I tied each ankle carefully to the bed frame. It was important that he not be able to get out until I decided to release him, and when I pulled hard on the bonds, they didn’t budge. Finally I attached his wrists to the base of the headboard, making sure to distribute the load in case he got wild enough to snap a plank. Not that I thought he’d do that; I just wanted him to be psychologically secure in the knowledge that he truly couldn’t escape.
What a stunning sight: Julian Demos bound to my bed, all his bronze flesh exposed; the anus he’d kept off limits for so long completely at my mercy. I was planning to make very thorough use of it. But all in good time.
I propped myself beside him and laid one hand at the naked expanse of his back. “Look at me,” I instructed, since his face was turned into the cotton coverlet.
When he did, I read plenty of apprehension, but no panic.
“You’re incredible like this,” I told him. “Gorgeous and helpless; every part of you belonging to me. So don’t try to fight what I choose to make you feel. I warned you that you might not like my methods, but we’re going to continue until I’m completely satisfied you’ve given me everything. And you’re going to let me take whatever I want, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” was the whispered reply.
“Very good.”
I got up to take off my pants and liberate my eager cock from the prison of my briefs. Meanwhile, I noticed Avery attending to a bulge at his own crotch. He was merely an observer, so he was free to rub one out anytime. I, however, was going to need to wait.
Kneeling over one of Julian’s legs, I grabbed the bottle of oil and dispensed more onto my hands, this time going for his lower back. I massaged him like before, except now I could drift my fingers to the curve of his flanks, and now I could proceed south, adding more oil and beginning to squeeze the mounds of his glutes. I lingered there for a while, slipping my thumbs tantalizingly close to his crack, letting the tension build — letting him get used to the idea that I could penetrate him at any moment, in any manner, and he could do absolutely nothing to stop me.
When I judged he’d marinated in arousal and suspense long enough, I straddled his hips and slid my oiled hands up and down his sides, more provocative and less like a massage than before. I couldn’t see his face, so I had no idea if he anticipated where I was going, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Because when I suddenly pressed each index and middle finger firmly between two ribs, into a certain weak spot I’d previously discovered, he jerked a bit, but his arms went nowhere. My ropes kept them fastened uselessly above his head, leaving all those nerve endings underneath fully unprotected from my hands.
“Something the matter, Major?” I taunted while my fingertips kept exploring: prodding into muscle and bone, vibrating against the signal lines designed to shield his lungs — searching for the ticklish places that made him twitch and huff out small breaths.
When I’d played with him like this before, he hadn’t been restrained, so it hadn’t been as easy to get a reaction. It turned out that with just the right amount of pressure, combined with his inability to predict where I would target next, the stretched flesh normally guarded by his forearms contained a number of secretly vulnerable points.
“Hm?” I prompted again, working toward his back and hitting several new sites that produced strangled gasps and tugging on the ropes. “You maybe a little more sensitive than you’ve led certain people to believe?”
I shot a grin at Avery, who was watching with lips parted in comical amazement. He’d always been under the impression that Julian didn’t share his weakness. Yet here his husband was, unable to control the automatic attempts to evade my tickling hands.
In my experience, the degree of susceptibility to this kind of ambush builds with repeated victories, so I moved toward Julian’s hips and didn’t let up. Gripping his lower oblique muscles between thumb and fingers, I dug in, delivering rapid, adaptive, mirrored strikes that shifted around and prevented him from adjusting to the onslaught of his nervous system. The fact that he was face down worked especially in my favor, because certain places where his ribs wrapped toward his spine seemed to trigger him the most. He was still managing to keep pretty quiet, but some of his muted grunts sounded suspiciously involuntary.
He wasn’t like Avery, who was activated by more conventional stroking and poking, particularly at his groin and in the hollows under his arms. That type of contact did nothing to the man spread beneath me, which is why his spouse had never found out. You had to work for it, with Julian. The sensitivity was deeper within his flesh and not as prevalent, but no less satisfying once revealed.
“I didn’t hear an answer,” I warned. “Is our famous revolutionary hero actually ticklish?”
Under the rules of this session, he couldn’t openly lie to me. He held his breath and flexed futilely, as if that could defend him from my targeted forays. Eventually a broken admission emerged. “I — sometimes…”
I knew of at least one other place where this worked, which I was eager to take advantage of while I had the benefit of the ropes holding him down. I scooted back on the bed, kneeling between his legs this time. After a quick stop for more lube, my palms landed at the back of his thighs.
This time he for sure perceived what I was up to, though there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. I worked the oil into his upper legs, trailing my thumbs across the vulnerable underside and prolonging the anticipation. When I finally jabbed my fingers like the pincers of a crab midway down his taut hamstrings, the sounds that burst out of him weren’t exactly laughter but were definitely related.
If this were Avery, no doubt he’d be pleading for mercy already, but Julian kept his discipline, enduring the ticklish incursion against his exposed legs with as much composure as he could muster. He couldn’t bend his knees more than a few degrees, and he couldn’t shift his hips very far; he could only let it happen and try to stifle the wordless exclamations.
“This getting to you, Major?” I teased with my voice again while I kept prodding with my hands. “You’ve been tickling Avery for years and never really had to feel it yourself. It’s a lot to take, isn’t it. You gonna beg me to stop?”
I wasn’t expecting an answer, so I didn’t wait for one. Instead my fingers crept lower, to grip the tender spot just where the femur attaches to the knee.
A muffled curse escaped him, then it dissolved into a series of grunting laughs as I continued squeezing that special joint with relentless but irregular rhythm. Not everyone is susceptible around the knees, but those who are, really are. He kicked and twisted reflexively, which totally failed to dislodge my pinching claws.
“You can’t get away,” I informed him in the same sexy, authoritative tone. “You can’t stop me from exploiting any of your secret places. Your body is mine.” At last I paused and gave him a moment to chew on that while he tried to recover his breath. “But let me just check something.”