Logan, wearing only a white jock strap, crawled within the safety of a moist, green bush, his icy blue eyes outlined by shadow.
Thick mist hid the depths of The Forest surrounding the groups prison; everything here felt so achievable yet so impossible at the same time …
Crunch.
Logan felt his eyelashes flutter as he kept his face forwards.
From behind him, Sebastian crept closer with both bare feet.
Naked, muscular, glistening with sweat and with only undeniable caution dressed upon him, Sebastian took careful steps over wet grass until he arrived beside the bush, acutely aware of Logan’s presence.
Metres in front of them stood a narrow tree trunk sliced in half …
Strapped and locked to its middle was a black electronic box labelled ‘ticklee tracking device no. 32’.
Below the label, a green light beeped for every second.
Beep … Beep … Beep …
Sebastian reluctantly looked towards Logan, the intensity of his burrowed gaze not asking, instead, telling …
‘… It’s a trap.’
Quickly, Logan shook his head.
Sebastian smirked, his response to Logan’s act arriving in an exceptionally quiet whisper.
“How about you go first …”
Logan gestured into The Forest.
“Kit ran right past it,” he tutted and rolled his eyes, “Listen, I’m just trying to take a leak …” he began to pull down the waistband of his jock strap, knowing full well Sebastian would intervene.
“Save it,” Sebastian urged, just as the waistband arrived at the start of Logan’s manhood.
He then began to circle around the device in a barely there creep …
He placed his left foot forwards, the damp leaves beneath his sole making no noise under his heavy weight.
He then placed his right foot forwards, a gentle ‘click’ announcing to both he and Logan that something had gone wrong …
A thin length of green rope revealed itself from beneath the leaves and snatched hold of Sebastian’s right ankle.
Whip!
Within seconds, Sebastian was hurtled into the air, the rope tugging at an extending branch of tree fifteen foot above …
His body dangled upside down in a frustrated twist, his cock and balls hanging over his navel as his left leg spun and kicked; he growled and huffed as he watched Logan sprint into the foggy distance, his narrowed eyes landing on Logan’s butt cheeks as they wobbled with every leap, their milky, perky shape contained within a the tightness of the jock strap.
“—You bastard!—” Sebastian roared.
Pip! Pip! Pip!
Logan’s head ducked as feathered tranquilizer darts whizzed past him, impaling nearby tree trunks, his prance into the distance clumsy and graceless.
Justin had escaped the furthest - he almost reached the middle of The Forest, if it had not of been for the trap he had just run across …
The sturdy looking ground turned limp, forcing Justin to fall through the earth where he landed six feet under in a pit made of rotting pigeon feathers and soggy mud, a wooden hatch now automatically crashing above him where it concealed his escape.
“Fuck you!—”, Justin scrambled to his feet, “—Assholes!—”, wearing only boxer shorts and socks now stained with nature, he tried to jump up in an attempt to at least climb out of his predicament …
Three and a half minutes after thinking the unachievable was achievable, each House of White Feathers contestant realised the true extent of their imprisonment.
Joshua and Kit willingly held up their hands in confident surrender, giving themselves in to the many Masked Henchman travelling by motorbike with dart gun in hand; after all, they both saw their time held at the giant mansion as a vacation filled with promise and opportunity …
Tom, keen to run away like he always had done, fell victim to his own form of entrapment - this time, a net arriving from beneath a clump of leaves swooped around his nude form and catapulted him into the air, twisting him into a tight spin where he dangled breathless, defeated and soaked in dirt and perspiration.
“Bollocks!” He growled.
Ross, always happy to go along with what everyone else thought was best, had almost made it through the woodland without experiencing a trap, until a tranquilizer dart arrived like a wasp sting into his left butt cheek.
Pip!
He winced and slid to a stop, turning over his shoulder where he assessed the dart and its confident wedge into his behind.
“My ass!”
His eyes then rolled to the back of his head, where he fell into a drop of unconsciousness, his lean figure landing face down with a thud.
Several Masked Henchmen on motorbikes then arrived around Ross, where their gloved hands bound his ankles and wrists with steel cuffs, their grip lifting him from the muddy ground.
Elsewhere, a determined yet shakey Logan slipped over slime and sewage as he reached a nearby stream - he began to cackle in delirious joy as he felt the size of The Mansion behind decrease in size, the sound of motorbike revving no longer threatening …
Is it this easy? He thought, can I really just—
—Pip!
A tranquilizer dart landed in his left shoulder, causing Logan’s eyes to bulge into saucepans, his spine shifting into a stiff line, where he then landed in the stream in the form of a dramatic splash.
Timothée’s slim shadow blanketed Logan’s now sleeping body.
He crouched beside his fellow contestant, wearing nothing but a cap, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since staying here …" he nudged Logan onto his side so that he didn’t face the water—
—Pip!
Tim bit his upper lip and grunted as a dart arrived into the side of his neck.
“—It’s that you guys …” he became drowsy instantly, “… Never … Listen …”
Tim passed out and landed over Logan in a floppy slump, just in time for two Masked Henchmen to arrive around them both, each holding a ball gag and a set of restraints.
One of The Masked Henchmen held a walkie talkie to the lower half of his mask.
“All ticklee’s captured. Where do you want them, over …”
Static, and then a reply.
“Bring them home,” Miller said.
The Mansion, Day II
Inside The Mansions main living room, in a soldier-esque row, stood all eight contestants of The Games.
Roaring flames danced in the fireplace, the heat from their twirl warming their mud stained flesh after a morning dedicated to a brief escape.
They were all naked, and those who were not during their capture had now been stripped.
Above them, wired to the corner of the luxury living room, dangled a wide screen TV that currently hung with a looming weight, its power switched off.
At the far left of the row, dressed all too snugly in a navy jacket, merino scarf, expensive jeans with a dog lead in his right hand, stood Miller.
Attached to the dog lead was a belted harness - that harness sat tightly strapped and locked around the thick, bulging torso of a famous yet unknown-to-the-group individual who had been forced to wear a puppy dog mask made up of black leather, a photo realistic snout and thick, pointy ears.
The Puppy knelt on all fours, sporting a pair stone coloured cargo pants that complemented his tight behind. Poking out from a rip in his cargo pants was a plastic tail which was actually a vibrator that had been consensually wedged between the strangers buttocks, through the cotton of his trousers.
A circle of five Masked Henchman wielding dart guns protected Miller as he took a step towards the two individuals at the start of the row, Tickle 000 and Ticklee 001: aka, Tom Holland and Ross Lynch …
“The boy with the biggest weakness … “ Miller purred as he used his free hand to faintly nudge his knuckles against Tom’s chin, “… And the boy with the weakest brain …” he then pinched Ross’s left nipple in a playful tweak …
Tom twisted his head away, “Piss off!—”, he grumbled.
Ross winced and jumped back, squealing out a distressed, “Hey!—” as he protected his nipples with his palms.
Such a vigorous movement caused all Masked Henchman behind Miller to aim their dart guns at both young men.
“—Mr. Holland, The Object, Ticklee 000 …” Miller’s calm voice helped gravitate the dart guns back towards the floor, “… The nicknames we have for you! And there’s a reason for it. Unable to cope with the flutter of a feather inside his navel, yet here that navel is, soaked in perspiration, undeniably stinky and attached to a body as fiercely ready and undeniably focused in winning as it is at running away…”
Miller petted the head of The Puppy as The Puppy eyed Tom, taking in the sight of his muscular yet slender shape, his hairless cock and balls, the dirt and mud stains over his toned abs and thighs, “… Win The Games and you, along with everyone here, is freed from us forever …”
Tom stood with his feet a little apart, his fists curling into balls, a firm nod informing Miller he understood the predicament he had chosen.
“… Lose, and you become Hypno’s plaything for the rest of your life …”
Tom wished he could contain the dread boiling in the depths of his big brown eyes as he looked from side to side, the yet to be introduced ‘Hypno’ still a mystery to the group.
Miller smoothed the left side of Tom’s face with the tips of his fingers and whispered quietly towards Tom, his hushed words providing a sincere sense of ruin and threat over the young man.
“I haven’t forgotten your little slap,” Miller warned.
Tom squeezed his eyes shut as Miller patted the right side of Tom’s face before yanking The Puppy along the carpet, as he took a step in front of Ross.
“Mr. Lynch, Ticklee 001 … Things have levelled up a notch, huh? This is more than just a silly photoshoot …” Miller scoffed, “… Win The Games and you receive five million dollars …” The Puppy panted at the mere thought of such money, “… Lose, and these …” Miller glanced down at Ross’s bare size nines, drenched in dirt with blades of grass caught between his toes, “… They become contracted as the cults plaything for five years exactly …”
Ross curled his toes into a tight scrunch and lowered his head, a strange and unexpected blush of pink forming across each cheek …
The Puppy wagged his tongue and wiggled his hips, the tail shaped vibrator wobbling as he did so, both Tom and Ross now escorted by the aim of dart gun to the opposite side of the living room.
The next two individuals in the row stepped forwards.
“My OG’s …” Miller chuckled, “… You’ve both come a heck of a long way since 2021 …”
Timothée’s smile was flat, his confirming nod firm, his pale frame clean and glowing thanks to the stream he had fallen into once captured.
“One stepped into this world by choice,” Miller glanced at Tim and then to Justin, “One stepped into this world without a choice …”
Justin rubbed his mud stained palms together and paced behind Tim, his eyes always avoiding The Puppy yet never leaving Miller.
“Yet you’re both here with the same intention,” Miller whispered, “To win.”
Miller stood inches away from Tim’s face, “Ticklee 002 …” he had to see him close up, after all, he had dreamt of this moment, “… Win The Games and The Founders of The House of White Feathers, Mr. Hammer included, never touch you again …” Miller assessed Tim’s handsome features, his shorter hair, his faint moustache above his lip, “… Lose The Games and you become my slave for the rest of your life. No career, no Academy Awards, no fancy clothes …” he sighed as if it were a chore to announce the next part, “… And you can see your beloved Mr. Hammer twice a week … ”
Tim’s smile remained, his still and straightened spine stayed in its line - he did not respond verbally, all he did was receive and understand Miller’s words, keen to keep his time with Miller’s brother as a well kept secret.
Before Miller stepped towards Justin, he offered Tim three random and unexpected words:
“… Pocket watch … Bathroom … New York …”
Tim’s forced smile stiffened into a perplexed twist as Miller let those words land in his mind, whilst moving towards Justin.
“Come here, Ticklee 003 …” Miller tightened his grip on the leash connected to The Puppy, who continued to wag his ‘tail’ and lick his lips as Justin took a careful approach towards Miller.
“What, dickhead,” Justin folded his arms across his tattooed chest.
Miller, unoffended by Justin’s choice of language, peered towards the fireplace; above it, framed by expensive wood and panelled by clean glass was something that symbolised Justin’s past, as well as his potential future …
Justin followed Miller’s gaze and then found himself gulping.
“… Win, and you never hear from us again. Lose, and you become The Clown …”
Justin stepped back, trailing his tongue over the roof of his mouth as he allowed Miller to have his dominant moment.
In an attempt to take the attention away from himself, he nudged the side of Tim’s neck with his knuckles and simply asked:
“Who the fuck is Mr. Hammer?—”
“My boys!” Miller cheered, now nearing the end of the row, “The two of you are the only ones who actually want to be here!”
Kit had no control on when he would blush or feel overwhelmed, but after the events of this morning he found himself standing in an assertive position, his shoulders pushed back, his lips lifting into a slight smirk as spots of mud proudly presented themselves on his large, pale chest.
“Well, there er, there wasn’t anything about tranquilizer guns or ball gags in the paperwork I signed,” a bewildered Kit felt Joshua arrive closer behind him, “Can I give my agent a ring? An, and can we get our clothes back? And can I—”
—Joshua took front and centre stage, using a tablecloth to try to hide the nakedness of his own cock and balls, “He sure asks a lot of questions, right! Don’t listen to him. We’re all in it for a good time …” he reassured, his tanned skin glowing, his smile practically beaming.
Miller tightened his hold on The Puppy’s leash and drew his attention to Kit, “ … Ticklee 004, if you win The Games you receive ten million dollars, in cash …” he then tucked his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Tickle Fest 2026 leaflet, “… If you lose, you’re publically tickled at this event, as the star guest …” Miller shot a playful scowl at Tim, his eyes arriving at Tim’s limp, dangling dick, “… And if you require any advice on how to handle something like that, touch base with Willy Wonka over there …”
Kit took the leaflet, worried eyes peering down at something he felt beyond determined to avoid; the world knowing he was involved with all this …
Joshua bounced on his toes, his eager stance silently shouting out loud, ‘me next, me next!’
Miller allowed Kit to walk past him, the Tickle Fest 2026 leaflet crumping in his hand, where he then joined the others.
“Can you believe this is the first time we’ve met, Ticklee 005?” Miller noted, “My ex husband adores you,” he ran his tongue across the tips of his teeth as he took in the golden beam of Joshua’s flesh, his bushy eyebrows, the positivity gleaming from almost every muscle in his body, “I can sure see why …”
Joshua smiled and bowed, “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Miller remained polite, approachable, quiet for just a moment, before dropping an exceptionally powerful prompt of who was in charge.
“… If you lose The Games, you never see Peter again …”
Joshua’s bounce slowed down into a subtle stand as his animated enthusiasm was reminded of the whole purpose of this: handling a dire ultimatum.
“… If you win, you see him whenever you want and all of your future tours are financially funded by us …”
As Joshua made his way towards the others, he scratched the back of his head and reassured himself that it would all be okay.
After all, he thought, I did everything he said …
“If Kit and Bassett represent what it feels like to want to be here, you both represent a pure disgust at staying here for more than a single minute …” Miller watched the end of the contestant row appear before him as Logan and Sebastian stood with their arms folded across their chests, no other individuals to the left of them, no other individuals to the right of them …
“Get on with it,” Sebastian ordered, his verbal approach to Miller no different to how he would handle someone who meant absolutely nothing to him.
Miller pursed his lips, “Polite as ever, Ticklee 007 …” he allowed The Puppy to circle Sebastian, his plastic snout sniffing around Sebastian’s calves and ankles, “… Win The Games and you’re free from The House of White Feathers for the rest of your life, lose them and you must take part in bi-weekly torment sessions with the one and only … “ Miller could not help but allow his elated smile to lift into a sinister grin, “… Evans …”
Sebastian took a step towards Miller, so that they now stood toe to toe.
He unfolded his arms and lowered his head.
He walked away, allowing a moment of quiet to follow him, until he decided to spin around and punch Miller directly in the face.
THWACK!
Miller hurtled across the living room and landed on the dining table with such a crash that the table shattered in two, sending Miller through panels of broken wood and flat onto the carpet flooring.
THUD!
“Holy shit!” Justin gawped.
All contestants widened their eyes as Logan cupped his mouth, The Masked Henchmen now all aiming their dart guns directly at Sebastian, who stood seething, teeth clenched, his tall stance overshadowing Miller whilst The Puppy whined and cowered behind Tom’s legs.
“I’ll watch you go down,” Sebastian pointed at Miller, his index finger aimed directly at Miller’s mouth, “And when I do, I’ll fucking smile.”
Miller wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he adjusted his jacket.
“Oh, I see, he’s putting his Avengers hat on …” blood stained his hand - a visual that gave Miller enough energy to stand up straight, his simple nod towards one of The Masked Henchmen informing him of what to do.
Sebastian fell to his knees as The Masked Henchmen kicked into the back of his calves.
“Gah!”
Now Miller’s shadow blanketed Sebastian.
“Crawl to the others,” Miller ordered.
Sebastian, now kneeling before Miller, refrained from doing as he was told.
“Suck my cock …” Sebastian hissed.
A Masked Henchmen pressed the barrel of his dart gun against Sebastian’s neck, which pumped with life and a need to fight back.
Miller stepped closer, his bulge arriving inches opposite Sebastian’s face.
“… Crawl to the others …” he repeated.
Sebastian looked over at Logan, who avoided his eye contact by turning to look out the living room window.
Sebastian then looked towards the only other person he felt he could trust, a person he had at least made small talk with on the set of a few Marvel movies in the past …
Tom’s eyes looked at Sebastian with a determined glare, his big brown eyes saying ‘we have all the time in the world to break the rules’.
Reluctantly, Sebastian ‘crawled’ to the others on all fours and then arrived beside Tom, where he stood and stepped back, his face saturated in fury,
Logan stood alone as the final contestant to be addressed.
Miller picked up The Puppy’s leash and tugged him closer, “Well, wasn’t that delightful. I don’t think he likes me …” he then tilted his head, his perverse gaze unable to stop checking out Logan’s butt cheeks within the jockstrap he had been forced to wear, “I don’t think he likes you either, Logan. You both had a falling out? I like it when my boys get along …” Miller’s face was now smeared with drying blood from his nose.
The Puppy wagged his tongue and bought his plastic whiskers close to Logan’s buttocks in the form of a curious sniff, forcing the thirty two year old to leap a little to the left.
“Jesus, come on!—” Logan gestured to the rest of the group, “This is literally insane …”
Miller unclipped the leash attached to The Puppy’s harness, allowing The Puppy to gallop around the living room, hurtle over the cushions and the sofas, his muscular frame choosing to bound outside the open front door.
“… Ticklee 006, win, and we never see you again …” Miller flung the leash over his own shoulder, mirroring Logan’s posture by choosing to also fold his arms across his chest, “… Lose, and you’ll be forced to be someone’s plaything twice a week … A person I know you don’t like …”
Logan felt his teeth clench so hard they could break.
“… Brad …” he snarled with his mouth shut.
Miller scoffed, “Please! Refer to him by his full name. Our Founders must be treated with respect …” he then took a napkin from a Masked Henchmen.
Logan relaxed his jaw and shot a frustrated look into the chandelier above.
“… Brad Pitt …” he mumbled quietly.
Miller wiped the blood from beneath his nose and handed The Masked Henchmen the napkin.
“There’s a good boy,” he purred, ”Now, go join the others, we all need to have a … Little chat …”
The Puppy ripped his mask away from his face and dropped it onto the gravel driveway.
Henry Cavill shook his head and tucked his hands into his cargo pants, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
A Masked Henchmen holding a yellow plastic bucket, strolled past Henry as if he were not there, where he headed to The Mansions main entrance.
“Afternoon,” Henry waved at The Masked Henchmen with a smile, lighting a cigarette soon after, allowing it to bob at his lips as he took in the greenery around him, “The boss gave me a break, don’t tell him I’m uh, slacking or, or anything …”
The Masked Henchmen did not respond; instead, his simplistic, plastic facial features remained fixed and expressionless as he carried the yellow bucket inside the property, his leather boots crushing stone, his black hood and billowing cape only recently dry cleaned.
Henry shrugged, sucking on the cigarette whilst sitting up eagerly.
“Good luck, lads,” he held the smoke at the back of his throat as his thick eyelashes dropped to a satisfied close, “You’re gonna need it …”
Back inside The Mansion, Miller pressed the fingertips of his right hand against Timothée’s chest, allowing the twenty nine year old to fall back into an oversized armchair with a playful bounce.
“Explain the escape,” Miller took a step back as the other contestants remained in a wide row beneath the TV wired into the corner of the living room ceiling, “And do it quickly,” Miller eyed the ticking grandfather clock, “We have a lot to get through …”
The room fell silent as Timothée sat forwards, only the crackle of the fireplace and the footsteps of The Masked Henchmen with the bucket being the only noise to fill the now rather warm living room.
“The escape was … a game in itself,” Timothée declared carefully, “There were too many unlocked windows, too many open doors, it was suddenly …” he raised his shoulders and narrowed his eyes, the green trees outside reflecting in the greens of his eyes as he watched Henry puff on dying cigarette, “… Easy. Too easy …” Timothée saw the armchair as his own, he slouched deep within it, the velvet working as a comforting sensation around his bare buttocks and hairless balls, “… Before we knew it, you were given the opportunity … No, a … Presentation … To see how we work as a team.”
Miller stroked his chin and looked at one of The Masked Henchmen, still aiming a dart gun at Sebastian, “Can you believe it? See, this is a perfect example of brains meets beauty …” he watched The Masked Henchman carry the yellow bucket across the living room, where he offered Miller a respectful bow of the head, “… Tim isn’t fucking around. And neither are we. Not anymore.”
The Masked Henchman tilted the bucket towards the contestants.
Inside were their iPhones which included frantic missed calls from Armie Hammer, Hailey Bieber, Andrew Garfield, as well as voicemails and texts from families, friends, band mates and managers …
The Masked Henchman then walked towards the fireplace and tipped the bucket of iPhones into the flames.
Whooooosh!
Tim forced himself still and clenched his teeth as his face glowed orange, the height of the flames increasing as the heat begun to melt each device.
Kit took a stern step forwards, “—What are you doing!—”, his right palm landing over Miller’s shoulder, “I, I thought you were a nice guy …”
Tom took hold of Kit’s waist with both hands and gently pulled him back in line.
“You’ve fallen for it, mate …” he whispered, “… The bloke’s a total wanker …”
Kit lowered his head as the fireplace became the destroyer of their connection to the outside world; their past, what they knew as safe, the people they could rely on …
Now, they were more that just stranded - they had completely disappeared.
“Feels weird, right?” Miller removed his scarf and jacket, “One minute you’re famous, papped daily, recording albums or reading scripts, waited on hand and foot, adored by millions,” he now stood in a simple shirt, “The next you’re just … A group of complete and utter bitches …” Miller clicked his fingers, “… Speaking of bitches …”
Two large wooden oak doors at the opposite end of the living room boomed open.
Peter strolled inside, wearing a casual linen suit and loafers.
He arrived beside Miller and placed his hands behind his back as Joshua bit his lower lip, looking at Peter with mischievousness in his eyes, even if Peter did not make a single effort to glance over at Joshua.
“We know,” Miller paced from one end of the line to the other as Peter remained still, “We know all about your little mission, to steal back one of your phones …” as Miller addressed the contestants, the iPhones in the fire melted and fused, “… Because of this strapping, yellow haired, blue eyed stud …” he thumbed over his shoulder, directing the accusation to Peter.
Peter took an important step forwards, dropped down to his knees, lowered his head and closed his eyes.
“Oh dominance, I kneel here honestly before you, proving to you and our followers,” Peter whispered quickly, urgently, he sounded panicked and forbidding, “That my emotional dedication is loyal to the cult …”
Joshua watched Peter declare allegiance as if he were a different person, someone Joshua had never met.
“… Loyal to the cult only … ” Peter confirmed, his eyes opening, his endorsing glare aimed directly at Miller, “… And no one else.”
Joshua shook his head as he stood betrayed and ashamed.
“It, it wasn’t like that …” Joshua became bombarded by memories of the past two nights, the past two months, the past two years, “… I … I …” he could still feel the tightness of the leather cuffs around each wrist, each ankle, the heave of his chest as he lay naked and tormented over the damp silk sheets of Peter’s bed …
He could still taste Peter’s tongue, each kiss and peck across each nipple, he could still acknowledge the throb of Peter’s all too large thickness inside of him, he could still savour the satisfaction that came with knowing how much their relationship had grown since they first met …
“I’d just need my phone, no one else’s …” Joshua lay exhausted on Peter’s sofa as Peter made them both cups of coffee, “… I gotta call someone, anyone, I gotta let them at least know where I am …”
Peter had been stirring the teaspoon within Joshua’s coffee cup with faith and reliance …
… Until the teaspoon refused to stir anymore.
Joshua barged past Kit, Tom, Ross …
“I was pushed into asking! These guys made me do it! Tim, Logan, Seb!” He revealed, his voice loud, he needed to be heard, “I, I love being here I …” he looked at Peter, still knelt on the carpet, “… I love what you … What we …” he felt his eyes sting, “… Please, don’t punish everyone else for what I—”
—Justin grabbed Joshua’s arm and yanked him back in line, hissing into the young singer’s neck.
“Don’t be such a damn pussy, Bassett!” He warned.
A huge wave of quiet filled the living room as the fireplaces flames continued to turn the iPhone’s into glistening puddles and exposed wires.
Peter stood and adjusted his jacket, the micro movement a strong enough example of reasserting himself - he then cleared his throat and returned to Miller’s side.
All eight individuals continued to stand patiently, with only Tim seated in the middle.
“Call down, curls. Not everyone in being punished,” Miller revealed, “Only one person will be chosen to pay. They will face the next game …” he got a thrill from the tense tranquility vibrating around him, the widening eyes of each contestant standing opposite, “… And they will be taken in the night.”
Logan shot a troubled look at Sebastian, who he expected to return such a dubious gaze - only a few seconds into his reach for support did he realise, quite simply, that they no longer had that trusted ability to communicate with just expression …
Logan felt alone, secluded and distressed as the other young men surrounding him had no choice but to wonder who would be chosen once sleep had caught up with them.
Miller turned to face the large widescreen television set pinned to the corner of the ceiling, “T.K …” he spoke to nothing, “… Please share an update of The Games’ Leaderboard … “
The TV switched on, a polite, British accent arriving from hidden speakers wedged into the living room as the world’s first A.I Tickler made himself present.
“Good morning, contestants! This is the current Leaderboard …”
On the TV screen a bright yellow background with each contestants head and their current points presented itself; almost everyone besides Tom had one thousand points thanks to tasks played before Tom had arrived, with Justin boasting two thousand five hundred points.
“The goal is 500,000 points!”
Sebastian went to step forwards, but the dart gun aimed at his neck made him stand still, “We know this already!” He clenched his fists.
Tom found himself crouching behind the others as he not only heard T.K’s voice for the first time since his game in the underground London dungeon, but he saw the voice ‘personified’ for the first time as a black orb besides the contestants names on the screen - he did not care if his points sat at zero, all he wanted, right here and right now, was to hide …
“After the events of this morning …” Miller placed his hands on his hips, “… I think it’s best that we start over … What do you say to that, T.K?”
“I completely agree, sir …”
The black orb on the screen flashed as it spoke.
“Readjusting all contestants points to zero! …”
Justin jumped to his tip toes.
“What the fuck, man!” He looked at Miller with a face that suggested betrayal, “I thought we—”
Miller smiled at Justin and placed an index finger over his own lips, hushing the pop star.
As all seven other contestants allowed their jaws to drop, Ross could not help but wince.
“At least now we’re all equal …” he shrugged and attempted to smile at the group, “… Right?”
The Living Quarters
What followed menace, was affection.
After eight boxes of Pizza Hut, boiling hot showers were provided to all contestants.
Once filled with food and clean of The Forest, all ticklee’s readied themselves for sleep inside the seclusion that made up their living quarters.
The Living Quarters consisted of eight individual single beds within a large, poorly furnished and undecorated room.
At one end of The Living Quarters was a locked door guarded by two Masked Henchmen, leading towards the rest of The Mansion … At the other end was a barred window without a curtain that led towards The Forest outside.
Beneath the window and nailed newly to the wall was T.K, who continued to take the form of a black glass orb that would only flash, flicker and speak when updating the group on any important directives.
Tom’s bed had been positioned closest to T.K, a situation in itself that he found highly uncomfortable to handle.
As the others squabbled amongst themselves, dried freshly washed hair with cheap towels or sent looks of sinister suspicion in various directions, Tim decided to perch on the end of Tom’s bed.
“Hey,” he offered Tom a faint smile.
Tim sat in boxer shorts whilst Tom lay in a pair of jeans with his hands tucked behind his head.
“Hi, mate,” Tom sighed.
Tim glanced at the group, “I noticed they’re keeping us together all the time,” he watched Justin whip a towel at Kit’s ass, he watched Sebastian clean his ears in the bathroom mirror, he watched Ross quiz Joshua about his career, “The only time we get by ourselves is when we’re forced to …” Tim eyed T.K’s orb-like shape, mere inches away from Tom’s feet, “… When we have to deal with them …”
Tom could no longer look at a switched off T.K, instead he sat up and joined Tim on the edge of the bed where they both sat firmly side by side.
“I’ll be chosen tonight,” Tom’s announcement sounded sure, “I’m their favourite. They’re ‘object’. The things they … It … Did to me in that first game … What they did to me the last time I stayed in Sweden, I was a bloody evaluation, mate … ” Tom hid his face with his palms and sighed into them, “… I should never of slapped him. I should never of gone on the run, I should never had—”
—Tim placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder, “We’re all favourites, bud. That’s why we’re here …” he gave it a squeeze, “… However, I’d be lying if I said you didn’t have to focus more than everyone else. You win? We’re all out of this, for the rest of our fucking lives.”
Tom spoke into his palms, “No pressure, then …”
Tim’s hand slid off Tom’s shoulder - he then shuffled up closer by his side.
“You’ve already handled hell, man. We saw you. Your game. We watched the whole thing,” he whispered, “From in here, on that,” he nodded to a widescreen TV hanging in the corner of The Living Quarters, currently switched off, “We didn’t think it was real, we thought some of the stuff was CGI, like it was a joke …” he clenched his teeth, “… It’s wild to think that only happened a day ago …”
Tom’s palms slid away from his face, his eyes unintentionally landing on Justin, who now sat slouched and cross legged on his own bed in fresh boxer shorts, socks and sliders.
“It’s … Only been a day?” Tom appeared perplexed.
Justin caught Tom’s eye and then gave him both middle fingers.
Tom raised his eyebrows and then shuffled into his bed.
“Tim, mate …” he tucked his legs under the sheets and rested his head on the pillow, “… I can trust you, right? We go way back, we—”
—Tim stood and then knelt at Tom’s face.
He leaned in and gave him a hug, his lips arriving at Tom’s left ear.
“Trust no one,” he whispered.
As he stood, leaving Tom blinking in startlement, Tim watched Sebastian shove Logan across the room where he landed against the locked door with a smack.
“—Oof!—”
Justin fist pumped the air, “An ass whoopin’, finally!”
Logan almost fell to his feet but quickly stood before Sebastian decided to lunge at him.
“You’re the one who got me caught, you little shit!” Sebastian missed as Logan ducked and jumped around Sebastian’s muscular, extending arms, scampering behind Kit and his own neatly made bed, “Come here, you fuck!”
“There he goes!” Logan was a little shorter than Kit, he had to peer over the younger contestants shoulders to catch a glimpse of the giant he had angered, “Blaming his failure on someone else, again!—”
Sebastian curled his fists into balls and took several threatening steps closer to Kit and Logan, in the form of thundering stomps.
“You’re a fuck bag, Lerman,” he pointed a stiff index finger towards Logan, “Out of everyone here you’re the last person we should rely on,” his hands dropped to his sides in defeat, “What a fucking contrast. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
Tim held the hem of Sebastian’s vest and pulled him away, “Lay down, man. This shit is tough enough as it is …”
Logan narrowed his eyes at Tim as the CCTV cameras wired into the ceiling of the Living Quarters continued to film the contestants behavior.
Several floors above, within a darkened office outlined by dozens of screens filming each individual within the group, Miller and Peter observed the footage from a stool each, whilst John watched on within the confines of his wheelchair.
“Sebastian is a fiesty one,” Miller sniffed and checked his nose again, thankfully it wasn’t broken, “Ross is surprisingly quiet,” he crossed his leg at the knee and lit a cigarette, “Kit seems out of his depth, which I like.”
Peter leaned forwards and narrowed his eyes at Joshua’s screen.
“I’ve upset him,” he murmured, “I can see it. He thinks this’ll be … Fun.”
Miller smacked Peter’s back and chortled in entertainment, “It is fun, cowboy!” He sat back and grinned, “Where’s the popcorn?”
John allowed a Masked Henchman to arrive beside his wheelchair, where he gently poured him a shot of ice cold vodka.
“This world we’ve created,” John moved the tiny glass beneath quivering lips, “It’s a fine place and worth fighting for …” he down the shot and then wiped his mouth with long, wrinkled fingers.
Miller turned his face away from the screens and offered John an empathetic look.
“… I agree with the second part,” John said.
Tim slept on one side of his bed, the other side empty. This time last year Armie would’ve embraced him from behind on top of a mattress in an apartment in New York. Here, there was nothing but creased bed sheets.
Tom had awoke several times in panic, his gasps directed at T.K nailed into the wall. After around 2 am he slept soundly, the exhaustion from the past forty eight hours overwhelming him entirely.
Ross declined the bed for the second night in a row; he preferred to gather the cushions and pillows into a organised bundle on the floor between his bed and Kit’s.
Kit’s feet dangled off the edge of the mattress, he was far too tall and mighty for the bed size provided - he snored, but never too loudly.
Joshua had tossed and turned, his mind attached to Peter - only after midnight did he find himself forgetting everything they had done together, memories of nightly meet-ups now exchanged for the simplicity of rest.
Justin did not want to be a part of the group, not just yet. If he slept in the same area as them, it suggested he trusted them, he was able to relax with them …
Instead, he slept in the bathtub.
Logan had finally dozed off, his weight resting into a tranquill recline until he felt the sudden heavy weight of another individual landing over his waist.
Logan’s attempt to sit up was stopped by a sudden palm landing over his mouth.
“—Mmmph!—”
Logan went to punch, however his wrists were manhandled above his head by a stronger hand.
Logan hissed and dribbled into the skin pressing down over his lips, his blue eyes glistening in the moonlight as he scowled at the person straddling him.
Henry tightened his thick thighs around Logan’s narrow hips and leaned in close to Logan’s shimmering face, Henry’s giant shape and bulging exterior working as an almighty trap over Logan’s far smaller size.
“I was given a calling card, many years ago …” Henry was still dressed in his leather harness and tight cargo pants, his breath reeked of cigarettes as he whispered, “… The things I would give to turn back time, to just pocket the damn thing and not throw it away … ”
Logan kicked his feet, his calves smacking down over his bed in a frightened bounce.
Henry tightened his palm over Logan’s mouth, he gripped all five of his fingers around Logan’s wrists in a firmer hold …
Logan’s feet slid into a still stretch.
“The shit they’ve made me do since then, the masks I’ve worn … Believe me when I say,” Henry revealed, speaking so quietly that only Logan would be able to hear him, “… They only make it easier if you do as you’re told … Do you get what I’m saying?”
Logan nodded quickly, unblinking, his eyes watering.
Henry tilted his head.
“Are you going to be a good boy?”
Logan nodded again.
Carefully, Henry slid his palm away from Logan’s lips.
Logan gulped.
“It’s, it’s me, isn’t it?” Logan wished he had not sounded so petrified, “I’m gonna get punished, aren’t I …”
Henry sniggered.
The Living Quarters cell door clicked open.
Carefully, whilst everyone continued to sleep, it creaked outward and revealed two Masked Henchmen.
Henry swung his legs off of Logan but kept his hands on his neck and wrists.
Once Henry stood firmly over the tiled floor he helped Logan into a stand.
Logan wore a hoodie, sweatpants, a pair of briefs and white tube socks, all for protection, like he had worn to bed the previous night, like he would no doubt wear to bed tomorrow night, and the night after …
Henry positioned Logan’s hands behind his back and then marched him towards The Living Quarters door, where he joined the two Masked Henchmen in escorting Logan towards the next game …
… Whilst Sebastian lay in silence, watching the event take place with a smile.
The Room
The Room is a large scale space located within The Mansion. Its internal aesthetic and decor changes each game, to match the theme of The Game that takes place inside The Room …
The door to The Room is made of black wood and the handle of the door consists of an extending metal hand. The contestant must hold onto the hand to open the door to The Room.
This symbolises the Ticklee and their connection with ‘touch’. The hand represents each stroke, each poke, each violating grab. The contestant has no choice but to hold the hand, to grasp it, to face it head on.
Logan’s shaking hand took hold of the metal handle, as the door pulled him gently inward …
Logan closed The Room’s door behind him, its heavy weight echoing into the large expanse of mystery he had just stepped into.
Slowly, he turned around to face three hooded Masked Henchmen surrounded by walls and a floor made up of hundreds of printed photos of a hand pointing an accusatory index finger at him.
Around The Masked Henchmen’s necks hung silver necklaces with a feather attached.
Logan felt his eyes water, the palms of his hands felt wet …
Behind The Masked Henchmen stood a red reclining and armless silk chair with lengths of white rope attached to its beneath - next to that: a silver trolly on wheels with a dinner tray on its surface, the contents of the tray currently concealed by a black cloth.
Logan smiled politely, cleared his throat and then turned around.
He took a firm grip over The Room’s door handle, his fleshy warm hold curling around the cold steel hand, where he yanked once, twice, three times …
… But the door did not budge.
Logan pressed his lips together and picked up a sweat.
He tried again, this time harder.
Once,
Twice,
Three times …
Yank! Yank! Yank!
He wiped some perspiration away from the side of his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“We’re … Really doing this, aren’t we …” Logan sounded firm but petrified, aware yet oblivious, angry yet still content with what would take place over the next however many hours, “… This is just tickling. Porn is wasted on these people—”, he whispered into his chest, “—Christ …—”
As he turned around, he jolted at the sight of a singular Masked Henchman now inches opposite him, Logan’s words of desperation working as delightful music to the hooded captors ears.
“Come this way, Ticklee 006 …”
Logan shook his head quickly.
“Oh? Uh, it’s alright. You’re uh, you’re good,” he croaked nervously, “We’re, we’re good! Hey! I’m okay to go back to bed,” he faked a yawn, “Uh! So tired … Not feeling ticklish at all …” his back pressed up against The Room’s door, “… This isn’t real, th, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real, this isn’t happening, th, this isn’t real, this isn’t happening …”
The Masked Henchman did not need to ask for support.
Within a few seconds, a secondary Masked Henchman made his way from the red recliner to Logan.
“I’ll piss my pants, you know that, right?” Logan felt gloved, leather hands curl around each bicep, “That’s a lot for you guys to clean up, don’t you wanna save yourself the job? …” he nodded quickly, beyond sure that he had talked his way out of this, “… Shit! You guys are like, strong strong …”
Logan tried to run, he tried to kick, he tried to pull himself away, but his socked feet did nothing but slip and slide across a floor made up of printed and pointing fingers as he grunted and groaned, his 5’9 height taken closer towards the red recline …
“This is your task, this is your punishment …” one of The Masked Henchmen declared, “… If you or the group attempt to escape again, only you will pay, just like you will pay now …”
Suddenly, The Masked Henchmen let Logan go.
He stood quietly by the red recliner blinking, his hands adjusting his hoodie, his breath pantish and worried.
“Undress to your underwear,” one of The Masked Henchman ordered, “Or, we tear the clothes off you. One garment at a time.”
Logan took a step back, his calves pressing against the base of the red recliner.
“Or, you uh, you could pick someone else?” Logan clicked his fingers, “The Heartstopper guy! He seems into it, or, or the religious guy, the uh,” he clicked his fingers again, — click! click! click! —, “He was in High School Musical … Joshua!—”
“—A stripping it is …” all three Masked Henchmen began to approach Logan, their gloved touch clawed and ready, but before they could fully take hold of him he quickly held his hands up and raised his voice.
“Alright, o, okay!” He whined, “Undressing, undressing …”
As The Masked Henchmen stepped back, Logan removed his hoodie from his torso and folded it into a quick pile.
He then pulled down his sweatpants, revealing a tight pair of black briefs as his underwear.
He swiftly combined the sweatpants with his hoodie and lay both items of clothing in a bundle at the corner closest to The Room’s door.
“Socks, too …” The Masked Henchman eyed Logan’s body; his slim frame, his faint sprout of chest hair, his tiny, pointed nipples and all too pretty face.
Logan sat on the edge of the red recliner and hooked his left foot over his knee, “What is it with you guys and feet …” he whipped away his sock and then did the same with his right foot, “Wait, what is it with you guys in general …” he scoffed.
Logan intended to throw the socks at his pile of clothing - they left his hand and travelled through the air - but before they could land one of The Masked Henchmen snatched them out of their flight and concealed the socks beneath his cloak.
Logan rolled his eyes and planted both bare soles firmly on the ground, his fleshy flame surrounded by the many black and white index fingers within the many photographs, all pointed directly at him.
“The task is simple,” The Masked Henchman began to approach Logan, “Refrain from ejaculation and you receive one hundred thousand points,” he knelt down and began to restrain Logan to the red recliner.
Logan chuckled, his brief moment of arrogance noted by himself and automatically transformed into a quench of agitation.
“What? Like, an actual orgasm from … From being tickled?” He shot distressed yet entertained looks towards the Masked Henchmen now gathering around him where their gloved hands began to lengthen out rope work, “Wait, this is a joke, right?”
The Room was otherwise silent besides the creak of leather and the stretch of bondage, as each Masked Henchman began to tie Logan’s calves to his thighs, looping rope around each of his ankles, binding the strands to the bottom of the recliner …
Logan pursed his lips as he watched his legs spread, his thighs now tied firmly apart - he even winced a little when that spread became wider, his arms and hands almost grabbing at The Masked Henchmen in an attempt to stop them.
“Mnn!” He began to sneer, “Hey! For real? I’m, I’m not into guys, like, not in the slightest …”
The Masked Henchmen continued as the most communicative of the three stood and made his way behind the red recliner, where he held onto Logan’s wrists and carefully took his hands behind his head.
“Give into joy, and you lose,” his voice was dark, muffled, unidentifiable, “If you lose, you receive no points and a member of your team, at random, will receive them instead,” he restrained Logan’s wrists together, pinning the rope to the back of the recliner, exposing Logan’s furry underarms whilst stretching his defined ribcage …
Logan felt his elbows brush against the sides of his hair as all three Masked Henchmen stepped away and observed their work - he waited for a ‘is that understood?’ howver he instead received nothing but silence as he was perversely eyed by the force of three Masked Henchmen that appeared no different visually to the many other Masked Henchmen littering the insides of The Mansion.
“I, I get it,” he had no idea how hard he was frowning, “Listen, you’re uh, you’re kinda wasting your time … Sure, the tickling thing? I’ll naturally give you what you want,” he lifted his shoulders in a purposefully casual shrug, “But there’s no way I’m gonna bust over—”
“—We know Evans made you cum …” The Masked Henchman shuffled closer, “… It might have just happened once, but it did still happen …”
Logan felt his entire being, his words, his attitude come screeching to an almighty stop.
“I, I uh, okay, uhm, I, I didn’t know you, uh, knew about, about th …” he was lost for words yet had so much to say, “… It took Evans like, hours to get me to that stage, have you got hours? This game shit is busy, you guys must have a lot to do! Huh? At least pick someone who gets off on this shit, huh! Why me! I didn’t even lead the escape I, I just followed everyone else, it was Chalamet who—”
—His confidence crumbled immediately; he began to growl and shout, to punch the air and leap from the recliner, his legs tied apart, the red recliner shaking and wobbling with every writhe until he was forced into a shocked stop when the blanket concealing the tickle tools on top of the metal table was swiped away …
A Masked Henchman knelt before Logan.
“Consent, and we begin,” he bowed his head.
Logan felt the weight of his task press against his chest as he thought about winning not only this game, but the entire damn thing …
Just knowing he might be free from these bastards was enough for him to whisper:
“I consent.”
Logan tried to change the shape of his legs, but no matter how hard he kicked his feet his thighs remained spread, his legs always splayed into a diamond shape, until the rope would be unknotted.
From the tray of tools, a Masked Henchman picked up an ancient looking yet deviously sharp knife.
“Be still,” The Masked Henchman warned, “The only liquid we want out of you is creamy white, not crimson …”
Logan grimaced, “Dude,” he watched the blade near his underwear, “That is so fucked up!” He could not control a tiny gasp leaving his lips as the chill of the knife made impact with the very betweens of his thighs as the tool began to slice, cut and rip away at his Calvin Kleins, “Oh man, come on, seriously? I gotta be naked? Mnn, these aren’t cheap …”
The other two Masked Henchmen supported their fellow cult member by helping to remove Logan’s underwear - as the scissors cut into the cotton, shredded material fell away from Logan’s waist and thighs, revealing intimate parts of Logan’s manhood; his plump, hairless balls, his surprisingly thick, juicy cock and his smooth taint …
He always tried to move away, he always stretched his legs inward if he could, or bent his arms over his head, but the rope that pinned him in his seated position was tied far too tight …
“Fuck,” Logan hissed, “This is so embarrassing …”
The Masked Henchmen were quick - in a matter of moments, whether Logan wanted it to happen or not, he was forced into the most bare and exposed version of himself, on top of a seat unknowingly purchased from Ikea at just thirty euros …
Logan felt smaller, his levels of intimidation growing faster than he would ever admit - he had never been exposed like this, entirely nude amongst strangers - he began to search the corners of The Room for any hidden cameras or CCTV, the last thing he would want was any of the other contestants, especially Sebastian, to see him like this …
Blinking in one of the corners of The Room was indeed a recording device - the sight of it caused Logan to shout towards it in frustration, “I hope you get off on this, you fucks!”
Logan slumped into a heap of dismay and defeat, his anguish and anxiety no longer shaping itself out in the form of yells, demands or protests, instead he simply smiled in reluctant acceptance and whispered out the words, “Well damn.”
“You’re not as squeamish as we recall,” a Masked Henchman noted, the door to The Room opening only momentarily for a black gloved hand to pass the team a yellow, plastic cock ring, “You seem a little less scared, a little more ready …” The Room door closed and the cock ring made its way towards Logan’s manhood, “… Ironic, considering how this will likely obliterate any of your previous experiences, in regards to the minimal learnings that we have introduced to you in the past …”
Logan looked up at the three Masked Henchmen standing before him, the Masked Henchman in the middle now holding onto the cock ring.
“I mean, my uh, my heart is quite literally beating out of my chest,” Logan tried to close his legs as The Masked Henchman knelt down and carefully wedged the cock ring around his flaccid manhood, “Oh! No getting to know each other first? That’s a shame … How, how long does this go on for?” He tried to thrash his waist, to arch his back, to twist his hips, but his privacy was exploited, his most delicate and only seen by he and his girlfriend body part lifted, moved, wedged and utilized to an advantage that did not belong to him.
Two Masked Henchmen approached the table and tray, “You have exactly one hour,” explained The Masked Henchman to the left, “No more, no less,” besides the many tools was a small timer, its setting switched to sixty minutes, “If you ejaculate within that time, we win. If you do not ejaculate within that time, you win,” explained The Masked Henchman to the right.
Once The Masked Henchman was happy with how firmly snug the cock ring sat around the base of Logan’s impressive yet still flaccid chunk of a penis, he stood and joined his cult members by the tray of tools.
“My mind just deals with getting through this shit,” Logan tugged at his bonds, his armpits feeling a little too open, “I promise you, there’s more chance of me passing out from laughter then busting my …”
… The Masked Henchman in the middle of the three tilted his head.
“We’ll see about that,” he warned.
Carefully, each Masked Henchman picked up their own desired tool from the tray.
Logan’s mouth fell open as he realised all three of the Masked Henchmen would be tickling him, not just one at a time like his previous moments with Michael, Brad or Evans …
… This would be a gang tickling of sorts, a dire situation and an overwhelming circumstance that Logan felt immediately unhappy with experiencing, especially when he saw a feather in one Masked Henchman’s hand, an electric toothbrush in the second Masked Henchman’s hand and a bottle of lubrication in the third Masked Henchman’s hand …
“Lube? Honestly! This is so unnecessary!—”, Logan started to thrash and writhe within his bondage, his short frame only able to twist and bend within the rope binding him to the leather seat, “No! Come on! All three at once? I, I didn’t do anything! This is, it’s favouritism!—”
The Masked Henchman with the feather and The Masked Henchman with the electric toothbrush stood behind the chair, leaving the third Masked Henchman to crouch at the base of the recliner where he could reach over Logan’s feet and legs and douce his limp, cock-ring-snug manhood with the lube, “—I, I’m not as nice as I look! I can tell you shit, help you out!—”, Logan practically whimpered as he sniffed up the lubes scent, “—Is that strawberry flavour?—”
Logan’s eyes widened at the sight of thick, gel-like liquid oozing over his balls, his limp dick, his hair-less taint, “—Oh, god!—”, it felt chilly and wet to start but warmed up straight away, the shimmering glisten now coating the entirety of his manhood as the feather began to stroke across the left side of his face, the electric toothbrush switching on — click, bzzzzz — the fast paced vibrating bristles now nearing the smooth open delve of his right armpit …
Before Logan could even think about allowing them out, haggered giggles and breathless laughter erupted from his mouth as his underarms fell victim to the electric toothbrush and now the feather, which had started to flicker across his left armpit.
He reluctantly shuddered with an inability to cope, his chest heaving in and out as he twisted and writhed like a fish caught in a net, the ropes keeping him firmly in place; his cheeks began to boil a faint pink as he glared down at the tools now all too present within his armpits, their touch ever so gentle, their tip barely grazing the sensitive, soft flesh that made up the space between his shoulders and pecs; he transformed from frantic and protesting to shambolic and spoiled, his heels pressing against the surface of the red recliner as his head rolled from left to right, his throat now thick with gentle hysteria that was sturdy enough for him to begin to lose his breath.
“O, o, okay, okay—” Logan found himself sneering uncontrollably, grinning automatically, his bushy brown eyebrows lifting into a high arched crease, “—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please—”, he was a pussy when it came to being tickled, a frightful, angst ridden fool that would do anything to make it stop, even if the electric toothbrush and feather had only been inside his underarms for less than fifteen seconds, “—Okay, that’s fine, enough, enough!—”, the electric toothbrush nudged ever so faintly, the feather flickered with the strength of air, the tickling in itself was entirely like what his other teammates had experienced in the past yet here Logan was, staggering for breath and wondering why his cock had grown into a semi erect stance …
“N, no—”, Logan’s blue eyes became cartoonish, bulging, their shape taking in the sight of his penis and its thickening size as The Masked Henchman at the bottom of the recliner began to stroke his manhood with the leather of his glove, “—What, what are you doing!—”, he struggled to compartmentalise his circumstance, his shoulders and chest always bulging and squirming as his underarms fell victim to the constant presence of a simple feather and a tool meant for your teeth, not your armpits, “—Sssstop, stop it! I, I mean it, I’m gonna fucking scream!—” Logan felt confused as to what he was begging to stop, the focus to his armpits or the attention to his erection, an erection so well coated by lube that it had begun to stand with shining strength, much to his surprise, “—N, n, no! Let it go, let it go, get offa me!—”
To help further increase Logan’s distress and confusion, The Masked Henchman kneeling before his erection pressed a tiny button attached to the cock ring - this switched the device on, causing it to vibrate suddenly but with not enough strength that it distracted Logan - sure, he jolted in alarm and his face creased in uncertainty, but the buzz was agonisingly brilliant and frustratingly comforting, amongst the tormenting press of vibrating bristles and the slide of a feathers edge against the depths of his underarms.
“Wha, what! Turn, turn that thing—” off? The word did not leave Logan’s mouth, maybe because he did not want it to - instead he clenched his teeth as a bluster of hysterics blew out of his nose, causing his face to glow pink as he giggled in a high pitch, endless chortle, his helm beginning to glisten, his armpits starting to sweat, his entire body moving only inches within the ropes as The Masked Henchmen behind him continued to stroke his underarms and The Masked Henchman between his legs persisted in caressing his twitching arousal again and again and again …
Suddenly, as if practised, all three Masked Henchman increased the loyal strength of their determined attack - Logan’s Hollywood-blue eyes bulged into golf balls as the electric toothbrush journeyed and buzzed quicker, the feather flickered and fluttered faster, the thwap thwap thwap thwap thrash of the leather grasp around his now rock hard, glistening cock grew firmer - Logan hurtled from side to side in a frenzy, “—Nn, nnuh, sss, sstop, sss, ssss—”, each beg for mercy was babbled and strained, his expression squashed and beetroot, “—Geh, get outta there!—”, he tried to bite and snap white teeth at the tools infiltrating each underarm, his hyper ticklish body allowed just enough give within the tightness of the restraints to always squirm and wriggle like a worm over the seat, “—Come on, I’m ssss, ssserious!—”, Logan whined through his constant laughter, his erection still receiving a repetitive stroke, his balls still swelling, his taint now throbbing …
… It all felt challenging to compartmentalise, but things grew far worse when the electric toothbrush and feather not only made their way to Logan’s nipples, but the hands of the Masked Henchmen also decided to join in too.
Logan’s face now glistened with perspiration, his eyes were now bloodshot, his entire form saturated with a lunacy that had overwhelmed him too suddenly; all he could do was glance down at his nipples and address them with pure disbelief, his frantic kicks and high arches of his back informing his captors that he was struggling to handle the caress of fingertips, the bzzzz, bzzzz, bzzzz of the toothbrush, the tip of the feather across both nipples at the same time, “—I, I can’t, bre, bre, bre—”, he heaved and wheezed, dribbled and moaned, he felt abused mentally and physically, blown away by how these freaks had been able to get him this close, this desperate for release - he grimaced down at his erection, the fulfillment of pure joy bubbling across his exposed taint, am I about to cum? Is his really happening? - the vibration from the cock ring developed sensations never felt before, a never ending, unstoppable feeling that Logan wanted to end immediately, whilst also so very badly wanted to last, all day, all week, all month …
“I, I’m c, c, close!—”, Logan could not believe the words that left his mouth, he bit his lower lip to keep them in and he shook his head wildly, “—Please, no, don’t—”, he felt mystified by his language, his addiction to the pleasure, his dire need for this to finish, “—Why won’t you listen!—”, he did not want to cum, yet that is all he wanted, “—Let it, let it g, g, go—”, Logan could not take his eyes away from his cock and the gloved hold that massaged it, his nipples now pointed and sharp, the feeling of complete satisfaction causing an already breathless throat to gulp, hack, swallow and stiffen, “—I, ugh, ack!—”, the factual knowledge that it was real, that it was happening, that it was right now, it flooded Logan’s mind and made his eyes roll back into the depths of his head, his tormented laughter transforming into thrilled cackles …
… Until the orgasm did not leave his erection, the tickling stopped entirely, and all tools and fingertips left Logan’s body.
Logan lay squirming in distress, each tied back kick and bound punch symbolising how edged, angry and fucked off he was, “—What! I, I was cl—”, he clenched his teeth, the non-sexual segments of his psyche reminding him to not lose the game, “—Damnit!—”, his eyebrows burrowed into a stern frown as he evolved from smug and fully aware that he would not be made to cum, to weak and feverish, shaking and exceptionally aroused, his toes curling into a crunch, his arousal standing so tall and mighty that a stripper could spin from it, “—Just, just go a little bit, bit more? No tickling, just … Please?—”, those pearly white teeth clenched once again as he heard how twisted and confused he sounded, had he really lost focus this quickly?
As two Masked Henchmen placed down their tools and stood at either side of The Room’s door, Logan glared at his captors with resentment and rage in each pupil.
“This fucking thing!—”, he shot a furious look down to the cock ring wedged around his throb of manhood, “—Turn it off, I’m, I’m not thinking straight!—”, it continued its buzz, the bzzz, bzzz, bzzz noise now vibrating against the flesh of his taint, the device working as a mind control tool that he could not remove even if fifty percent of him wanted to, and fifty percent of him did not.
Suddenly, his vexation became replaced with genuine concern as an unexpected situation presented itself when the third Masked Henchman removed his mask, revealing himself to be …
“… The shit I’ve had to do to make sure I win this thing …” Justin whispered with his back towards Logan “… I’m their bitch, and I’m alright with that,” he turned around and removed his hood, offering Logan a faint smile.
Logan gulped down a sensation almost as big as the one boiling in the depths of his taint.
“Bieber! You’re … “ he had to gather the interest, his mind and attention far too drawn towards the twitch taking place over the tip of his erection, “… You’re one of them?”
Justin watched Logan ‘deal’ with the cock ring, the vibration, the angst it had riddled throughout the insides of his body from the top of his scalp to the tips of his toes.
“Ha, I wish! The guy in the wheelchair promised me a top spot on The Leaderboard if I do shit behind your backs,” Justin revealed, pacing around The Room with his long, black cloak billowing behind, “Tell any of the others and you go straight to the bottom, and you stay there …” Justin paused to take another look at Logan, his glare borderline menacing, “… That means more of this …” his index finger swirled at his surroundings, “… All the time, and probably worse … Understand?”
Logan refrained from nodding along like a puppet, his confidence growing slightly now that he knew he was at the hands of someone like Justin; a bully, a pushover …
… A submissive fool in the same boat as all of us.
Instead, he tried his best to ignore the buzz at the base of his swelling cock and shuffled forwards.
“I’ll only keep my mouth shut,” he declared, “If you let me go.”
Justin paused his pacing to stand opposite Logan, his entertained smile informing his teammate, his captor, that this isn’t how it was going to go …
“You’re roped up, Lerman. Your dick’s about to burst and you think you can call the shots?” Justin’s step forward caused Logan to sink in his seat, “Finish the hour, then go back to your bed …” he knelt down at Logan’s feet and snatched hold of his erection, “… Where you promise to keep this to yourself …”
Logan squeezed everything together; his eyes, his lips, his muscles …
… Finally he obeyed by nodding just once.
“He’s too pathetic,” Justin noted, directing his words at The Masked Henchman behind him without looking at him, his eyes narrowing down at the shimmer of close orgasm taking place across the tip of Logan’s arousal, “This won’t take long. Keep guard … For now.”
The Masked Henchmen remained by the door as Justin let Logan’s cock go.
He then knelt around Logan, straddling his waist, Logan’s erection now under Justin’s cloak …
Logan did not know how to cope when he felt his hard on press against Justin’s ass hole - the two faced pop star was naked beneath his hooded disguise - if he knelt any lower, the tip of Logan’s erection would surely press against an intimate part of him, however, Justin kept himself just above any unexpected girth and looked down at Logan’s torso, where he kindly extended both hands.
“No, no, please, stop—”, Logan watched Justin’s long fingers splay, their wiggling ends aimed directly at his all too ticklish underarms, “—No, no, please, I give, I give!—”, he growled and giggled endlessly, he felt tickled despite even being touched, “—No, no, I can’t take it, come on!—”, like the Titanic striking an iceberg, catastrophe was inevitable - Justin’s fingers, all eight of them including both thumbs, shot into Logan’s underarms and began to dig, stroke, poke and scratch at the very depths, mutating Logan’s fear and dread into an eruption of mindless and unmanageable hysterics.
“—No, ahahaha, ahahahaa, graaahahahaha, grrrr, sss, ssst, sssss, grrrraaaahahahahaha, ahahaahah, no, no, no!—”, the laughter was beyond breathless, it was overly brutal, Logan’s face bubbled in a variation of different expressions that matched his form of communication, “—No, stop, oh, ssss, sssss, ahahahaha, graahahahahaha, ahahahaha, n, n, noahahahahaha, n, n, n!—”, he would expel his anguish in the form of non stop, endless laughter and then he would, if only for a brief second, become insanely serious, his face creasing into a stern scowl where he would command Justin to stop, “—StopImeanitcomeon!—”, he tried to head butt Justin, to lunge forwards, his body always twisting and writhing within the rope before the laughter consumed him once again, “—Grahahahaha, noahahahaha, noahahahahaha, noahahahaha, stop, you gotta s—oh, noahahaha, st, noahahahaha, ssssst, noahahahaha, ssss, sssss!—”, it was as if he had no choice in the matter, he juggled the timing the best he could; once he had let out an avalanche of explosive hysterics he would press his lips shut and glare at Justin, directly in the eye, attempting some mercy for a second time, “—StopI’mseriouscomeon!—”, of course, Justin completely ignored Logan’s pleas and continued to attack harder, this time working his fingers down to Logan’s sides and hips, causing Logan to explode with a greater need for an end to this torment, “—Noahahahaha, grrr, grr, st, stoaaaaahahahahahahap, stoaaaaaahahahaahahhahahap, stoaaaaaahahahahahap, no, n, n, no!—”, as soon as the exhausted laughter expelled from the depths of Logan’s throat, that sincere and adamant shout left his swollen lips for a third time, “—StopI’mnotplayinganymoreyoudumbpieceofshit!—” …
… And all the while, the tip of Logan’s pulsating erection pressed against Justin’s ass hole.
Bzzzz … Bzzzz … Bzzz …
The cock ring continued to vibrate as Justin persisted in ravaging Logan’s upper body in a way unlike Logan had ever experienced, “—Graahahahahaha, graaaah, grr, aaahahahaha, mnn, mnn ahahahaha, ahahahaha, oh, mnnn, no, stop!—”, with the ache of much needed joy pulsating between his legs, combined with the terror of tickling now pinching and jabbing into his stomach, Logan found himself tumbling into an overwhelming dimension where the landscape was uncertain, the architecture weak, the population scarce and alarming, “—PleaseIcan’ttakeitI’mseriousss!—”, Logan became all too aware how much he did not belong here, but my oh my, would it not be wonderful to stay for a second longer?
Only a brief pause was given as Justin lifted himself off of Logan and made his way down to his feet.
“You got some pretty dogs, Lerman,” Justin seemed a little out of breath himself as he gathered the black cloak around him, keen to conceal his nudity beneath, “Are they as ticklish as ‘the big bad’ says they are?”
Logan wanted to say ‘please, leave them alone’, he even had ‘no, not my feet’ ready at the front of his mind, at the tip of his tongue, his lips actually parting in an attempt to express his dubiety, but he simply could not speak, his eyes now watering as the buzz from the cock ring continued to provide additional nudges towards an unstable release.
He peered down at the end of the recliner and watched Justin drop to the knelt position, “You close, buddy?” He teased him verbally whilst taking hold of Logan’s right foot, his fingertips now ever so faintly stroking over his silky soft sole, “I hear you’re like, Tom Holland level sensitive, shall we explore that before you pop?” Justin giggled playfully as he felt Logan’s leg thrash within the ropework, a hearty grunt leaving his mouth, “What’s wrong, confused by the mixture of heaven and hell you’re currently coping with?” Logan’s toes curled, his foot twisted, the buttery caress barely there, “Don’t forget the aim of the game, Lerman … You can’t cum …” Justin began to speed up his attack, his fingernails now scraping across the base of Logan’s five right toes …
“N, no …” Logan whined, “… Not my, my …” he shuddered, the cock rings buzz now all too familiar, the sensation turning his spine into jelly as Justin adopted a mean focus on Logan’s size tens, “… N, no! …” his distracted mind became utterly aware of what would be happening next, causing Logan to raise his voice and begin to kick, “…. NO, PLEASE!—”
Tied like this over the recliner, Logan could not escape the attention toward his feet, all he could do was squirm, kick, bounce and shout - if anything, this was far worse than being toe tied in stocks - Logan could move, he could see everything, he could twist and thrash but the lengths of bondage tied around his thighs, his calves, his ankles, they would not budge, their give painfully taunting - as Justin faced both feet and began to use both hands to scribble over both soles at the same time, Logan, to be frank, absolutely fucking lost it …
“—Ssstoahahahahahahahap! Sssstoaaahahahahahahap, sssstoahahahahahap, sssstoahahahahahahahap!—”, Logan faced the ceiling, the walls, the floor, his swollen face now designed purely to shout and scream, to laugh endlessly, hysterically, abundantly, all while the many black and white finger points aimed directly at him, accusing him, highlighting him, the threat so intense and menacing that they might as well have been tickling him themselves, “—StopI’mseriouscomeon!—”, Logan became ruined, destroyed, obliterated by Justin, who scribbled, scratched and stroked Logan’s feet, his fingernails working between toes, over Logan’s heels, the arches of his soles as well as the sides, “—Noahahahahah, noahahahaha, stoaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahap Ican’tbreatheohmygodstop!—”, Logan was demolished, flustered, panicked, overwhelmed, his body always thrusting and writhing as the cock ring continued its buzz around a erection so solid that it needed just that extra bit of help in regards to its release, something one of The Masked Henchmen had noticed since Justin lay his devilish touch on one of The House of White Feather’s most ticklish lees …
Justin could feel The Masked Henchman’s glare behind his head - all he had to do was turn over his shoulder and sneer in approval - after all, what was the point in speaking? No one could hear anything besides Logan’s deafening laughter …
The Masked Henchman removed his gloves and pocketed them in his cloak; as Logan persisted in screaming, he knelt beside the young man’s waist and reached for his arousal …
“—No, no, get offa me! G, g, get offa, me, ah, ah! Ah, ah! Ahahahaha, ahahahaha, ahahahaha!—”, Logan dribbled and wheezed, his eyes watering with strain, saliva now foaming at each corner of his lips as he cheeks glimmered a bright red, his short body soaked with perspiration, his arousal twitching, throbbing, vibrating - Logan did not want to be touched but my god, did he want to be touched - he knew he would lose the game, he knew he would not win - he had accepted the defeat as soon as he stepped inside the personalised dungeon - as soon as The Masked Henchman took hold of his arousal, the start of an orgasm began to teeter up his shaft and towards the tip of his dick - would he ever have an orgasm like this again? Was this even possible? Would it ever be topped? Logan did not want to ever know, but at the same time, he would give, do, sacrifice anything to find out …
A few faint swipes of the hand was all it took for Logan to explode, “—No, agh, ugh, hahahaha, oh, mnn, ahahah, ack, ack!—” whilst his toes were sucked by Justin’s lips; dealing with the horror at his soles, alongside the mesmerizing complexity of pleasure taking place between his thighs was challenging to compartmentalise, “—My, my toes, my, my god, my cock, fuck, ahaha, ahahaha! Ahahaha, no, oh, no, mnn, mnn!—”, soon, just thinking became something Logan could no longer deal with - his thoughts were blown apart like a populated and dense city struck by a meteor travelling at full speed, he heaved and grunted, wheezed and whined, bit his lip whilst sucking up drool, his blood shot gaze taking in the blurred sight of cum shooting out of an erection that might never have been this hard in his thirty two years of living, all whilst Justin sucked on the tips of his toes as if they were sweets.
“—God, oh god!—”, those were the only two words Logan could manage, they spewed from his mouth with vigour, the same amount of strength compared to the gushes of orgasm now landing over his navel, his feet always curling and scrunching beneath Justin’s mouth, a mouth that had slowed down it’s attack and had transformed to playful bites and tender nibbles across each toe, “—MNN, mnn! Mnn … Mnn …”, Logan found himself calming down, his cock twitching as the remains of simple happiness oozed from him, his weight descending into the recliner as The Masked Henchman stood, lifted his mask just above his jaw and then, like Justin, used his tongue - however, it was not to torment Logan, it was to lick the cum from his fingertips and taste it ahead of its travel out of The Room …
… Just when Logan thought his extreme level of submission might be over, a profoundly irresistible sting buzzed against the tip of his arousal as Justin decided to toy with the tip of Logan’s erection.
Logan’s head hurtled across his chest, his blue eyes dazzled in alarm, his cheeks boiled a glowing purple; all of his bound limbs bulged within the bondage, like how a captured superhero attempts to burst through chains …
“—Stop—”, there it was, that growl, that snarl, that one word said with enough dribbled fuel to charge a spaceship …
“—Stop—”, there it was again, a second time, however Justin did not listen … All he did was smooth the middle of his palm over the wet, shining, sensitive bulb that made up Logan’s still twitching hard on, a playful press that was enough to cause Logan to mutter the word, “—Cunt!—”, under his breath, an almost illegal word that represented the venom Logan owned towards someone as sadistic as Justin Fucking Bieber.
Along with the cock rings constant vibration, Logan was forced to endure that delicately light yet intensely sharp sting that consumed his body and mind, “—Sss, stop—”, he did not want to thrash or pull, that would just increase movement under Justin’s hand, so his reactions instead boiled in the form of a trillion bubbles beneath his skin, “—Ss, stop—”, the toes to his right foot were severely clenched, the toes to his right foot flexed into a controlled stretch, his entire body shivered as his strained face shimmered, rub, rub, rub, pinch, pinch, pinch, how was Justin able to still retrieve more cum? How could it feel so splendid whilst at the same time so damn atrocious?
“Say sorry for calling me the C word, blue eyes,” Justin whispered, “Go on, say sorry and mean it …”
Being the total wuss that he was, Logan did not hesitate in catapulting as close towards Justin as he could where he begged with lips pulled apart by despair.
“—PleaseJustinstopI’mbeggingyou—”, he winced, “—I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry!—”, he could barely see straight.
Justin’s palm continued its faint press.
“Promise that you don’t tell them about me,” Justin whispered, “I’m just one of the masked guys, right?”
Logan nodded so hard his head almost fell off his neck.
“—Mnn! Yes, yes, yes, yes I promise I promise!—”
Justin let go of Logan’s erection.
Logan deflated like a balloon, his entire body dropping in relief.
Justin then lifted himself into a proud stand, wiped his lips and placed his hands on his waist as he addressed Logan, who lay staggered for breath, unable to focus, his thick eyelashes attempting to blink away the foolishness of his actions, as well as the ludicrousness of this entire set up.
“I … I … I los, loss, lost …” he babbled, “… I, I couldn’t even … You didn’t even let me tr, tr, try …”
The Masked Henchman re-gloved his hands and returned to tray on wheels, picking up a small glass vial and a teaspoon as Justin nodded slowly.
“Yeah, bitch. You fucking lost … Pfft, just look at you,” he tutted, “You’re fucking soaked …”
Logan peered down at his stomach and took in the sight of puddles of glistening orgasm, at least twelve large droplets staining his skin, a generous pool gathering in and around his belly button, his erection still throbbing despite the power of his release …
“Pl, please … T, turn it off …” Logan shuddered as the cock ring continued to vibrate.
Justin flipped his cloaks hood back over his head, “Mercy is the name of a song I didn’t sing …” he then folded his arms, “… So, you don’t get any points. There, that’s the truth. That weird A.I freak chooses, at random, who gets the one hundred thousand …” he took one step closer, “… And you choose who faces the next game …” Justin cocked an eyebrow, “… So, Lerman, who is it gonna be, my pretty little prince?”
Logan licked his lips as he watched The Masked Henchman use the tea spoon to scoop up some of the cum from his navel, which he then generously applied into the glass vial.
Before Logan could say the words, ‘what the fuck’, he wasted no time in delivering the name of the person who not only would face the next game, but also highly deserved it …
John sat in his prison of a wheelchair trembling as he watched Logan go through a third round of milking with not just three Masked Men, but seven …
His squeals, groans, giggles and gasps echoed through the bedroom as his strained face and curling toes illuminated the television screen two feet opposite John and his permanently seated stance.
Knock knock.
Miller stood from the edge of the bed, smoothed John’s grey, thinning head of hair and then made his way towards the bedroom door.
Reluctantly, he opened it inward, and on the other side stood Justin who was still dressed in the same black, hooded robe he had worn with Logan in The Room.
He knelt before Miller, bowed his head and then presented the glass vial of cum to his, “Master …”
Miller smirked.
“Two hundred thousand points to you, for doing such a good job,” Miller announced.
Justin’s eyes widened and his lips stretched into a grin.
“Holy shit! Thank you! I—”
—Miller picked the vial from Justin’s palms and then closed the door in his face.
Slam!
He turned and made his way back to John, kneeling before him just like Justin had just knelt.
John had to peel his yellow flushed eyes from the television set, his distracted glance landing on the creamy coloured vial.
“Drink this,” Miller urged, lifting the vial towards John’s lap.
John took a shaking hand, his boney grasp and exceptionally narrow fingernails picking the vial away from Miller - it weighed no more than a remote battery, but for John it felt as heavy as the eight decades he had been alive on this Earth.
He held it in front of his face, his lips quivering, his cracked lips smeared with dribble.
“Is, is this …”
Miller placed both of his hands around John’s and gave them a much needed, reassuring squeeze.
“It’ll help make you stronger …” he whispered, “… It’ll help make you ready, for the next game …”
It took all the strength in John’s body to unscrew the vial’s lid - the act took some time, but Miller did not support John with this action, he needed to provide his leader some sense of physical independence.
Once uncapped, John held the vial towards the bottom of his chin.
“Cheers to the chaos ahead,” John murmured, as he swigged the cum down his throat in one full swoop.
Hello, dear reader! T.K, here! At random, I chose Kit to receive the points Logan failed at winning, whilst Justin secures top of The Leaderboard with 200,000 points, thanks to him lending us a helpful, ahem, hand!
Who did Logan pick to face Game Three? Find out on the 29th May!