Chapter 3

My arms are no longer pinned down, but really, what difference does that make? What really can I do? I have almost no strength left in my tortured body, not that I usually have much anyway. I’m a weakling. A proud weakling. Besides, the last thing I want to do is to anger them while the tickling is going on.

Blue and Grey each take a foot all for themselves. My DC high-tops are still on. For now.

Blue Eyes says, “These shoes are cool.” He lifts and angles my foot to get a good view from all perspectives. “I wouldn’t have pegged him as a skater, but I really love these.”

I don’t skate. As a matter of fact, I don’t look like anything that might involve strength, athleticism or talent of any kind, but these shoes make my feet look cute. That’s why I bought them. I wear them loose and untied, so he easily slips the one he’s contemplating right off my foot.

Grey Eyes says, “Don’t bother stealing them. They’ve got to be six sizes too small for you.”

There is a pause where I assume he’s checking the size label. He laughs, “Close. I’m a thirteen and he’s an eight.”

My dick pulses again. I get a mental image of his giant manly feet busting out of my too small shoes like he’s the hulk. The thought makes me so hard. Every part of me is small, weak and pathetic. Laugh at me some more. I am not an actual man.

Grey Eyes pulls the shoe on his side off. He looks confused as he sniffs at the air, “Where’s the funk?”

Blue Eyes buries his nose into my arch and inhales as deeply as his lungs will allow. “Nothing.” He shoves his face into my high-top and breathes in again. “Odor free. He really did miss puberty!” He grins at me, “You are a guy, right?”

A weak and pathetic guy.

“Your sneakers are battered and worn. Your socks are sweaty, but no smell? How is that possible? Are you devoid of male hormones?”

Oh god! Yes. I hardly have any body hair, my weak voice is whiny and I don’t stink like a man. I am a twenty year old little boy.

“It’s basic biology, isn’t it?” Blue Eyes is perplexed. He practically shoves my toes up his nose. “Nothing.”

Grey Eyes laughs at Blue Eyes, “Fortunately your feet stink enough for all of us.”

“And yours aren’t a bouquet of roses either.” Blue Eyes elbows him.

It’s not just that my feet don’t stink. The truth is that since the school only gave me two uniform shirts, I wear the same clothes for a full week at a time before doing laundry, and for convenience, that includes socks and underwear. It’s Thursday night and these socks are on day four. Four long days in the same sweaty socks and no smell. Is something wrong with me? Maybe I do need a second puberty.

Grey Eyes adds, “He’s probably never needed deodorant and his farts smell like fresh baked bread.”

Could they know the insults and humiliation are only making me harder? Are they intentionally fueling my fire? I kind of hope not. It is way more arousing to think they really think these things. My penis must be stabbing Brown Eyes in the ass as he continues to straddle me below the waist and torture my belly.

And then the attack on my feet begins. My feet that have been cooped up in confining shoes for sixteen hours now. They are tired and sensitive. My soles get all of the wrong kind of attention. Slow fingernail drags up my arches cause tears to spring to my eyes. Faster fingernail drags make me scream louder than I was already screaming. I wildly thrash and jerk in a failed attempt to rip my feet away. And the torturous tickling of my feet is causing an involuntary reaction. And now, they each begin to peel off my socks. Oh no. Manly fingertips swipe up my arches and back down again and I think I might die. I’m helpless against their firm grip. Then they bend back my toes and stretch my soles taught. Now those fingertips scrape again and electricity jolts through my body. I really might pass out.

By rational choice, I don’t want to be free; I desire to be their victim, but this might not be survivable. My extreme response is not making them want to stop anytime soon. One of them scratches circles into my heel while the other scratches circles into the ball of my foot. My toes get individually examined, flossed and (could it be?) sucked? Yes! My toes are being sucked and torture turns to extasy. But then those tongues leave my toes and travel down my arches and I’m back to feeling tortured. My smallish size eight feet are no match for these beefy hands and tongues.

Blue Eyes raises my foot to his face level. He contemplates it for a long moment and the suspense is killing me. Finally, he buries his face in my foot like he did earlier, but it’s naked this time. He blows a raspberry into my arch. Not what I was expecting and I howl in uncontrollable laughter.

Grey Eyes says, “His tiny feet are cute, soft, pink and delicate. I could tickle them all night.” And for the next twenty minutes, their four massive hands rape my virgin feet.

This is all going in my journal when I get home.

Brown Eyes decides that my belly button hasn’t suffered enough. He teases it with finger circles around the rim. That sexual feeling comes back and he seems to sense it. He stops in just enough time that I don’t blow my load in my pants. Next, he lowers his head and buries his whole face in my stomach. Apparently not wanting to be outdone by Blue Eyes, he inhales deeply and blows a huge raspberry into my belly like I’m a toddler.

I laugh uncontrollably.

Before removing his face, his tongue plunges into my navel and my eyes roll back into my head.

All three of them finally cease their attacks and Brown Eyes scooches lower down, closer to my knees. He tells me, “Sorry, little buddy. These really are the wrong pants for a workout. They’ve got to go.”

Blue Eyes asks, “What are the results of the sensitivity test so far?”

Grey Eyes grins, “On a scale of 1 to 10? I’d say a million.”

They all laugh and a tingle rolls up my spine. I love being a disappointment. I failed the sensitivity test. Make me retake the test, please.

Brown Eyes reaches for my fly, and Grey Eyes points out, “There’s one more important region of sensitivity that has yet to be measured.”

As he undoes my button and lowers my zipper, Brown Eyes says, “We’ll have to save that for after the workout. If we were to run that particular test now, he’d have no strength left for anything else. He would be a useless puddle on the floor.”

Yes. That’s how I already feel and it’s my dream come true. And these guys already know me well.

Blue Eyes grabs my pant legs and pulls. I’m left lying there in nothing but my underwear. I’m wearing a pair of navy blue Nike briefs. I know that the blue at the vertex of my steel rod is a darker blue than anywhere else because I can tell that it’s drenched with precum.

With my pants off, my erection is the elephant in the room.

Brown Eyes says, “Mall Cop Tom is clearly having a good time.”

Grey Eyes bends down, gently takes my hand and pulls me to a standing position. I have only just caught my breath from the relentless tickling. He leans into my ear so the others can’t hear, “You know you’re safe, right?”

I don’t say anything, but I think I unintentionally nod.

He whispers again, “You’re doing the right thing. Don’t fight it. The more you just let it happen, the easier for you it will be.

What he doesn’t realize is that not fighting it is not a choice. With their six manly hands on me, I’m barely a blob a jelly. Besides, I don’t want to fight it. I don’t want to miss a thing.

He adds, “I probably should have told you this a half hour ago before the tickling began, but after the workout, there’s one more – session, if you will – where it might come in handy.” He gently places his strong hand on my back and puts his lips right against my ear. “The safe word is Half-Nelson. Try not to need it. Only if you truly feel unsafe. But just know, if you say it, I will make sure it stops.”

His breath in my ear makes goosebumps flash down the right side of my body, all the way down to my toes.

Before we pair-off for wrestling practice, it’s time for a workout. Something I haven’t remotely experienced since high school gym class. My bare feet feel tacky on the mat.

I ask, “May I put my socks back on? You guys are wearing socks and wrestling shoes. I’d rather not be barefoot.”

Brown Eyes answers, “Too bad. We’d rather you were.”

First up – Sit ups. I hold Brown Eyes’ ankles while he blows through an easy set of 100. I enjoy holding him. I enjoy the damp warmth of his socks. I’m touching pure masculinity. Blue Eyes switches with Grey Eyes and I am pushed flat on my back by Brown Eyes’ as he envelops my naked ankles with giant meaty paws. My eyes tell him that I’m not sure this will work out so well. He says, “You’ve gotta try. Look at it this way. If you try, we’re good. If you don’t… I was the only one who didn’t get to tickle your feet before. We are in the perfect position for me to right that wrong. And I will do it relentlessly until your neighbor buddy there finishes his set.”

I’m not sure I could handle more foot tickling right now. I look to my right and see that Blue Eyes is Holding Grey Eyes’ ankles. Grey Eyes gives me a discrete nod of encouragement and we begin our set in concert. I don’t make it to 100 like the other three (I collapse in defeat at 42), but my failure goes unpunished. Brown Eyes even gives me an, “Atta boy,” and a sporty pat on the ass.

Next up – the pull-up bar. I’m partnered with Grey Eyes for this one. I remember from gym class that pull-ups deceivingly look easy, but are nearly impossible. I look at my spaghetti arms and sigh. Grey Eyes goes first. He easily does fifty before he drops down.

When it’s my turn, I need help just reaching the bar. Grey Eyes grips me by the hips and lifts me. He doesn’t let go. As I attempt my first pull-up, I quickly realize that it’s hopeless. I won’t even be able to do one. But Grey Eyes’ hands still grip my hips and he discretely takes some of my weight. I realize what he’s doing and I try again. This time, I’m doing it. We’re facing each other so my tentpole within my briefs is rising and falling mere inches from his chest. He leans in and lets it rub against his body for a few strokes. He backs away just in time. One more stroke and I could have made a terrible mess. With Grey Eyes’ assistance, I manage to complete the exercise.

Last is bench pressing. I’m with Blue Eyes for this. He does five reps of ten at 250 pounds, then indicates for me to take his spot on the bench. He begins removing weights from the dumbbell and says, “A beginner is supposed to bench press his own weight. Do we need to weigh you?”

I nod, eager for more attention but Grey Eyes chimes in, “Beginners don’t start at their body weight. They work up to it. They start at half their weight. Give him sixty pounds.”

Blue Eyes scoffs. “Sixty! That’s ridiculous!” But he does it. I’m able to do three sets, mostly. By the final one, I’m struggling. Blue Eyes has to rush to my rescue.

Now it’s time to team up for wrestling. This is insane. Grey Eyes promised I wouldn’t get hurt, but how can I not? At the very least, I’m about to get tossed around the gym. Or squished.

Since I’m already with Blue Eyes, we stay together for the first pairing. He says he has specific moves that he wants to practice and he tells me what he wants me to do. Most of what he’s practicing is starting up. We practice what he calls the neutral position a few times. He has no trouble capturing me and I can’t imagine how this is helping him, but he insists that it is. Then we work on the referee position. He starts on the bottom with me on top. He easily maneuvers out from under me each time, turning the tables and pinning me down. Despite feeling like little more than a ragdoll in his clutches, he doesn’t hurt me. It’s actually kind of fun. And, with all of the burly man/scrawny man contact, if my hardon had begun to subside at all, it’s come back full force now.