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Tickle Torturing a Muscle Man in a Vac Bed (FM/M fantasy)


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This is an uncharacteristically bicurious fantasy I've been having lately. I went pretty deep for this one, honestly. Hope somebody out there enjoys. It goes like this.

Me and a female partner abduct a nice, muscly jogger boy we've been eyeing and take him back to our lair.

We remove his clothes, gasping with delight at his toned body. Manoeuvre him into our custom vacbed, bolted securely into an old oak table. Once he's in, we work his thick, growing penis into the condom-like protuberance on our vacbed. There are two holes in the top sheet: a breathing hole, near the top, and a coming hole, down here at the tip of the vacbed’s condom. This allows his purple, raging erection to encase itself in the latex of the vacbed as it grows, its pink slit visible through the tiny hole.

We put him in a wide straddle, his feet shoulder-width apart, and we put his arms over his head, with palms up. We place the breathing tube gag in his mouth. We seal him up. And we turn on the suction.

We watch in rapt arousal as the vacbed swallows itself around him, his body outlined in greater, and shiner, detail every second. His feet, turned at the ankle so his soles face the sky, are gilded with a liquid black sheen, even the indentations between his toes. His open crotch, towering rubber boner extended for all to see, is a delicious spectacle. As are his abs, discernible through the mummifying latex, and his stupidly big, jogger boy pecs. And his arms… so big, so strong. Yet so completely unable to defend the exposed armpits. It’s simply perfection.

When he begins to wake, we start.

Circling his restrained form, we coo and aww at him, watching him as he comes to consciousness, trapped sightless in a latex hell. We see that he’s alert when he begins to wriggle minutely from side to side. This is the extent of his freedom now.

She places a single fingernail, long and sharp, on his plexus and he makes this incredible noise, a muffled but recognizably human little yelp. I’m hard already. She begins to draw her fingernail down his torso like a mistress with a blackboard. ‘Guess what, Jogger Boy?’ she asks, with exaggerated gusto and those teasing Marilyn Munroe undertones of steamy, sloppy, coming-your-brains-out sex.

Her fingernails scrrrrr*** over his navel, producing another, even better sound. The muffled bark of involuntary laughter.

‘We’re going to play a little game with you. And if you lose—which you will,’ she lets out a giggle. “If you lose, we get to ruin your LIFE!”

On cue, she attacks him, both hands plunging into his tummy. He begins emitting low, sobbing noises: the vacbed tickle *** victim’s version of a belly laugh. She grins, burrowing into his belly button and his sides. He is struggling proper now, but he can’t move a muscle. She scratches and nips at the hollows between abs, breaking out into giggles whenever she administers a dose of tickling. His ***ness really is hypotonic.

I take point at his feet, laid out before me, begging to be tickled. I start slow, like she did. Donning my tickle gloves—skeletal handwear with sharp plastic nails—I place a point in the centre of his sole.

Oh, the reaction I get. It’s just too good. He erupts with a frenzied, HRROOUUOUONMMMMMMM!!! and on his stomach, she can feel his muscles spasming with panic. Now it’s my turn to smile.

‘Hmmm?’ I query, loudly, so that he can hear through the vacbed. ‘What was that, Jogger Boy?’

I begin the slow drag of the nail down up his sole toward the toes, and he screamlaughs again.

‘I didn’t quite catch it.’


‘Did you say, “please tickle *** my *** feet to death?”’

We grin at each other, me and her. I alight on his toes, adding another nail. ‘Is that what you said?’

She joins in, gorgeous in her devilishness, tickling his tummy with relish. ‘Is that what you said, Jogger Boy? Was it?’

He laughs and hollers and screams and pleads. HHHMRHM-MMRM-HMMRM-HMMHMM-HMMMRM! MMRM-HMMRM-HMMHMM-HMMMR-MMHRMM. And his perfectly frozen form, shiny as hell, a rubber-man-thing suffering at our hands.

‘I think it waaaaaaaaaaas,’ I sing-song, drawing it out as all my nails find his toes. ‘I think you’re just begging to be tickled. So that’s just. What. You’re. Gonna. Get.’

Then we really let him have it. She attacks his ribs and tummy, hard, occasionally spidering up into his arms pits, where his roars take on more desperate, pony-ish qualities. She feels him beneath her as she tickles, his giant erection leaning gently against her ass, and she spreads her legs a little wider over his mid-section, riding the slippery expanse of his pelvis, brushing teasingly against his hard-on. Her eyes begin to dilate, and she feels a growing wetness help her micro-slips and -slides over his immobilized body.

I busy myself with his feet. I scritch and scratch at the undersides of his toes, rake up and down his soles, poke rapidly at his arches, spider around the balls of his feet. His reaction is too gratifying for words. He is thrashing for all his considerable might and effecting no more than a tiny wiggle. He is howling at the top of his lungs, but the gag and the latex have swallowed it up. And the piece de resistance, his unflinchingly, unhidably, unbelievably enormous erection.

‘Are you ready to hear the rules of the game?’ she asks without missing a beat. Taunting a gagged victim about their voicelessness by asking questions is a big turn on for the both of us. ‘The rules of the game are,’ she continues. ‘We get to tickle *** you, while you’re completely fucking ***, and completely fucking gagged, and completely fucking covered in latex like a fucking fetish doll.’

The words deepen the eroticism of it. His hearing, in blunt and gleefully hostile words, his exact ***; his being made unable to escape it.

‘And if you can keep from draining your balls all over my panties, then you can go. But if you can’t…’ she twists around and flicks the tip of his penis ***fully. The respite in her tickling gives him breath to screech into his gag. ‘…then I take my come-soaked panties and I tell everyone you ***d me. And then your life will be allllll overrrrrr.’

She says that last in a drooping sing-song tone, like too bad, so sad.

I stop tickling his feet to join her at his torso. She is rubbing against him impatiently now, the fire of an extinction-level orgasm in her eyes. I know how she feels. I slip my own erection out and begin lazily stroking. I lean down to murmur into his ear, ‘think you can do it, Jogger Boy? Think you can keep from draining those aching balls and making a big mess all over her panties?’

She angrily growls, unable to find the necessary friction for her climax. In frustration she intensifies her torso tickling, digging deep into him and worrying her fingernails in his muscles. HMMHHRRRRRRRHRHRHRHRHMMMMMMMMHRHRHMRMM-HMMMRM. MMRM-HMMRM-HMMHMM-HMMMR-MMHRMM-MHPHMPHMMPHMMPHMMPPHMMMPHMMPHMMPH-MHRRRMMHHM. Then, when she can take it no longer, she raises herself off his body and stands with feet on either side of him.

‘Fine,’ she says, coldly, stepping out of her panties and throwing them onto his chest. ‘You think you can win, Jogger Boy?’ This is a real dark, mean side that I don’t see much from her—usually just when she’s unspeakably horny and she wants to mine the depth of her depravity—but I like it a lot. ‘Then take this!’

She squats, panting, and lowers herself onto his latex erection. ‘Oh, yeah,’ she says as it penetrates. ‘Ohhhhaahhhhh. Yes. Yes.’ She slowly pulls herself down onto him, deep down until he is all the way inside her. She leans forward, planting her nails in his tummy again. He screams a desperate gagged scream. ‘Take THIS!’ she repeats, and resumes the tickle ***, only now she is bucking on his cock, furious with lust, riding calamitously toward an orgasm to be remembered.

She bounces on him in a frenzy, the soft smack of skin against latex as her naked ass lands on him again and again. Her fingers dig angrily at his sides and belly, a perfect latex tickle toy for her to fuck. I want to just watch them and jerk off, but I have to get in on the fun. Leaning over him, I slide by nail-tipped fingers into his *** armpits and begin to tickle him myself, double *** for his aching torso.

It doesn’t take long. After a minute or two of watching him suffer in muffled, motionless tickle agony, she throws her head back and bellows to the ceiling, ‘YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!’ Her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth opens wide into an ecstatic gape that is almost like a snarl, and she angles his living dildo to agitation her swollen clit as she comes. Her fingers spasm in his abs. Her body shakes and jerks, and then, when she has achingly lifted herself off him, relaxes in a slump. I watch her, rock hard, tickling his armpits mercilessly.

‘Phew,’ she says, patting his thigh. ‘That was great. Was it good for you, Jogger Boy?’

I move down to his ribs, pinching them harshly and eliciting hard, ***d cries from him. His *** and dehumanization seem to be compounding. He’s so fucking perfect, a ***, faceless, voiceless, latex tickle toy with sculpted abs and a raging erection. He’s trapped in there, all ours to play with.

I used my hips to gently sweep my hardon over his bound form while I tickle him, craving friction and release. I realize, suddenly, what I want to do to him. I shred every last inhibition, removed my tickle glove from my right hand, and then slide it out to his pelvis and up member, palming it and then gripping it. As I pump slowly back and forth, tracing the head of my own erection over his latex pecs, I begin to masturbate him as I’d like to be masturbated, hard and fast here, slow and tight there, up and down the shaft, making him do it, forcing him to come and lose and loving that I can.

‘Yes,’ she gasps next to me, like she’s just heard the best idea in the world. ‘Oh god, yes. Make him. Make him.’

She rushes to the table, attacking his smooth, black, shiny feet, and his gagged roar is tremendous, he laughs and cries and laughs and screams and laughs and laughs and laughs. I squeeze his penis harder, jerking lightly with my fingers closed around its enormous, tumescent head. He moans and cries and laughs.

I grab the pair of panties she had angrily tossed at him. I use them as a layer between my hand and his throbbing latex cock. And I begin jerking him the fuck off. He can’t escape from me. He can’t stop me. He can’t even protest, with that gag filling his mouth. He mmmmphs and mmmmphs while I expertly manipulate his erection, driving him to climax, and she gleefully tickle ***s his feet.

When I can sense he’s close, a wicked idea comes to me. ‘Harder,’ I tell her, and she nods with a slow smile, intensifying her attack, making it sharp and methodical. And then I reach over with my spare hand and pinch his breathing tube shut. I stand there, his cock in one hand, his breathing tube in the other, rubbing myself desperately on his muscles, drunk on sadistic power.

‘What happened to your laughs?’ I ask him while he lies there, immobile and suffocating, the soles of his feet mercilessly tickle ***d and his pulsing penis masturbated. He can only make the barest of muffles and knowing that this is it for him—that this still, near-silent, rubber doll form is the most his desperate struggling and screaming can affect—turns me on more than anything. ‘Where are your laughs, Jogger Boy? Don’t you want to laugh? Go on, laugh. I dare you. Laugh.’

I stroke faster and faster. I revel in the fact that all I have to do is pinch two fingers together to take away his air. She tickles him everywhere she can reach, his feet, his knees, his thighs, his penis. We are wordless and determined, working him, playing with him, torturing him, pleasuring him, all toward a single inevitable point. I can tell that he’s close, so I start chanting to him, in a low and playful warning tone, ‘Don’t come, or we’ll ruin your life. Don’t come, or we’ll ruin your life. Don’t come, or we’ll ruin your life.’

She starts chanting it as well, matching my inflections. ‘Don’t come, or we’ll ruin your life. Don’t come, or we’ll ruin your life.’

And then, of course, he comes.

It’s beautiful, almost like objet d’art. His penis, encased in latex, erupting a fountain of semen a foot in the air. The tightness of the hole at the tip of the vacbed condom makes the spurt even more ***ful, and as it splatters down on my hand and the d***d panties and the rest of his latex form, we slow our tickling to a stop, staring in awe at what we have done to him. I release his breathing tube. For a moment, there’s no noise but his raggedly and furious gasps in and out and I feel the dizzy, sadistic urge to pinch the tube shut, one last time, right when he needs it the most, but I stop myself. Instead, we just stand there.

‘Well,’ she says. ‘Looks like you lose, Jogger Boy.’

I begin to giggle. I can’t help it. It’s all just too damn perfect. Him, abducted and trapped in an immobile tickle hell, rendered less than human by his skin-tight, shiny encasement, a latex doll with a nice big dildo. A sex toy. And he’d just had to take it. And take it. And take it. And right when he thought he might escape, we go and make him commit the most humiliating act of his life and we make no secret of the fact. It’s that he did it himself that makes it perfect. It’s his body but we stole it and made it ours and made it do things he didn’t want it to do. I just can’t help it. I begin to snicker, intentionally at first, and then to giggle, and at some point, the giggles aren’t intentional anymore, like when you know you shouldn’t, but these little hysterical laughs just hiccup out of you, and then she starts giggling too. That’s what does it, I think: both of us getting the giggles like this. I can practically feel the heat of his *** coming off of him. I know his face is red as a tomato under the vacbed and knowing that only makes me laugh more, because it’s just all so perfect.

Once the giggles have eased, I tell him. ‘We win. Now we get to tell everybody that you’re a sadistic pervert rapist, and you can’t stop us’ I get in closer, masturbating myself properly for the first time, ready to end this all over his featureless, latex smooth face. ‘How does that feel?’ I ask him. ‘How does it feel? Come on, Jogger Boy. How does it feel.’ I ejaculate wildly, the white-on-black of a great latex orgasm, and I hope he feels it, my come, warm on his face, I hope he feels it.

My knees tremble under me and when I’m done, I have to take a couple of deep breaths to slow my pounding heart. It’s one of those climaxes that leaves you tingly all over and still a little horny. I can see she’s still got some juice left in her too. She is pacing with faux nonchalance, her hand behind her back.

‘You know what the best part of all this is, darling?” She asks me, beaming a beatific smile.

‘What’s that?’ I reply.

‘Now that he’s lost, we get to keep him. Forever and ever.’

He hears this and begins to sob. Poor Jogger Boy.

‘Let’s see how long it takes to tickle him ***,’ I say.

‘I think maybe two hours.’

‘I think it might be more.’

We turn in unison to behold him anew, our permanent latex sex toy, with no purpose but our gratification. We kiss, briefly and passionately, and she gives me a lopsided punk-girl smirk.

‘Let’s find out,’ she says.



16 hours ago, ovx21uk said:

Interesting story. Thank you for sharing.

Thanks for reading.

  • 3 weeks later...

Amazing story. I can just imagine the multitude of emotions that went through all three of you 

5 hours ago, Pleasure4you said:

Amazing story. I can just imagine the multitude of emotions that went through all three of you 

Thank you so much!


Sound like the definition of tickle ***!

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