirmed miserably, gasped for breath, tugged helplessly at my restraints until he pulled away. Then I felt something new attacking me, thin and sharp like the blade of a knife -- the feather.
He'd primed me so well that the touch of that feather was almost unbearable; it was a pleasurable feeling, but so goddamn intense I could barely stand it. He poked me with the tip and it felt like a thumbtack pushing into me. Drew the edge across my sole and I'd swear I was being flayed open. My forehead was burning hot and already the sweat was rolling off me. I looked down between my feet to where Brady stood; he only smiled back and stabbed at me with the feather again. Merciless bastard.
He abandoned my feet and worked his way slowly upward, dragging that feather along my inner thighs in a way that made me recoil and squirm; moved on to my torso and teased me with his buzz cut again, not rubbing but just barely brushing it on my abs, my ribs, my underarms, his short bristly hair lighting up whole networks of nerve endings at once. My cock was stiff as a log and screaming for attention but he never once touched it and I couldn't; I could only lie there strapped to the bed and suffer through whatever painful pleasure he gave me, and sweat and shudder and drip.
I remembered what he told me about letting go, accepting the situation, bringing it all inside and making it part of me. Easy to say when nobody's tormenting you with feathers and fingernails and short haircuts. I was getting so goddamn sensitive and twitchy that every touch would make my whole body tremble and clench; my muscles were on such a hair trigger I was afraid at any moment I might cramp up from head to toe.
And then he started in with the feather again. He swirled it around each nipple and I whimpered and whined like a little kid. He ran it down my breastbone, traced each cut of my abs. Yeah it tickled, but not in a way that made me laugh; my nerves were so ratcheted up the slightest touch would send me reeling. He swiped it in between each of my ribs and I'd swear he had a ripsaw and was taking me apart piece by piece, like I was being dissected alive.
There was still that fucking mitt to deal with. I'd almost forgotten about it. He backed off for a minute and let me alone, and I caught my breath and tried to settle down. I opened my eyes a sliver -- how long had I been keeping them shut tight? -- and spotted him putting on that fuzzy mitt. My skin crawled with pure dread. I didn't know what it would feel like, but... I could sure guess.
The truly awful part was that he didn't just haul off and attack me, ever. He grazed over me so fucking lightly, barely even touching, to let those tiny fibers do their dirty work. That mitt skimmed over my abs, relentlessly swabbing at my skin without ever making full contact. It brushed on my nipples and they poked out hard and tight, the tips so goddamn sensitive it felt like electric current was running through them. For someone who's accustomed to life being one big raucous brawl, this tickling and teasing was truly the worst torture ever conceived.
And then up my sides one at a time, from my waist clear up to my pit, to my elbow, to my wrist. It was agony; it seemed to go on forever. I jerked and thrashed on the mattress uncontrollably. He abused and teased me everywhere, except where I needed it most. My cock was so stiff and swollen and sore I was sure it'd turned purple. Precum was flowing out in a steady trickle.
I don't think I'd ever needed to cum so bad in my life, but I couldn't. He wasn't going near my cock, and tied down like that, I couldn't touch it; I couldn't even roll over and rub it on the mattress. It jutted out into thin air like petrified wood, rigid and bulging. My balls ached like crazy, begging to be drained. And every stroke of that fucking mitt only made things worse.
Brady quit teasing my upper body. For a moment I was thankful; I caught my breath and tried to level out. But no sooner did the torment subside than he went to work on my legs, and stirred me up all over again. He ran the mitt over my inner thighs, making tight little circles that hit all the most tender spots over and over again. With each pass he brought it a little higher, moving steadily toward my crotch, building up the pressure without giving me a moment's relief.
I was past the cracking point. Sounds were coming out of me that I'd never heard before, whimpers and panicked little yelps and pitiful groans. I guessed that was what he meant when he talked about breaking me down. Those sounds seemed to energize Brady; he began stroking me quicker and harder, and venturing further north so the ragged edge of that mitt tickled my balls. I tensed all over. I swear my eyes were starting to leak.
Brady swabbed and fondled my balls; it was nearly unbearable. My cock was twitching severely but still had no way to release... and then he attacked it. Those fuzzy filaments closing in on my shaft lit me on fire. He gripped my meat and stroked it, all the way up and down its length. I felt the pressure mounting fast, my cock head swelling, the surge building...
A terrible second's pause, and I blasted out a huge jolt of cream that went flying over my shoulder and onto the pillow beside my head. Another spurt as strong as the first, and then more, unleashing a flood of visceral feelings and hot juice. My mind was cleared of all thoughts, filled only with gut wrenching pleasure and utter relief and the feeling of blowing out the biggest load of my life.
I let it flow and flow until I had nothing left. The restraints didn't even matter anymore; they'd become a part of the experience. When you're shooting your shot, the rest is all just details.
Finally I quit jerking and thrashing and spewing cum. I settled down and took long deep breaths, and thanked Brady for giving me that. He began pulling the cuffs off my wrists, and Willis jumped up to help -- mainly to get me loose as soon as possible now that it was all over, but I think in part to get a close-up look at the load I blew. Somebody handed me a towel and I wiped myself clean and sat up on the edge of the bunk.
"Fuck, I'm wiped. I need a minute to catch my breath."
"Take your time," Brady grinned.
He was standing right in front of me stark naked, and very boned. My first instinct was to grab his cock, stroke it, suck it, and swallow a good thick load to show my appreciation... but Willis beat me to it. He was hard as a rock himself after watching the show. He shed his clothes, moved in behind his brother and wrapped his arms around. They were making out in no time. I slumped back on the mattress to rest and clear my head while those two climbed up to the top bunk and got busy.
Half an hour later I was stepping through the doorway of my own room, with Brady and Willis following right behind. Carter looked up from his textbook.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Willis closed and locked the door while I tossed a gym bag onto my bunk, packed full of straps and restraints and tickle gear.
"Take a study break," I told my brother. "We've got something to show you."
With the season heading into the Big Ten duals, the toughest part of the schedule, the guys are finding some novel ways to blow off steam. They'll have to stay focused on training and preparing for their meets, but they'll also be venturing into some brand new territory along the way. A meltdown or two are sure to happen. Every one of them will be dealing with pressure. But at the end of the day, they'll always find their way back to their brothers... which means raw flesh, lean muscle, wrestling mats, olive oil, and a good thick load of hot cream. So stay tuned!
And guys, as usual, I'll remind you that this website offers a lot of good times and doesn't ask for much in return. So please, after you blow a nice hot load consider making a donation, so my family of wrestlers and all the other smoking hot stories will always have a home! The link to lend your support is here:
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