Story repost – ‘Tim the Ticklish Skate Punk’

I like this story so much, I thought I’d repost it!

I’d been watching him for several weeks now. Gliding by with his buddies he’d be, in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts, baggy, coursing elegantly over the corporate cement. I’d be hangin’ out on Saturdays, reading a novel, smoking cigarettes in the late spring warmth, thoroughly enjoying these young studs’ skate stunts (until the goddamn corporation cracked down later that year and put up signs and more security to drive them off). Several were quite nice-looking, but one stood out. About five-nine, jet-black hair of average length, heavy-boned frame, and, around his neck, oddly, a very-seventies shark tooth on a black leather cord. The young hunk was broad-shouldered and clearly well-built; he distracted me often from my book.

As I had decided to be more bold with my interest in good-looking, athletic, cocky young men, specifically desiring to explore my paternal disciplinary instincts, and the possibility of persuading one of these smirky, arrogant skatepunks into bondage and boyish tortures, I determined to strike up a conversation with this guy. . .eventually.

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Story – ‘The Fiend’ from

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, sulfurous fumes and everlasting fire–the demons and fiends worked an 8-hour day torturing souls and everyone had the weekends off for sight-seeing. Accommodation 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 spread-eagled 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 down 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 conclusion 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.

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Story – ‘Brian’s Torment’ from

I got into a fight with my little brother and it changed my life. He was less than two years younger than I was, but I had always been able to dominate him-one of the benefits of being older. Whether we played hoops one on one, football or wrestled on the living room floor, I always beat him, which made him furious. I guess I was kind of a dick towards him, but it was fun. I’m that kind of guy. I remember one Saturday when mom and dad had gone to an out of town wedding, he pissed me off about something and I ended up pinning him and keeping him down for hours. He really couldn’t get up unless I let him and I eventually had him crying tears of frustration.

After high school, we went to different colleges and I didn’t see him as much. We had grown up to be fairly similar in looks and size. We both were about six feet tall, weighed about 180 lbs., and had good bodies from playing sports, running and working out. I had short brown hair and Tim’s was blond. We both always had a lot of girls sniffing around. Even though we looked to be equal, I knew I could still dominate him if I had to- once an older brother, always an older brother.

Tim spent his entire junior year abroad, so I hadn’t seen him for a long time. I had just finished college, and with no real job in sight, I was back home to lifeguard one more time and Tim was going to live at home too and wait tables. The folks were going to be gone for most of the summer at the lake house, so Tim and I were going to bach it. I hadn’t really thought about our boyhood fights for a long time, and I just assumed Tim and I would co-exist and stay out of each other’s way. Boy, was I wrong.

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