The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 6

by Jakubowski Maxim

  While the slave worked his three tormentors sat in straight-backed chairs against the wall, watching him. Smoking cigarettes and mumbling. Plotting, no doubt.

  All the licking, lapping, and scouring coated Drake’s face with spunk from his nose to his chin, but when he was finally finished the floor looked good. Well, it still needed washing, but at least nobody was going to slip and break his neck. Eager for praise, he looked to his Master.

  “All right, you piece of shit,” Nick said, “don’t look so goddamned proud of yourself. You’ve still got work to do.”

  Pedro leaned across his brother to speak to Nick. “Listen, Nick, man, just let me get a shower. I’m filthy with this shit.”

  Raul waved a hand in front of his nose. “You sure are, man. You reek.”

  Pedro turned to his brother. “I don’t know if I want to do this shit, man, what he’s talking about doing next.”

  “Well, all right,” Nick said. “Tell you what. Since we took a vote earlier, let’s do it again.” He raised his right hand. “I vote for the plan just as I described it. No changes. How about you, Raul?”

  Pedro shook his head at his brother. “No, man,” he said softly. “We really don’t want to do this.”

  But Raul, wearing the same tight-lipped smile as Nick, raised his right hand.

  Nick barked at Drake: “Get the hell over here!” He took the water bottle from the counter. “I filled this up again. Hydrate, and rinse your tongue real good. Then go to the sink over there and wash the jizz off your face, you fucking whore.”

  When Drake had followed orders he reported back for duty. Nick explained the rules. “You’re going to lick the dried come off all three of us, starting with me.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “That’s all there is to it, except for one additional rule that must not be broken. You are not allowed to tickle any of us while you’re doing it. Accidentally or otherwise.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “If you disobey and tickle any of us, even for a second, you’ll pay the consequences. Each man you tickle will get you all to himself for three hours. And it won’t be pretty.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Let’s move in to the next room, where we can spread out.”

  The next room, of course, was the Torture Chamber. Only Pedro hesitated to go in.

  “I’m first,” Nick said. He hopped up on the exam table. “I’m just going to lie here with my arms at my sides. I’ve only got come on my chest, so it shouldn’t take long. Now get over here!”

  Soon Drake was up to his nose in coarse, matted chest hair. He moistened it till it was no longer stuck down and the jizz was a funky soup warmed by Nick’s body heat. Drake had to suck on that fur to really get the come off. The male stink of come, hair, and sweat went to his head – it reminded him particularly of Emmett – but he was very careful not to hurt his Master. As far as tickling him was concerned, he didn’t worry. Nick saw ticklishness as a weakness, a failing of masculine stoicism, and if his body had ever had that quality he had willed it out of existence, or at least disciplined himself so that he would never show it, no matter what. There were a couple of dicey spots when Drake got near his armpits, but Nick only twitched slightly, making no sound.

  When Drake was finished Nick sat up and rubbed his chest all over. “That’s better,” he said. “Now, who wants to go next?” He had to yell, for Raul and Pedro were off in a corner, arguing.

  Raul looked over. “I’m next!”

  “Fuck, no!” Pedro shouted. “I’m next.”

  “Little brother, you’re getting to be a pain in the ass.”

  “I’m telling you for the last time, I’m not your little brother, shithead. I could kick your ass in half a second!”

  “I wish you ladies would stop bickering,” Nick said. “Have you both got your periods at the same time, or what?”

  Pedro put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Look, man, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just that . . . I don’t want to go last. I don’t want to have to wait that long.” He looked as if he might burst into tears.

  “Tough shit. I’m the older brother, so I get to choose.” He shoved Pedro’s hand off his shoulder.

  Pedro wiped the about-to-cry look off his face. Now he just looked grim. “It’s not always gonna be that way,” he said.

  Raul had come all over his inner thighs, groin, and belly. He preferred to sit on the edge of a straight chair for his tongue bath, leaning back with his lower body thrust forward. He grinned at Drake. “Remember, man, you’re not gonna tickle me one little bit, or you’ll live to regret it.” He spread his legs so that Drake could get between them.

  It was not the best situation to be in. As human beings, Raul and his brother were pieces of shit, but viewed strictly as naked males they were damned fucking hot, in a broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, big-dicked kind of way. And Raul was in a sexy position, offering up his caramel-colored thighs, groin and belly, including that prize cock. Drake prayed that Raul wasn’t ticklish, because he didn’t know if he could control his own movements, trembling as he was with both fear and lust. Very carefully he moved in between Raul’s legs.

  Now Nick and Pedro, who had just had a private conversation, quickly and silently approached Raul’s chair from the rear. Nick had a finger to his lips to warn Drake to be quiet, but he had no time to react anyway as the two men grabbed Raul’s arms, pulled them back behind the chair and bound his wrists tightly together.

  “Hey, you fucks! What the fuck are you –” Raul grimaced, he struggled to get his wrists free, but it was no use. He couldn’t even move enough to sit up straighter, meaning that his vulnerable parts were still exposed to the max and he could do nothing about it.

  “Go ahead, slave!” Nick yelled. “What are you waiting for?”

  Oh God. Drake ducked his head and, having no choice, touched his tongue to Raul’s inner thigh.

  “Ahhhhh, you bastard! You tickled me!”

  Drake reared back. He hadn’t even got any come off yet, and already he was in trouble.

  “That’s three hours with Raul, slave,” Nick said. “Well, don’t sit there looking stupid, get back to work.”

  Nearly swooning from fear, Drake got back in between Raul’s legs. Afraid of returning to the spot he had just hit, he tried a little ways further up, near but not quite touching Raul’s heavy balls.

  This time Raul really yelled. “AHHHH, YOU BASTARD! YOU TICKLED ME AGAIN!”

  Drake started babbling, with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you know I don’t mean to, I’m trying not to . . .”

  “That’s six hours with Raul,” Nick said.

  “What?” Drake was so startled his voice, what was left of it, spiked up an octave. “You said it was three hours per guy!”

  “Three hours per guy, per tickle,” Nick said. “Can’t you remember the rules? They’re simple enough, for Christ’s sake.”

  “No! No!” Tears rolled down Drake’s cheeks. “You can’t!”

  “Oh, sure we can,” Nick said. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a calculator.”

  As it turned out, it was Raul who had miscalculated. Knowing full well how ticklish he was, he had gone along with the game on the assumption that he wouldn’t get tickled much, just enough to get the slave to himself for a serious amount of time. But the stress Drake was under – terrified of tickling Raul, and dying to tickle him at the same time – was so great that, when he accidentally tickled Raul’s balls and he yelled again, and Nick said, “Okay, that’s nine hours with Raul,” Drake snapped. He’d never survive nine hours with Raul, so what the hell! He leaned into his work, letting his tongue take off like a whirligig all over Raul’s thighs, balls, dickhead and belly. Unable to resist the stimulation, that thick brown dick was growing hard again, as Raul yelled a blue streak of cusses, insults, and escalating threats.

  “AAAH, YOU BASTARD! YOU MOTHERLESS PRICK, YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS! OH JESUS, DON’T DO MY BALLS LIKE THAT! I’LL GET YOU BACK A THOUSAND TIMES
OVER, YOU CUNT!”

  Nick was highly amused by Drake’s transformation into a ruthless tickling machine. “It’s kind of hard to keep score,” he said, “when the tickling never stops!”

  “AHHHH, NICK, YOU SICK FUCK! CALL HIM OFF, YOU PUSSY! HE’S YOUR SLAVE! AHHHH CALL HIM OFF OR I’LL KILL HIM, I SWEAR TO CHRIST! MAKE HIM STOP OR I’LL KILL YOU TOO, MOTHERFUCKER!”

  “Maybe you should gag him, Nick,” Pedro said.

  “Naw. It doesn’t matter, nobody can hear him. Besides, it’s amusing.”

  Raul did not take kindly to this. At the moment Drake was stretching his navel with his fingers and reaming it with his tongue.

  “AHHHHHH I’LL AMUSE YOU, YOU DICKLESS TURD, I’LL AMUSE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU WHEN I GET OUT OF THIS! I SWEAR TO GOD!”

  “Take it easy, big brother,” Pedro said. “I’m going to help.” He crossed over in front of Raul, standing just behind Drake. Surprising everyone, he reached down, grabbed Raul’s ankles and pulled his legs up, spreading them wide. “How about a little asshole play? I happen to know it’s a bad, bad, weak spot.”

  “PEDRO, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL TORTURE YOU TO DEATH! I KNOW HOW TO DO IT, TOO!”

  Pedro looked grim. “Funny, that’s exactly what you told Juan, just before you put him in the hospital.”

  “VETE AL DIABLO, THAT WASN’T ME, THAT WASN’T MY FAULT! IT WAS BOTH OF US!”

  During this exchange Drake moved to a slightly better position. It was true, with Raul’s legs pulled up like that Drake had easy access to his ass.

  “PEDRO, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? AHHHH YOU BETTER NOT TOUCH MY ASSHOLE YOU FUCKIN’ PERVERT, I’LL HUNT YOU DOWN AND KILL YOU, YOU FREAK . . . AHHHHH!”

  Drake’s tongue had hit the mark. Raul’s tight little never-been-fucked asshole was easy to tickle, he only had to stick his tongue just slightly in and Raul was writhing and yelling like never before.

  “AAAAHHH NICK YOU SHITSTAIN, YOU CALL THEM OFF OR I’LL MAKE YOU REGRET THE DAY YOUR MOTHER GOT KNOCKED UP IN A WHOREHOUSE, YOU’LL BE EATING MY SHIT THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, YOU SCUM-SUCKING FAGGOT!”

  Drake stuck his tongue a little farther in. It was so easy, and the taste was tolerable. Also – what the hell! – he reached up and started tickling Raul’s sides.

  That got him. In a few seconds Raul was gasping for breath. His hard dick prodded his belly, coating it with pre-come. Soon he was on the verge of blacking out, his eyes about to roll up in his head.

  “Hey, Raul,” Nick said. “I’ve got a proposition for you. We’ll turn you loose, if you promise to behave.”

  Raul only gasped and moaned.

  “I’ll show you. Slave, stop tickling him!”

  Drake obeyed.

  “Okay, like I was saying, you have to promise . . .”

  “I PROMISE I’LL CUT YOUR DICK OFF AND MAKE YOU EAT IT, AND THEN I’LL SHOVE YOU BACK INSIDE YOUR MOTHER, YOU –”

  “Okay, okay, okay!” Nick said. “Slave, you’d better tickle him some more. Come to think of it, why don’t all three of us tickle him. I’ll get that vibrator we were using in the kitchen.”

  “OH, NO! MADRE DE DIOS, NO! YOU FUCKING BASTARDS, YOU’LL KILL ME!”

  “Well, okay then . . .?”

  “I’ll behave,” Raul said. He looked as if he might breathe his last any second. “I swear, I won’t hurt anybody.”

  Much later, Nick and Raul were sitting at Nick’s dining room table, though his dining “room” was just an open area beyond the equally open kitchen, taking up a fraction of the space of the studio that lay beyond. At this end of the building a few narrow windows stretched from floor to ceiling, and it was possible to sit at the table and look directly down at the deserted streets. It hardly mattered, in that isolated area, whether the men were dressed or not, but Raul was wearing the jeans and T-shirt that he had arrived in, and Nick was as dressed as he ever was at home, wearing fatigue pants with no shirt. They were also barefoot, and they had Drake under the table, naked and gagged, his wrists tied to the table legs, and they were tickling him with their feet.

  Drake couldn’t remember the last time he’d been tickled by feet. The table top was glass, so the men could see more or less what they were doing; but for this kind of work feet were more inexact than hands, and in a way it was like being tickled by animals that didn’t quite know what they were doing. This clumsiness was very effective, made the tickling seem more random, and Drake grew hysterical as the four feet slipped and skidded and bumped all over his torso, toes stubbing against his ribs, digging into his navel.

  Drake had always liked men’s feet, and excruciating as the tickling was, making him scream against the gag, he was also getting a hard-on from getting worked over by four strong specimens. Never mind that the feet were somewhat funky, smelling of sweat, cum and piss, in that order; or that Raul desperately needed to trim his toenails, their sharpness gave an added edge to his torture of Drake’s navel.

  He was gagged because Nick and Raul, in addition to tickling him, were trying to have a conversation. Raul had an obsession that would not quit: when was he going to get Drake all to himself, and for how long? “I want him for at least a fucking week,” he said.

  “Hmmm,” Nick said, “I bet Pedro will want him for even longer than that.”

  It was true, the tongue-cleaning session with Pedro had been a disaster. It had begun with his refusal to cooperate, and his demand that Drake be kept away from him. Nick, ever the cordial host, had complied by locking Drake in a big wire cage in a corner of the Torture Chamber. It was a cage meant for an animal, perhaps a large dog, and its space cramped Drake, who had to lie on his side with his knees drawn up. Still he had a good view of what happened next.

  “I’m not doing a fucking thing, man,” Pedro said, backing away from the other two. “I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

  “Okay,” Nick said, “since we’ve been doing so well with the democratic process, let’s take a vote.”

  Raul, grinning, raised his hand. “I vote we tie him spread-eagled to that exam table over there.”

  Nick raised his hand too. “Majority rules.”

  “Oh, no,” Pedro said. “You fuckers will never get me on that table . . .”

  Pedro was strong but his opponents were stronger, very soon wrestling the naked young man to the floor, where Raul straddled him while Nick pinned his arms straight back. Pedro’s screams were unearthly as his brother gleefully tormented his ribs and armpits.

  “NO! NO! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TICKLE ME!”

  In between screams, his torturers told him that they would relent if Pedro would agree to get up on the table; otherwise they would tickle him to death immediately.

  Pedro had nothing to fall back on but the logic of a man in agony: anything that would stop them, even for a few seconds, would be a godsend. “All right, all right!” he shrieked. “I’ll do it, I’ll do whatever you fucking want, just stop tickling me!”

  Set free, Pedro could barely get to his feet without help. His eyes rolled wildly, seeking escape, but even if he had somewhere to go he had already lost all energy to get there, he was limp as Raul and Nick manhandled him onto the table and fastened down his wrists and feet. He said to his brother, “Hey, man, you don’t want to do this.”

  “Hmmm,” Raul said. “I think I remember a certain mother fuck who didn’t care if I got tickled out of my mind.”

  “Come on, man! I didn’t mean anything!”

  “That’s not what you said when you turned my asshole over to the fucking slave!’

  “All right, all right, you guys,” Nick said. “Less talking, more screaming.” His hands hovered over Pedro’s taut brown belly. “I think I might start right here.”

  “NO! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TICKLE ME! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE A TONGUE-CLEANING, THAT’S ALL!”

  “Christ, another yeller,” Nick said.

  “You get the belly, I’ll get his feet.” Raul said.

  “No sooner said.”

/>   “AAAAAHHH NO NO NO NO DON’T DO THIS TO ME, YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! AAAAHHH HELP ME, GOD HELP ME!”

  Nick had no mercy on Pedro as he worked from his belly to his groin and then up to his neck. Raul broke a fresh sweat as he labored over his brother’s soles. Drake could only stare, fascinated, while Pedro strained and thrust against his bonds so hard that the table actually moved a fraction of an inch. In his own worst agonies Drake hadn’t budged the table at all.

  When the ticklers stopped for a few seconds the sound of Pedro’s heaving breath filled the room.

  “I should explain,” Nick said. “You’re right, it was supposed to be a tongue bath, by my slave, and if he tickled you then he would be punished. But then, damned if the slave didn’t change the rules. Remember?” Nick bent over and began blowing razzberries against Pedro’s stomach, with devastating results.

  Pedro raised his head as far as he could, searched the room till his wild eyes found Drake. “YOU FUCKING SLAVE, I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU BEFORE I KILL THESE FUCKS, I’LL GRIND YOU UP AND FEED YOU TO THEM . . .”

  Scared as he was, Drake had to acknowledge that Nick was a shrewd bastard. He had initiated the savage tickling of Pedro and succeeded in blaming Drake for it. As a result Raul and Pedro, when they noticed him at all, both glared at him as if they couldn’t wait to tickle him to death, then back to life, and then to death again.

  While Nick began to pry at Pedro’s ribs, driving him to wordless, high-pitched screams, Raul retreated to a corner of the Torture Chamber and returned with something held behind his back.

  “Hey, little bro, I’ve got something for you.”

  Nick relented enough for Pedro to at least form words again. “YOU SOFT PRICK OF A BROTHER, YOU BASTARD, MAKE HIM STOP! DON’T JUST STAND THERE WHILE HE’S KILLING ME!”