Hank followed a very unbeaten path, virtually impossible to keep from veering off of now and then, leading him deeper and deeper into a blackening forest as night fell quickly. He lit his way with one lantern, as his tired feet trod on over stones and branches and shrubbery. Suddenly, the path was gone and it appeared he had entered the most dense part of the woods yet. He took a few more steps and was then upon it before he knew what it was - a stone cottage. He played his light upon what seemed the rear wall and saw bricked up windows. It's been sealed up! Looking down, Hank saw he was standing on a cellar door ... unbolted. What luck. He opened it quietly, shined his lamp below and followed it down.

He held the light as high as the low ceiling would allow, and saw things in the half-light that he could barely make out. There were heavy wooden beams all about from floor to ceiling, and some had ropes and chains dangling from them. The only furniture in the large, dank room was a solid-looking oak table and an old cupboard on a nearby wall.

He shrugged these things off, and found the rickety door that lead upstairs. He approached it slowly, listening for sounds coming, from the other side. Hank climbed a few stone steps and unlatched the door quietly. There was no sign of anyone near, so he opened it and stepped into a bedroom - it had only a bed and a thick wooden chair. On the chair, apparently out drunk, was Cutter, coming in and out of a deep sleep.

Hank thought to himself "Jeees! Is this too good to be true?"

He observed the thief slumped over the chair, his head tipped way back over the rear of the chair and his legs sprawled out before him. Hank noticed that he really wasn't that ugly - there had only been pictures drawn of him from various accounts and descriptions and they were often exaggerated toward the unhandsome. But the face before him was ruggedly handsome, perhaps from being outdoors most of his life. There was enough stubble on his strong cheekbones and chin to constitute a beard, which enhanced the already existing handlebar mustache. His dark hair hung back and away from his face in rich waves. Cutter may have been in the stage of undressing for his pants were gone, leaving only dirty white longjohns to hide his strong legs. His boots were off, too, revealing, even dirtier white woolen socks. He must have been about to take off his shirt, too, for it was opened save for two bottom buttons. Hank was taken aback by the amount of thick, curly hair across Cutter's chest and belly, and even reaching up towards his shoulders. Hank caught himself staring at this form, feared by all as being a ruthless, invulnerable man -lying senseless like a baby - and Hank felt something funny inside. But he snapped out of it and remembered the work he was to do.

He found some lengths of rope beneath Cutter's cot, and proceeded to tie his hands tightly together. Cutter began to stir, and when he eyed Hank before him, and his hands hopelessly bound, he tried to rise, mumbling and growling, but still groggy, he fell back in the chair, which then tipped backward. Cutter lay, still seated in the chair with his tied hands thrown behind his head, and his big legs dangling over the large seat.

"Sorry, Cutter, boy, but I need some information out of you - and I intend to get it before I take you in and someone else beats it outta ya." Hank stretched the drunken Cutter's arms further out and with another rope, tied them to the frame of the bed, then tied each of his big feet to the legs on the chair. With the remaining rope, he approached Cutter, bent down at the man's waist, and yanked his shirt up and ripped it open. He grabbed Cutter's shirt tails and hoisted the man's middle up some inches, and slipped the rope beneath him, dropped the criminal again, and began to tie a tough knot about his middle. When he was done and he found his fingers buried in the warmth of all that hair on Cutter's stomach, he felt a little dizzy, and unknowingly took a few pets and strokes. He was brought to by a sound from Cutter ... a giggle. It couldn't be. Hank figured this guy was at least thirty, and, well men like Cutter just aren't...ticklish. He reasoned that the man was drunk, that was a11. But, nevertheless, Hank had to try it again. He let his index finger poke into Cutter's fleshy side, and this time he was shocked. Cutter was aware of his predicament, and now cold-sober. At the poke of Hank's finger, he shouted, "Easy, man! Careful how you touch someone when they can't defend themselves!" Cutter began sweating.

Hank thought a moment. He had his man bound helpless. He needs information from this man. This man seems to have a weakness that could make him spill the beans fast and easy. And he could bring in a seemingly untouched Cutter knowing all the information, as if Cutter spoke out of sheer fear. This looked very good.

"Tell me, Cutter. What should it matter to a tough guy like you if I touch you at all?"

"Because. Look, kid, I can make a deal with you that'll make you rich... if you let me go."

"I need to know things from you, and you're gonna talk. Then I'm gonna. bring us down to headquarters and collect a reward. Now, Mr. Cutter, tell me where your men and the money are."

"Look, kid. I ain't afraid o' you, 'cause you are just a baby. My men will be here soon enough. I ain't telling you nothing else."

Hank stepped over Cutter and then sat down on the man's hips. He slowly slipped Cutter's shirt off his sides. "Cutter, you're awful helpless there. I may just want to 'touch' you again. Maybe like this." Hank began stroking his fingertips up and down Cutter's side, lightly and slowly. Cutter's reaction was intense: first he looked wide-eyed at Hank's descending fingers, then as he felt the tingle of them against his skin, he jumped and squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. All positive signs to Hank, he proceed faster, lightly digging into his ribs and the soft flesh at Cutter's side. Soon Cutter began rocking side to side, as much as the ropes would allow, and then he let go - giggles began to poor free, then laughter, getting louder every second. Hank, grinning an evil grin raced up into Cutter's bushy armpits which already stank and now was producing a new odor...from fear of torture. He cried with laughter, gasping to be freed, not to be tickled, especially there. Hank laughed at him. "Aw, poor baby". Don't be so sad. Ain't it nice to laugh?" He continued for many minutes going up and down the poor man's sides and up again into his defenseless armpits, now and then poking the man's navel and belly. Cutter was screaming for relief, while Hank told him he could scream his lungs out, since no one was around to hear or come help. The only way he'd rest and end this torture was to talk. He stopped for a moment, looking at this burly victim, tied like a bear in a trap, being reduced to a giggling idiot. The sweat glistened in his chest hair and ran down his sides and armpits. "Well, Cutter, gonna talk, or do I really torture you, you weak little baby?"

Cutter was catching his breath with lungsfull of air. His great hairy body twitched. He looked up at his tormentor, this yellow-haired kid, his own light yet bushy mustache, his cowboy hat tipped back revealing his youthful features. This boy had actually beaten him and discovered his one dreaded secret that is now posing a threat to everything he stood for, and all that he hoped to gain. If only his men would return, they could easily overpower this deputy. Then they'd take him below, and Cutter would seek slow and wicked revenge, just like this, but till the death, then bury the kid out back. He had to hold out a little longer, though he felt near depth himself from this horrid form of torture. "I can't take any more. But I can't talk either, so do what you want, even if it kills me."

"I'm sort of sorry you said that, and sort of glad you did, too. Cutter, I'm afraid what's next will kill you." While Cutter had been thinking, so had Hank. The next stage of the torture was cruel, indeed. He walked over to Cutter's trapped feet. Cutter began mumbling curses and wiggling his big toes beneath the socks. Hank smiled at him, and slowly began to remove the white socks. First were exposed his ankles, then his heels and finally his toes, and the socks were off, revealing giant, surprisingly pink - clean soles. The toes were long and thick, with curls of hair behind each one. They bent down and back, and wiggled left and right in anticipation of the coming torment. Hark leaned toward Cutter's right foot, pulled back the toes and brought down his forefinger, so that just the nail scraped at the extremely sensitive sole. Cutter yanked at the ropes and nearly lifted the chair he was tied to off the floor, but Hank sat down and wrapped his own muscular thighs around the seat and Cutter. He began again, bringing all of his fingers to stroke up and down, and between laughs and gasps for breath, Cutter screamed, "Please, you bastard--not there, not, not my feet!" But Hank didn't let up on those poor feet. Instead, he let his fingers go wild in every direction all over those trapped feet.

"Ain't this interesting, Cutter? You, such a big, strong, tough bear of a man could be so ticklish. What will everyone say when I tell them how I tickled you so's you almost died of laughin'?" Cutter's shouts and roars of laughter almost covered up the sound of the door in the next room, and for a second Hank thought he heard something, but when Cutter continued laughing, he continued tickling his feet, and by then it was too late.

In a split second, Hark was yanked up off the floor by a force he never felt before, and as he was hoisted in the air by two mammoth hands, another grabbed his legs and began roping them together. One of the giant hands that lifted him by the collar, tearing his shirt half open, and sending his deputy badge across the room, smothered his mouth with such strength that Hank felt his teeth cutting into his lips. Then he was dropped head first, while his feet were lifted, tied tightly together by another set of huge hands, and his arms pulled behind his back and handcuffed. Thus tied, his feet were let go and he fell, dazed and bruised, in a heap onto the floor. In his dizzy state he could hear Cutter shouting and sensed the two were untying him. In a moment, he saw the bare feet of Cutter standing before him, and for the first time Hank feared for his life.

He lost sight of Cutter's feet as the criminal walked around Hank. He heard Cutter say, "I was drugged. He made me so that I'd be ticklish. You ever tell anyone this and I'll murder you all. But now we have a victim here who needs to be taught a good lesson that he'll never forget." The two giants laughed and hoisted Hank again into the air.

"Take him down to my little torture chamber, boys. You know I've used it on many a hostage, and I've never let anyone down there with me. But tonight I need your assistance. Besides, I wart witnesses to the humiliation of' our Deputy Silver."

Hank shut his eyes and felt the big, thugs carry him below. He smelled the dark of that scary basement, and when Cutter lit two lanterns attached to two heavy pillars about six feet apart, he finally got a better image of what this room was used for, Cutter stood next to the old cupboard on the wall, just feet from one of the beams, and picked up a rickety three-legged stool and placed it between the two pillars.

"Bobby, unlatch this fool's hands and attach them to those shackles up there." Hank looked up while they were untying, his wrists and saw a thick metal wrist shackle attached to a heavy chain riveted to each beam. When his hands were freed, he looked down for his gun, but it was gone somehow, and before he figured how to escape unarmed, he felt his arms jerk upwards, and then locked in the shackles. Cutter walked over to a fireplace hidden in the darkness of the wall opposite them and lit a fire. He then tossed the key, apparently to the chains, inside.

"Bobby, Sam. Strip the Deputy ... except for his boots, please. What we are going to do to him, I need him naked. Say, either of you boys care to listen to a Deputy be reduced to a screaming baby?" They smiled crookedly, and nodded, then approached Hank as he hung from the irons. They were bigger than Cutter, Hank noticed. Very well built, and almost animalistic looking. The ore called Bobby was a dirty blonde man, in nothing but old parts, boots and a vest. Beneath the vest was a grey t-shirt, but with virtually all of' it torn to shreds. Like Cutter, he was also covered in hair, but his was golden, getting browner towards the center of his chest and belly, which were often exposed through big, holes. Sam, another giant in height and stature, wore similar jeans, with very worn boots, and a checkered shirt, opened wide to mid chest. Again, he was also very hairy, and Hank thought Cutter may have actually formed a gang of apes and the only requirement to join him vas to he this hairy. He stared back and forth among the two, and at Cutter, whose own hairy chest he had touched and tickled earlier, now glowed and glimmered in the light of the fire.

He summoned up enough energy to finally speak. "Look, Cutter, you may have me chained up, but they'll find you. Everyone is looking for you. Think before you do something to a lawman. I swear, I'll take anything your sick head can think to do to me. I'm gonna be a Sheriff soon, and they train us good, tough!"

"You're a brave one, kid. Say, I bet you're barely twenty. Just a kid. Kids ain't so tough. In fact, kids are quite ... tender. Heh, heh, heh, heh." He walked over to Hank and stood in front of his bare body. "Lookee here, men. Boy's built up pretty good for a kid. Fine form, son," he said as he began stroking Hank's meaty biceps, then his pecs, standing firm from being so stretched tautly. "He's even got some hair on his body," and with that he sent a finger from nipple to nipple on Hank's tight chest, which did have a soft blanket of yellow fur across it. "Not like us, boss!" volunteered Bobby, with a snicker. Cutter shook his head, "Na, never like us. But it is enough," and he let his finger lightly trail down the pale brown track of hair that bisected Hank's strong stomach, where it spread out in a browner mass to bury the soft, delicate navel and lower belly. Cutter sank his forefinger quickly into Hank's navel, which caused him to shudder and jerk, and the two men eyed each other suspiciously. After a second, Cutter dropped his hand to Hank's penis, to an alarmed shout from the victim, and lifted it for inspection. "Jim," Cutter said. "A little small for a mighty deputy, but you can be sure, it will grow to sizes it never knew before!" And everyone laughed heartily at poor Hank. "Sam, Bob. Help our friend onto the stool, and put his feet up for him, too."

The men sat Hank on the tall, shaky seat, and each took a leg, still booted and socked, and extended shackles from two beams a foot or two away and locked him in them. Cutter disposed of the key in the fire. Hank found himself trapped--arms pulled tightly above and behind him, and his feet stretched out wide. Balancing was difficult on the rough, little seat of the trembling stool and Hank learned that the slightest move could send the seat out from under him, leaving him -o dangle painfully from his chains. Cutter came back to him and said, "It all started with a touch," and poked his finger into Hank's navel. Hank jerked, the stool teetered a second, and Hank, fighting back the nervous laughter he felt rising,, whispered "Cutter, don't. You can't. Please." Cutter just looked at Hank's helpless body and smiled.

"Son, you don't know what you're in for. You see, you found out something I've kept secret all my life. And because I know how torturous this sort of thing can be, I have plans for you that will give a new meaning to the word torture."

Bob, scratching the dense wad of hair on his chest, spoke first. "Jees, Cutter. You gonna tickle him? How do you know he's even ticklish?"

Cutter looked from Bob to Hank, smiling and walked right between the bound boy's legs to his groin. Hank tried to pull back but nearly lost his balance and knew then there was no way out. He knew how ticklish he was, and remembered times when his big brothers would hold him down and tickle him from head to every toe just to humiliate him. But know he was a tough Deputy and couldn't bear the humiliation he was in for. Cutter took a firm hold of Hank's waist with each big hand, first kneading his flesh almost roughly so that it didn't tickle too much, but then he concentrated his fingertips to poke and wiggle in the soft flesh, and he said, "Boys, watch. You'll see how ticklish this boy is." Hank tried moving free of the dancing fingertips to no avail. He began gasping and giggling, and as Cutter began running his fingers up and down his side and across Hank's belly, Hank could no longer hold back and burst forth with insane laughter and howls for mercy. Bob and Sam began laughing also, and began to taunt Hank and his masculinity, each now and then poking the boy in the ribs or the stomach.

Cutter began a new move. He held his wiggling fingers over Hank's armpits and began a slow descent into the blonde hairs glistening with sweat. "God, Cutter, don't. Please, man I beg of you! Let me go and I'll pretend I never saw you!" This helpless pleading caused Bob and Sam to roar with laughter. "Aw, poor baby can't take it! Please help - he's ticklin' me to death," taunted Sam, while unconsciously rubbing his ever-hardening cock beneath his worn jeans.

Cutter's fingers reached the armpits and began slow strokings up and down, occasionally running down Hank's shaking sides, over each rib down to his ticklish belly, up the line of soft hair, and over to Hank's nipples, then out to his armpits again.

He did this to such an awful extent and repetition, ignoring the poor boy's pleas for relief, that soon forty minutes passed in this fashion only. Cutter pulled his hands away, quickly reached for Hank's sides again, which caused to boy to jerk away and wobble violently forwards and backwards on his seat. Bob and Sam doubled over with laughter. Cutter stepped back to view his victim in this sorry state - Hank was awash with perspiration and tears. Cutter eyed the boy between his legs and saw the stirrings of an erection. He reached over and with two fingers hoisted the cock to full extension and. said, "I've just the tool for this sucker. But first I torture you lots more." He pulled back Hank's penis up toward the boy's navel, so that his balls rose high and vulnerable. While he instructed his mates on their next job, he let one finger tickle the fur behind and around the scrotum sack, which sent Hank trembling between giggles and moans of ecstasy. His cock began to stiffen noticeably.

"Reach on top of that cabinet and pull down my leather shears, Bobby. Good. Now since we shackled this boy with his boots we have to cut off his boots from just above the ankles. Then toss the leftovers in the fire." Bob did as he was told and left Hank shoeless except for that which was trapped in the iron bonds. The boy's heavily socked feet flexed and wriggled in frightful anticipation of' what was next to come.

Cutter looked at the two trapped feet closely and began to run his finger up and down each sole. Hank jerked away so quickly that the stool practically slipped out from under him, but miraculously steadied itself. "Now boys, Bob you take the left sock and Sammy you get the right. Pull it off, or cut it off if you have to. Once you bare the feet, tickle them any way you want. I want to see you boys lick that sole in your hand, nibble on each toe and stroke the baby's feet till he pisses on himself. Then I got some little toys in here that will do wonders."

"Boss," Sam said anxiously, "you got any feathers? I want a feather for this sucker!"

"Of course. And more. Now pull those socks off!"

Both men took a firm grip of the toe-end of Hank's socks and slowly slipped them off. As each inch of foot was bared, Bob let his forefinger graze back and forth, and giggled at Hank's sudden thrashing and pleading.

"Jees, boss. This guy's really ticklish. I'd die of embarrassment if I was so ticklish... 'cause only wimps are ticklish."

Cutter looked at his arrogant friend and stepped towards him. "Bob, Just so's you don't get no ideas about me, I'm gonna show you that even the biggest of guys is ticklish somewheres. And I'm gonna use you to prove it - but you won't mind 'cause you're too tough to be ... ticklish."

Bob looked at Sam, who had a wicked sneer on his face, and then to Cutter. "No boss. I didn't mean you... I mean ... well you ain't gotta prove anything to me." And then defiantly, yet a little nervously, "I ain't ticklish." He stepped back a bit.

"Come here, boy. And lift up your shirt!" Cutter ordered He walked right up to Bobby, and Hank saw how the blond man stood a good eight inches taller, and was a great deal more massive than Cutter, but did nothing to fight back. Sam was teasing Bob for being a. big-mouth, then quieted himself when Cutter threw him a glance that read, "Hush up or you'll be next!" When Bob was about to reason with Cutter, Cutter whispered, "Wimp, huh, boy?" and tore open Bob's shirt. Hank's heart began to pound, and indeed his cock too, for as these two brutes were preparing to torture his defenseless feet, he thought how great it would be to trap them and bring down their arrogance. Now it was happening to one of them right in front of him, and Hank was getting quite aroused. Bob, broad chest and belly exposed, covered in thick curly blond and brown fur, made a move to cover himself with a thick arm, but a single gasp from Cutter stopped him, and Hank thought that Cutter must have done something to these apes to get them to fear him so.

"Since you moved that arm, Bobby-boy, why don't you raise it and the other one high above your head -NOW!" Bob, torn between doing it to save his masculinity, and not doing it to save himself from embarrassment, he slowly obeyed his leader and put his arms up to the ceiling. In a last attempt to save himself, he puffed up his muscular body and gritted his teeth.

"Now, Sammy you pay close attention, Bob is gonna prove that only wimps are ticklish!" He began to run his fingertips up the hairy sides of Bob, and for a minute of two it seemed nothing was going to happen, and even Bob smiled a bit, but the sensations began to get to him, and lie started a restless shifting, biting on his lip to keep the giggles back. Cutter ordered him to stand real still and prove he wasn't a wimp but Bob was losing, and began laughing and jerking, trying to move his arms down to his sides but hesitated because of Cutter. In another second, he was screaming and laughing madly, his face glowed with sweat and humiliation. "Please, no - boss - stop, oh, don't! God, alright, alright! HAHAHA stop -you win!"

Cutter began laughing at Bob, who was bright red with embarrassment. He withdrew his hands from Bob's sides, letting his palm pass across the man's chest where it lingered a moment. Bob began to look uneasy, and when Cutter reached over and lightly stroked Bob's nipple, the blond man put a hand nervously over his crotch. "Don't worry, boy. I like when I get it big and hard." Sam was rubbing his own crotch at the site before him. Hank's now perfectly erect cock was dripping. It was this that Sam noticed when he turned to their prisoner. "Hey, Cutter! Get a look at this!" He roughly took a hold of Hank's large penis and yanked it out toward his boss. The tightness of Sam's grip and the harshness of his tugging hurt Hark a great deal, but Cutter came over and when he saw it, with the thick drop of semen now spilling down the head and onto Sam's finger, Cutter said, "Sam, we can't have that. I need you to position yourself right between our boy's legs and stick that cock of his in your mouth and be sure you get all that leaks. We's gonna empty the boy the hard, slow way." Sam got into position, gripping the penis very tightly, with his entire huge hand covering the long, wide shaft so just the head was squeezed out from Sam's palm. Cutter walked to the cabinet, opened it and took something down but none of the others could see. Sam held the captive head of Hank's cock up to his face, the head turning red and blue from the tightness of his grip. Cutter returned with a black canvas bag and pulled out a feather of some twelve or more inches. It was brown and white, with a stiff tip.

"We're gonna make sure he just leaks his stuff out. You're gonna help, Sammy, with this little device. But - Deputy here ain't allowed to come. And to be sure you suck and lick it good, but not good enough, if the child comes, we tie you right next to him. Bobby boy, here's a feather for you so you can get his feet just right. Go on, men. Begin."

Cutter leaned against one of the beams that Hank was chained to, reached into the sack and pulled an old ornamental hair brush with very soft, white faded to yellow bristles that stood two inches. He looked Hank right in the face and began stroking the brush across his palm.

Hank, In the meantime looked ahead of him at the tormentors beginning their cruel torture. Hank was so turned on by the big man slowly slipping his cockhead into his mouth, the way the stubble darkened his face, his neck down to where it was free to grow thick and become the bush that rose out of the man's opened shirt. He looked through his bound legs at Bob, minus vest now for more freedom of movement, and Hank's cock jerked in Sam's mouth. Bob, a giant whose torn shirt was now ripped wide open, revealing a golden forest that buried his chest and spilled into the center between two mounds of pectoral muscles, bronzed and rich in blond-brown, where it twirled and fanned in the most intricate patterns before turning downwards and spilling into the chord of brown hair that bisected his hard stomach, with yellow-golden fur branching out from side to side and ultimately onto his back. He looked almost ridiculous, this giant man, holding another foot-long (if rot longer) feather, white and very fluffy and soft; so funny in fact that Hank began giggling even before Bob pulled the toes of his right foot back and began dusting the feather across the ball of his foot. Now, suddenly, both sensations caused by the two men hit home, and Hank could only bite his lip and breathe heavily through his nostrils to hold back the maddening hysteria welling up from inside. As Sam began an expert sucking on Hank's cock, he took his feather and let the tip trace all. over the boy's hairy sack and the furry flesh beyond. Hank jerked like a pony, shouting, "WOH! WOH! DON'T!!! Please! HA! HAHA! and again the insane laughter was heard echoing through the chamber. Bob now dragged the torturously long feather between Hank's toes, down the sole, around the heel and up the outer side of the foot, while his free hand reached for Hank's left sole ad began wildly running amok. Hank and the stool rocked and teetered in every direction. Sam licked and sucked the boy's cock with ardor while he tickled his thighs, balls, ass and belly with the feather This being the first time Hank ever had a mouth suck his cock, he felt his semen creeping up to where the wet mouth and tongue tortured it. Now and then Sam would stop the exquisite sucking and would commence a stinging nibbling with his teeth to chase down the flow of cum he suspected was working it's way up. Then he'd just use the feather back and forth over Hank's cockhead and shaft, sending chills of feeling and laughter up the boy's spine. By now his muscles were aching from the tight position he was stretched out in and from all his tugging. Just when he thought lie could take no more of these sensations, Cutter approached him with that wicked brush and got real close to his ear so that the man's warm breath and tongue tickled him there, and said, "Getting, tough to take, huh Deputy?" Cutter smiled as Hank, laughing like a madman, tried to turn away. Cutter brought the soft bristles of the brush down on Hank's side and began a very cruel stroking up and down over the ribs. The brush covered the whole of Hank's side, and as Cutter tickled him along here, down to his hips and up to his armpits, Bob stroked the feather over each foot, alternating with his, sharp, strong fingernails, and Sam, sucking and slurping on the tip of the boy's cock, tickled his balls and lower body with that deadly feather, and with his thumb and forefinger of his free hand, he lightly stroked the sides of Hank's shaft, but now Bob had switched hand for feather again and was also sucking his toes - one, then another and another, then back again while his feather tortured one sole, and his fingers tormented another, and Hank was getting dizzy at the very erotic sight of the blond man's furry body glistening with sweat and each hair aglow from the firelight, and Sam's bristly face rubbing up against the balls that he expertly stroked with that big feather, causing him to feel so very close to shooting one minute and then to laugh nearly to death the next, all while Cutter, master of this horrible torture, brushed his entire torso with that wicked device, and his feet being unmercifully tickled, and his armpits and sides... and suddenly he felt the semen rush, unleashed to erupt from a tortured penis into the throat of his torturer, and Hank let forth a cry from his laughter and a groan that told the others what was happening, and they all stopped their torture, and Sam pulled his mouth off Hank's erupting cock to get the evidence of his failure squirted on his face. Everyone, frozen with their devices of torment, watched Hank spill the last of his orgasm, and with skin twitching and sweat dripping from every inch of his teased flesh, Hank passed out.

Bob tried one or two more sweeps with the big feather across Hank's feet, but the boy was senseless. "Jees, boss, we killed 'im!"

"Na," said Cutter looking down at Hank, "we just destroyed him. But it ended too quickly. He went out too soon. He was supposed to get lots more."

Sam stood up wiping the cum off his face with his sleeve, and said, "I don't think he could take more." Then, laughing and tossing his handsome head back toward the limp Hank, "He hasn't even lost his hard-on yet - the way he came, all over ... oh, boss. Boss, no. Wait, I did just like you said. I didn't make him... I swear, he just couldn't take it." Cutter smiled and nodded to Bob, who was relieved it would be someone else and not him again. Bob smirked back, but sheepishly, remembering, his place just reestablished by Cutter's embarrassing tickle torture, walked over to Sam, who began pleading and reasoning to them, grabbed Sam from behind and tore off his shirt, exposing, the black-haired chest and back already glistening with nervous sweat. He grabbed Sam in a powerful grip and lead him (though Sam hardly fought back) to where Cutter was preparing four more shackles to hold fast four more limbs and a body that would be tickled unmercifully.

The End (?)