Chapter 4

He has been watching me too. Why else would he ask me to take my shirt off? If it puts him a little at ease, I’m happy to comply. I’ve waited too long. It’s time to explore my prey. His arms and legs are as muscular as I thought they were from a distance. And his tummy is so soft and vulnerable. Thin, but free of muscles and lumps. Just smooth blemish-free skin bulls-eyed with the perfect target. I’ve seen this belly button contorted into many different positions and shapes and it’s hard to pick my favorite, but this oval is at or near the top of the list. It is a half inch deep. I have a tape measure on the bedside table and I snag it. Yep. A half of an inch exactly.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Relax. I’m taking official measurements.” I work the fabric in a couple different directions. I tell my guest, “A half inch deep and in this stretched out position, it’s three quarters across and an inch and a quarter long. In case you ever wondered.”

As I work the tape measure, he giggles. Of course he’s ticklish. None of this would be any fun at all if he wasn’t.

He still seems to be unable to stop looking at my abs. He and I are so different and I don’t even mean our completely opposite skin tones. While I was taking measurements, my dark hands against his tanned but pale plate of skin was a beautifully striking contrast that to me complimented the other so well. Our true differences are under the skin. I am entranced by his gentle, delicate vulnerability and he seems to be enthralled by my well-earned, rock hard washboard eight pack that I am proud of, but not so attracted to on other men. And I can say with confidence that he is enthralled because he has a rock hard development of his own taking shape before my eyes, barely concealed by his cute little brown shorts. I’ll get to that later.

My god is this man gorgeous. His belly button is a shallow innie. Very shallow, but an innie nonetheless. It is perfectly nestled at the center of the junction of four of his square eight pack muscles. I want to do things to him so badly. My response to him is obvious. My dick is begging to be set free.

He begins to unbutton the remaining buttons on my shirt.

Finally! The full view. It was well worth the wait. He might not work out his abdominals but he certainly has nicely developed pectorals. The shirt is still in my way and I have no intention of cutting his bindings, so I grab the scissors off my little table. Before I left the house I stocked my table with my tape measure, scissors, massage lotion, lubrication, a condom and zip ties. It’s quite the eclectic mix of items and I fully intend to use them all. I move to cut away his shirt.

“They’ll dock that from my pay. If I need to get a replacement shirt, I’ll have to pay for it myself.”

I chuckle. This kid. He’s a prisoner for the weekend and yet so practical. I tell him, “I’ll give you fifty bucks for a new shirt when I set you free Sunday night.”

I cut the fabric across his shoulders and the shirt falls away. Wow! Fantastic! Spectacular! Vulnerable masculinity. My favorite kind. I take my finger and begin a slow drag from his wrist down his inner arm. He twitches and giggles. I cross the elbow and take a ride along his bicep. He reacts some more. When I detour and swirl around in his armpit, he laughs out loud.

I tell him, “By the way, I live alone. Feel free to laugh, yell, scream… Let it all out. Don’t be shy.”

I do the same to his other arm and then I massage both armpits at once. He decides to take my advice and he lets loose with howls of delight. I’m calling them “howls of delight” because they certainly are delightful to me.

I tickle his neck first with my wiggling fingers and then with my darting tongue. I think he really likes this when he screams for me to stop. When I suck on each nipple, his screaming intensifies. After about thirty minutes of nonstop upper body torturous pleasure, I give him a brief rest to catch his breath. There is a beautiful man tied helplessly to my bed wearing nothing but boots and shorts. This is the sexiest display I have ever seen in my whole life – real or online. And I have looked at a lot of online stuff. This is the most amazing night of my life.

I skip past the belly area, saving that for later. It’s too soon for the main event. As sexy as my prisoner looks right now, it’s time to lose the rest of it. I’ll have to give him a hundred bucks instead of fifty because I’ll soon be destroying his shorts too.

I head down to the foot of the bed. As I begin to untie his right boot he thrashes and demands, “Do not tickle my feet. I can’t take that.”

That had not been on my agenda for the night. I am actually not a foot guy. I’m not into them. They don’t interest me. I just want him naked. But now… Hmm. Just the way he demanded me not to means I pretty much have to. I finish untying the lace and I slip the boot off. We are at the end of a warm summer day and this young man spent that day working outside with his feet trapped inside of ugly tan work boots that somehow look cute on him. His sock is sweat soaked and clinging to his ultrasensitive foot. I peel it off.

No, I never had a thing for feet, but this is a good looking one. A nice manly size, well-manicured toenails and smooth skin. It is surprisingly delicate. Not being a foot guy, I’m not even sure where to start or what to do. I try wiggling my fingers up the length of his arch and he howls in laughter so hard that I am compelled to explore this further. I tickle the base of his toes and his foot scrunches in futile defense. Then I scratch up and down his sole and he just about loses his mind. But I’m getting bored. I take off the left boot and sock and leave the new foot untickled.

It’s time to get serious. Time for the main event. I move toward the tempting belly and grin down at the sexiest dimple on the face of the earth. I’m starting to drool.

Bryson sees the hungry look in my eyes and he squirms. “Antonio, please. I’m so sorry I teased you all month. I really am. That was my bad. But seriously man. Don’t tickle me there. Do my armpits again, even my feet, but PLEASE, not my stomach.”

He is in no position to bargain. And even if he were, offering his feet is a nonstarter with me. But really, he could offer me a million dollars and I couldn’t be bought off of this opportunity of a lifetime. I begin to draw circles around his navel with one finger and each circle tightens in closer to the center.

He giggles as I close in on my target. “I mean it, Antonio. I’ll go crazy.”

“I shall do my best.”

As I trace the rim, his giggles appropriately turn to belly laughs. I force myself to abandon the alluring crater and I focus in on the lower belly. Just like the first day I saw Bryson in the alley, his underwear is visible above the waistband of his brown shorts. I drag my finger along the tight skin just above the Under Armour band. He twists his body and laughs maniacally. I tug down on the legs of his shorts and pull them as low as they’ll go. Blond pubes tuft out of his shorts and his hipbones jut up to the ceiling. He is even more beautiful than he was a minute ago.

I swipe my fingernails from the left side to the right and his stomach bounces and quivers wildly from the sensation. He screams for me to stop. I don’t. I let my fingers rake from side to side over and over again and I think he might hyperventilate. I have decided against tools. No Q-tips, no feathers and no electric toothbrushes. I’m going old school with just fingers (and eventually tongue). I keep this up for a good thirty minutes and his voice is getting hoarse from the constant screams.

I go back to inserting my finger into his innie hole and his eyes roll back into his head. I carefully but firmly press around inside and explore the walls of his little depression. It’s another thirty minutes before I’m satisfied. For my final serenade, I plunge my tongue into his perfect orifice. His whole body jolts like he is being electrocuted. I dart in and out, swirl all around and suck on his navel like I’m juicing an orange. I keep this up for an unimaginably long time. He is too exhausted to scream anymore. He just looks dizzy at this point. I bring him right up to the edge, stopping just short of shooting his load in his shorts. I have other plans for his man juice.

I undo his belt and cast it aside. Grabbing the scissors from the table, I cut away his shorts and underwear. His full erection springs free. The belly button play has him very horny and probably ready for a big release. I owe him that much.

Time has flown by. It’s probably midnight at this point. I kneel on the bed between his legs and pick up my trusty measuring tape. I would estimate Bryce to be 5′ 11″ and 160 pounds, much of which comes from his muscular arms and thighs. He has man-sized hands, man-sized feet and a man-sized cock. But I still want to know specifics. I grab his bobbing shaft and he gasps from the shock. I run the tape measure starting at his base and up along his length, curving around to his slit. Was I too generous with his starting and ending points? He’s earned some generosity. I tell him, “Nice. Seven inches.” I give him a few strokes and he moans in pleasure.

Why does being measured turn me on even more? Being manhandled and maneuvered into position doesn’t hurt the cause either, but hearing that Antonio is pleased if not impressed by my length makes me raging hard. Maybe he should check again. I bet I gained another quarter of an inch.

He plants his hands next to each of my hips and lowers his head, taking me in. I groan in delight. His mouth is warm, wet and wild. I am crazy turned on and I hope I can hold out at least a little while and enjoy some pleasure after the hours of torturous tickling. He slides up and down and on and off. He makes my toes curl as he works me in earnest. I feel the head of my dick against the back of his throat as his lips tighten around the base of my shaft and I am completely enveloped.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim.

He does not let up. His tongue swirls my underside as his suction intensifies. And then he slides up and down three more times and I’m done for. He can tell that he has lit my fuse. He stops and I’m out of his mouth for the grand finale. He grabs me with both hands and pumps up and down has his thumbs drag the length of my sensitive underside.

He says, “I want you to fill that hole.”

I could fill many holes with the load I’m about to blow. Between his upward strokes and the uniquely unusual thumb action, my first spurt way over shoots. It splashes just below my chin. I find another scream and I let it out. Each of the next ten pulses travel shorter and shorter distances and I eventually do fill my belly button.

I am panting and red-faced as he stands up and begins to unbutton his jeans. He pulls them down and steps out of them. His erection is tenting his boxer briefs. He has had this erection since the UPS parking lot many hours ago. I know. I could tell.