Inexplicably, I used to be very ticklish as a child and even throughout my mid twenties. When I met my lover, I found I'd suddenly lost that ticklish feeling. Now I just get overpowering urges to tickle others. It's very frustrating if my boyfriend is not in the mood! After considerable discussion, we decided to place an ad in a gay paper for a ticklish guy who would enjoy being our victim for a weekend. The ad was answered by a very cute young guy named Michael. (He included a photo in his letter.) Michael had a very slender, gym-trained body but lived a long way away: an hour by plane. This event called for some careful planning.

Eventually, after a few letters and one very hot phone call, we worked out which weekend suited all three of us. The scenario that excited him the most was the plan to keep him blindfolded for his entire stay! I couldn't believe my luck. We had found a victim who was cute, very fit, well hung, friendly, ticklish AND extremely brave.

In his final letter he described how he wanted to be bound and frustrated, kept close to orgasm but not permitted to find relief. He also wanted to be tickled unmercifully. We agreed that, for the entire weekend the command "Stop" would not mean that we should end our tickling efforts. If Michael was truly in pain, the word for having a break would be "Cease". This was a clever tactic, since it was highly likely our tickling attacks would cause him to scream "Please stop!" - which they ultimately did. "Cease" required thought and wouldn't be said accidentally.

By mail, we ordered Michael to wear old clothes (ones that could be destroyed) when he came up on the plane. Also, he was to wear his favourite Blundstone work boots plus a pair of saucy denim underpants which I had found in my underwear drawer and sent down to him. They were quite faded and had a large split down the centre seam.

We arranged to meet him at the airport. We would walk up behind him, whisper "Hello, Michael" in his ear (to ensure we had the right guy) and order him to keep walking towards the covered walkway and through to the car park. This happened with only one hitch: Michael's plane encountered air traffic congestion and was kept circling overhead for almost an hour. Just imagine how his stomach was churning by the time the plane actually landed. Poor guy.

Michael was found quite easily and we began the scenario. Once we were out of public view, we stopped him briefly, blindfolded him with sticking plaster bandages and escorted our hapless kidnap victim to the car. No one even noticed us bundling a blindfolded guy into our car. Neither were we seen on the four-story climb up the stairs to my flat. (If caught, we had planned to explain him away as the unfortunate but willing victim of a good ol'-fashioned, Australian buck's night.)

When we got him inside, we ordered him to the floor, hog-tied him with ropes and ripped his shirt and pants to pieces, exposing his gorgeous torso. When we rolled Michael onto his side, his erection was huge. It was thick, moist and throbbing and was poking out from the split seam of my old knickers. My underwear had never looked so good.

When his erection deflated a little, I decided to clip a heavy padlock just behind the head of his cock. The unexpected weight cause Michael's pride and joy to swell again. Picking him up bodily, we carried our slave boy to the bedroom, threw him face down onto the bed, said our good-byes and slammed the door. He thought we'd left the room, of course, but we stayed on, quiet as mice, to watch him struggle to free himself over the next hour. It was very hot watching him rock from side to side and wriggle his wrists in a half-hearted effort to escape.

Finally, he rolled over onto his side. That was when we revealed our presence by commencing a merciless tickling attack on the guy's muscular, hairless chest. Then we progressed to his washboard-flat stomach (I was so envious of this guy!), his sensitive underarms, his very tight bum and his strong, suntanned legs. We fitted him with a leather slave collar and cuffed his wrists to the sides of the collar. He preferred this treatment to being spread-eagled on the bed. Michael was VERY ticklish, although he didn't giggle enough for my taste; instead he squirmed a lot and grimaced as he held in his laughter. Unfortunate, since I really get off on uncontrolled laughter, but how could we complain? This guy was HOT!

I particularly enjoyed using my tongue to tickle behind Michael's knees, in his manly-scented armpits and down his legs towards... his feet. My boyfriend and I were getting very clever at coordinating our movements without giving too many clues to our victim as to what new tortures were about to commence. We slowly began to slide off the Blundstones to caress Michael's sweaty, twitching feet through his socks. Finally, off came the socks as well. His feet were as beautiful as the rest of him. Michael had long, well-formed toes, high, smooth arches and incredibly soft, ticklish soles.

This was the moment I'd been waiting for. Knowing my foot fetish only too well, my boyfriend left me to explore Michael's bare feet. I licked his Size 9s all over, rubbed my face on them and even slid my lubricated dick between his soles. Eventually, I came all over his toes while he struggled, twitched and giggled in ecstasy.

Later that night (or rather, early the next morning), we removed the padlock from his straining cock (Michael promised he would not masturbate) and put him to bed on the couch, still blindfolded. To keep him put, we even cuffed one ankle to the couch. After a few hours sleep, we woke him with more of the same treatment as the night before. Exhausted from the relentless tickling, we helped him to the shower and soon all three of us were lathering up and sliding our bodies over each other. Finally, Michael was permitted to come - and it was a worthy performance. Michael didn't see our faces till we released him later that afternoon and dropped him off at the airport. It was a weekend I'll always remember.