Luis Adam Bree
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Oct 31, 2016
- Messages
- 138
- Location
- London England
It was my Senior year in High School. Basically I was the quiet reserved
guy, who was known for his random magic tricks in the hallway, the
occasional chorus solo and the one trophy from the talent contest my
sophomore year. I was bugged by the nerd squad..."show me a trick...show
me a trick", and I was beaten up and made fun of regularly by almost
anyone who was threatened by my seeming intelligence. I was no Einstein , but I held my own in math class and made my B's and C's on the
general core of other boring classes they taught.
It was in my English class that I first saw Stan Adams. He was my height,
sandy blond hair that was full of wide roman curls, and the son of my
English teacher. He was head of the Key Club, a cheerleader, an "A"
student, and had the best ass I have ever seen walking down a classroom
aisle. Numerous times Ms. Adam's would introduce us (we had no classes
together) as if she thought we should be friends, and each time it
seemed she thought she was introducing us for the first time. I wouldn't
have minded being his friend, but Stan had no interest in the matter.
I was beneath him, socially...I guess. And I had no beef with him 'til I
heard him call me a faggot to his friends in the hall one day. I slunked
my shoulders and walked on as if I heard nothing. Those days I never
admitted I was gay, and God help those who accused me. And that was what
started it. I began thinking of how to set Stan up, get him...something
that would humiliate him.
It was August when it happened. Key Club was have some sort of hell week
or
something...the buzz around the halls indicated that some guys had been
nominated to do something memorable. If they could, they would become
members. If they failed, they were out. I thought it was the stupidest
thing I had ever heard of. The year before a group of guys had painted
the
mascot horse in front of the school lime green. It made all of the
newspapers, and obviously earned each member admittance. And now, again,
it was the weekend for the prank.
That Friday evening ended with a blush of gold and blues dimming the sky
over the trail behind the school. I took this "short cut" through the
woods
more for deviation than shortness of distance, and was about 3 blocks
into
the woods when I heard voices. I had stumbled upon the Key Club, or at
least
the recruits and Stan, out in the woods. I ducked behind a tree close
enough to hear the conversation but not close enough to be seen, and
listened. It only took a few minutes to catch what the intent was. They
were staging a kidnapping. Stan was going to be missing for a day. All in
good fun of course, but Stan it seemed was not doing it of his own free
will. "My Mom won't think this is funny" he argued, but no one was
listening
to him. He started shouting about something not being fair. And then
there
was laughter. A chorus rang out "He's TICKLISH!!!". Stan barked a plea
of
stop to the tree's, but no one paid attention, and while he gasped and
coughed out giggles, it seems they restrained him. Then one of the
recruits
raised an alarm about getting out of there, another puberty bound voice
squeaked that they should have brought handcuffs, and a third voice said
the blindfold and ropes were enough, they needed to get going. Rustles of
leaves filled the air, and then hoots and hollers faded into the distance
as they rushed away. Stan shouted after them to come back a few times.
I heard him struggle and then I heard him begin cursing. He cursed the
school, the woods, the club, specific names of people I didn't know, and
God, of course. I sat there a full 5 minutes listening and waiting for
the
recruits to return, and when the didn't, I stood up and walked slowly
towards where their voices had been coming from.
Those who don't believe that what goes around comes around, or that
people
get what's coming to them should have been me that day. And then they
would believe. As I walked off the path into the dense thicket that the
Key club
had set up as headquarters for Stan, I promised myself that if it was as
good as I thought it was going to be, Stan would be a different guy by
the
time I finished. When I finally reached him I found he had been tied
across three hobby horses that had been nailed together into a makeshift
bed. He rested horizontally, about 4 feet off the ground. Two long 2 by
4's
ran along each edge of the hobby horse's, nailed to them, and a wide
piece
of ply board had been nailed to the 2 by 4's. Holes had been cut into
the
plywood at various strategic points on his body. At his wrists, elbows,
thighs, knees and ankles rope ran through each hole holding him securely
to the wood frame. He was pulling with his upper body, but the ropes
were
extremely secure. He would pull for a minute with all his might and then
stop. And then repeat the task again, but he gained nothing. The ropes
didn't stretch and he continued to be immobile. In addition, holes were
at
each ear, and a bandanna had been pulled through and tied, securing his
head to the board, and providing an excellent blindfold. On the ground in
a shoe box beneath where Stan was tied was another bundle of rope, a pair
of
scissors, a can of raid, an old paint brush, and a magic marker. Further
inspection also showed that the hobby horses had been tied off to trees
that
were surrounding the platform, preventing Stan from unwittingly knocking
down the whole contraption. He was dressed in a button down collar polo
shirt, baggy cotton jogging shorts, short white "footie" socks and Nike
tennis shoes.
They must have been tying him for quite a while before I came
upon
them. And to this day I can't figure out how they got him down based on
what
I heard but....who am I to question good luck. I stepped up to the
platform,
about a foot from his head and he heard the leaves rustle. "I knew you
guys
would be back!" he exclaimed, trying to muster all the bravado he could.
I leaned over and whispered "you're not that lucky."
"Who the fuck are you???!?" he shouted, sealing his fate. Since
I
knew he couldn't see me (it was beginning to get dark anyway), and he was
helpless I took the advantage.
"I hear you're ticklish Stan....is that true?"
"No. Let me out guys, this isn't funny". It was a command barked
by
a Key Club commander.
"You're not?" I poked his shirt with open fingers in a grasping
motion.
"NO!!!" He yelped, startled, grinning. "Come on, heh, let me out.
"
"Stan, you said you weren't ticklish? Where you lying??!?" I ran
a
scampering hand to his armpit and bristled the hair there through his
shirt.
A groan bubbled from his mouth (that was now set in a wide grin)
and
he clenched his jaw, biting back the laughter that should have come out.
But
it was a game he was playing without ammunition. I slowly began
unbuttoned
his shirt from the neck down.
"Uh...come on...you...you don't need to do that. Please...come on.
"
His voice had diminished into a weak plea, but I continued until
I
had gone all the way to his waist, where I pulled the rest of the shirt
loose from his shorts, popping the last button off in the same motion and
pulling the shirt wide open on the plywood. He wasn't a Greek god, but
his
chest was smooth and his stomach was almost flat and a gentle stream of
fine
light brown hair trickled from just above his belly button down to the
pubic
hair hidden in his shorts.
In a caressing circular move, I began tickling his sides and
stomach
with all ten fingers at the same time, insistent on a good response.
"PP..PPPLEAS Haha ahahaha ahaha ahahahaaha..you can't..
hahahahahahaha
..Pleas...hahahaha STOPPPPPPP!!!"
I pulled my hands back, happy that I had broken through the
small
barrier he had put up for an instant. His breathing was in gasps, and he
strained at the ropes not budging an inch. And I waited until he had
calmed
down. "So admit it Stan your VERY ticklish. Am I right?"
"Yyyyes. OK. I'm ticklish. Alright??!?! Please, whoever you are,
please stop." Now he was whispering the words. Whispering from the
entrance of a place he didn't like being pushed into. Whispering like a
convict
sentenced to life imprisonment for a crime he had not yet gotten to
commit.
I loved it.
"Thanks for being honest", I answered in a gloating tone. "Care
to
tell me where?"
"No!... I mean... not really..heh ha..I mean...", he trailed off
realizing he was on thin ice not knowing what was worse; exploratory
research or confirmation. "I know...why not just let me up and we'll
forget the
whole...thing...OK?"
I was silent for a moment. And then replied "I have no intention
of
forgetting this. Ever. Lets remove your shoes." I repositioned myself by
where his feet were secured. His club mates had done an excellent job,
positioning the feet about 2 1/2 feet apart.
"You better get out of here, my buddies will be back any minute
and
when they do they will kick..."
But he never finished. With one hand on each shoe I yanked the
heels
down and up. He tried curling his toes, but it didn't help, the shoes
pulled
free and went flying into the scattered leaves. I began tickling the
bottom
of his footies as lightly and deviously as I could. He began to giggle in
a
high pitched voice, pulling in a lungs full of air, moving his head back
and
forth in the slight motion that it could, and giggling some more. He
tried to form words but they were lost in the stream of uncontrollable
laughter from his mouth.
"AAAAhhhhh hahah ahhahah ple hahaha ayou ha a nonononon
hahahahhahhhhhahahaha if you haha hee hee hahahh on no hahahah Please
nohahahahahah quitha ahahaha h ah ah Oh god....on no hahhaha.."
I pulled the footies off and continued my torture on his bare
feet,
raising the pitch of his giggling about two octaves. I went on for about
ten
minutes, until he stopped making any discernible sound and all that came
out
of his mouth was a thin sliver of rushing air. (To this day I have never
seen anyone laugh that hard).
While giving him a moment to cool down, I extracted the footies
that
were now on the ground, and balled them up. Taking the extra rope from
the
shoe box, I fashioned a make-shift gag by wrapping the middle of the rope
around the socks and tying it tight.
Seeing Stan was finally caught up on his breathing, I shoved the
socks into his mouth. He started to resist, but then It seemed he bought
into the idea. I wrapped the rope behind his neck, doubled it back over
both sides and tied the rope directly over the socks and his mouth.
It was only after he was gagged that I dared continue. I picked
up
the scissors and cut away his baggy shorts. He gave muffled cries once he
realized what was happening, but I shouted for him to stop wiggling or
he'd
get cut, and he calmed down. He had on bright red fruit of the loom
jockey
underwear, that was drenched in pre cum from his extended dick. I tickled
his balls through the underwear and his whole body shuddered as his cock
strained. I toyed with him for about 15 minutes in this manner. I was
sure
that the look on his face was of one who has gone crazy. Finally another
ounce of courage surfaced and I cut away the underwear as well. The trail
of
hair on his belly did indeed run all the way to his pubic hair. I ran my
finger lightly across the top of this private area of hair and he began
squirming wildly - trying to thrashing about, but unable to move. I got
the
paint brush from the shoe box and used one hand to brush his balls, and
the
other hand to stroke his pubic hair. He moaned, his cock jutted, and
through
the gag he began to laugh. Long hearty laughs spewed forth from him
muffled
by the gag. And then, without warning, he climaxed. I was so startled I
stopped, and I think he was equally as surprised, but he shot across his
chest and face, covering himself in cum.
I grabbed his dick and began jacking slowly. He howled as I
continued
pumping his sensitive dick, shuddering and straining. With my other hand
I
spidered up and down his inner thighs and knees. Ten more minutes of
tickling and he was hard as a rock again. I cut the sleeves on his shirt
lengthwise and down his sides, and pulled away the cloth that once was a
preppy polo shirt. Stan lay completely naked on the board. Circling back
around to his head, I removed the gag and tickled his armpit, full force.
"Stop! Nohohohohohohohohoh STOP hhhehe hee hee hee
aaahhhhhhahhahahahahah" He laughed and laughed and laughed.
Finally, I lowered my pants and shot my load onto his face and
chest.
We both paused for a moment. Darkness had taken over the woods
and
in the distance I heard a car driving on gravel. Someone was returning to
check on Stan! I gathered his clothes, stuffing them into my nap sack,
along with his shoes and the gag I had made. I started back toward the
school...away from the car...and then a final thought occurred to me. I
went
back to the shoe box, extracted the magic marker and wrote on Stan's
stomach "BRUSH THE TOP OF MY PUBIC HAIR, IT DRIVES ME CRAZY" which was
punctuated with an arrow pointing to the most sensitive area I had found.
I bagged the marker and ran back towards to school. Once I reached the
edge of the forest I stopped and listened. I heard numerous voices
exclaiming "HOLY SHIT!!!", "Oh My God!", "Look At this"...and as Stan's
uncontrolled giggling began I knew my revenge was complete.
None of the pledges were allowed in Key Club that year for some
reason, and no one at school ever talked about it....But I know what
happened, and sometimes when someone at work gives me a hard time, I pull
out those sliced up red jockey shorts and remember that I may get
retribution if I just wait long enough. Care to cross me? AND JUST OUT OF VERY MORBID CURIOSITY WHAT ELSE WOULD HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?
guy, who was known for his random magic tricks in the hallway, the
occasional chorus solo and the one trophy from the talent contest my
sophomore year. I was bugged by the nerd squad..."show me a trick...show
me a trick", and I was beaten up and made fun of regularly by almost
anyone who was threatened by my seeming intelligence. I was no Einstein , but I held my own in math class and made my B's and C's on the
general core of other boring classes they taught.
It was in my English class that I first saw Stan Adams. He was my height,
sandy blond hair that was full of wide roman curls, and the son of my
English teacher. He was head of the Key Club, a cheerleader, an "A"
student, and had the best ass I have ever seen walking down a classroom
aisle. Numerous times Ms. Adam's would introduce us (we had no classes
together) as if she thought we should be friends, and each time it
seemed she thought she was introducing us for the first time. I wouldn't
have minded being his friend, but Stan had no interest in the matter.
I was beneath him, socially...I guess. And I had no beef with him 'til I
heard him call me a faggot to his friends in the hall one day. I slunked
my shoulders and walked on as if I heard nothing. Those days I never
admitted I was gay, and God help those who accused me. And that was what
started it. I began thinking of how to set Stan up, get him...something
that would humiliate him.
It was August when it happened. Key Club was have some sort of hell week
or
something...the buzz around the halls indicated that some guys had been
nominated to do something memorable. If they could, they would become
members. If they failed, they were out. I thought it was the stupidest
thing I had ever heard of. The year before a group of guys had painted
the
mascot horse in front of the school lime green. It made all of the
newspapers, and obviously earned each member admittance. And now, again,
it was the weekend for the prank.
That Friday evening ended with a blush of gold and blues dimming the sky
over the trail behind the school. I took this "short cut" through the
woods
more for deviation than shortness of distance, and was about 3 blocks
into
the woods when I heard voices. I had stumbled upon the Key Club, or at
least
the recruits and Stan, out in the woods. I ducked behind a tree close
enough to hear the conversation but not close enough to be seen, and
listened. It only took a few minutes to catch what the intent was. They
were staging a kidnapping. Stan was going to be missing for a day. All in
good fun of course, but Stan it seemed was not doing it of his own free
will. "My Mom won't think this is funny" he argued, but no one was
listening
to him. He started shouting about something not being fair. And then
there
was laughter. A chorus rang out "He's TICKLISH!!!". Stan barked a plea
of
stop to the tree's, but no one paid attention, and while he gasped and
coughed out giggles, it seems they restrained him. Then one of the
recruits
raised an alarm about getting out of there, another puberty bound voice
squeaked that they should have brought handcuffs, and a third voice said
the blindfold and ropes were enough, they needed to get going. Rustles of
leaves filled the air, and then hoots and hollers faded into the distance
as they rushed away. Stan shouted after them to come back a few times.
I heard him struggle and then I heard him begin cursing. He cursed the
school, the woods, the club, specific names of people I didn't know, and
God, of course. I sat there a full 5 minutes listening and waiting for
the
recruits to return, and when the didn't, I stood up and walked slowly
towards where their voices had been coming from.
Those who don't believe that what goes around comes around, or that
people
get what's coming to them should have been me that day. And then they
would believe. As I walked off the path into the dense thicket that the
Key club
had set up as headquarters for Stan, I promised myself that if it was as
good as I thought it was going to be, Stan would be a different guy by
the
time I finished. When I finally reached him I found he had been tied
across three hobby horses that had been nailed together into a makeshift
bed. He rested horizontally, about 4 feet off the ground. Two long 2 by
4's
ran along each edge of the hobby horse's, nailed to them, and a wide
piece
of ply board had been nailed to the 2 by 4's. Holes had been cut into
the
plywood at various strategic points on his body. At his wrists, elbows,
thighs, knees and ankles rope ran through each hole holding him securely
to the wood frame. He was pulling with his upper body, but the ropes
were
extremely secure. He would pull for a minute with all his might and then
stop. And then repeat the task again, but he gained nothing. The ropes
didn't stretch and he continued to be immobile. In addition, holes were
at
each ear, and a bandanna had been pulled through and tied, securing his
head to the board, and providing an excellent blindfold. On the ground in
a shoe box beneath where Stan was tied was another bundle of rope, a pair
of
scissors, a can of raid, an old paint brush, and a magic marker. Further
inspection also showed that the hobby horses had been tied off to trees
that
were surrounding the platform, preventing Stan from unwittingly knocking
down the whole contraption. He was dressed in a button down collar polo
shirt, baggy cotton jogging shorts, short white "footie" socks and Nike
tennis shoes.
They must have been tying him for quite a while before I came
upon
them. And to this day I can't figure out how they got him down based on
what
I heard but....who am I to question good luck. I stepped up to the
platform,
about a foot from his head and he heard the leaves rustle. "I knew you
guys
would be back!" he exclaimed, trying to muster all the bravado he could.
I leaned over and whispered "you're not that lucky."
"Who the fuck are you???!?" he shouted, sealing his fate. Since
I
knew he couldn't see me (it was beginning to get dark anyway), and he was
helpless I took the advantage.
"I hear you're ticklish Stan....is that true?"
"No. Let me out guys, this isn't funny". It was a command barked
by
a Key Club commander.
"You're not?" I poked his shirt with open fingers in a grasping
motion.
"NO!!!" He yelped, startled, grinning. "Come on, heh, let me out.
"
"Stan, you said you weren't ticklish? Where you lying??!?" I ran
a
scampering hand to his armpit and bristled the hair there through his
shirt.
A groan bubbled from his mouth (that was now set in a wide grin)
and
he clenched his jaw, biting back the laughter that should have come out.
But
it was a game he was playing without ammunition. I slowly began
unbuttoned
his shirt from the neck down.
"Uh...come on...you...you don't need to do that. Please...come on.
"
His voice had diminished into a weak plea, but I continued until
I
had gone all the way to his waist, where I pulled the rest of the shirt
loose from his shorts, popping the last button off in the same motion and
pulling the shirt wide open on the plywood. He wasn't a Greek god, but
his
chest was smooth and his stomach was almost flat and a gentle stream of
fine
light brown hair trickled from just above his belly button down to the
pubic
hair hidden in his shorts.
In a caressing circular move, I began tickling his sides and
stomach
with all ten fingers at the same time, insistent on a good response.
"PP..PPPLEAS Haha ahahaha ahaha ahahahaaha..you can't..
hahahahahahaha
..Pleas...hahahaha STOPPPPPPP!!!"
I pulled my hands back, happy that I had broken through the
small
barrier he had put up for an instant. His breathing was in gasps, and he
strained at the ropes not budging an inch. And I waited until he had
calmed
down. "So admit it Stan your VERY ticklish. Am I right?"
"Yyyyes. OK. I'm ticklish. Alright??!?! Please, whoever you are,
please stop." Now he was whispering the words. Whispering from the
entrance of a place he didn't like being pushed into. Whispering like a
convict
sentenced to life imprisonment for a crime he had not yet gotten to
commit.
I loved it.
"Thanks for being honest", I answered in a gloating tone. "Care
to
tell me where?"
"No!... I mean... not really..heh ha..I mean...", he trailed off
realizing he was on thin ice not knowing what was worse; exploratory
research or confirmation. "I know...why not just let me up and we'll
forget the
whole...thing...OK?"
I was silent for a moment. And then replied "I have no intention
of
forgetting this. Ever. Lets remove your shoes." I repositioned myself by
where his feet were secured. His club mates had done an excellent job,
positioning the feet about 2 1/2 feet apart.
"You better get out of here, my buddies will be back any minute
and
when they do they will kick..."
But he never finished. With one hand on each shoe I yanked the
heels
down and up. He tried curling his toes, but it didn't help, the shoes
pulled
free and went flying into the scattered leaves. I began tickling the
bottom
of his footies as lightly and deviously as I could. He began to giggle in
a
high pitched voice, pulling in a lungs full of air, moving his head back
and
forth in the slight motion that it could, and giggling some more. He
tried to form words but they were lost in the stream of uncontrollable
laughter from his mouth.
"AAAAhhhhh hahah ahhahah ple hahaha ayou ha a nonononon
hahahahhahhhhhahahaha if you haha hee hee hahahh on no hahahah Please
nohahahahahah quitha ahahaha h ah ah Oh god....on no hahhaha.."
I pulled the footies off and continued my torture on his bare
feet,
raising the pitch of his giggling about two octaves. I went on for about
ten
minutes, until he stopped making any discernible sound and all that came
out
of his mouth was a thin sliver of rushing air. (To this day I have never
seen anyone laugh that hard).
While giving him a moment to cool down, I extracted the footies
that
were now on the ground, and balled them up. Taking the extra rope from
the
shoe box, I fashioned a make-shift gag by wrapping the middle of the rope
around the socks and tying it tight.
Seeing Stan was finally caught up on his breathing, I shoved the
socks into his mouth. He started to resist, but then It seemed he bought
into the idea. I wrapped the rope behind his neck, doubled it back over
both sides and tied the rope directly over the socks and his mouth.
It was only after he was gagged that I dared continue. I picked
up
the scissors and cut away his baggy shorts. He gave muffled cries once he
realized what was happening, but I shouted for him to stop wiggling or
he'd
get cut, and he calmed down. He had on bright red fruit of the loom
jockey
underwear, that was drenched in pre cum from his extended dick. I tickled
his balls through the underwear and his whole body shuddered as his cock
strained. I toyed with him for about 15 minutes in this manner. I was
sure
that the look on his face was of one who has gone crazy. Finally another
ounce of courage surfaced and I cut away the underwear as well. The trail
of
hair on his belly did indeed run all the way to his pubic hair. I ran my
finger lightly across the top of this private area of hair and he began
squirming wildly - trying to thrashing about, but unable to move. I got
the
paint brush from the shoe box and used one hand to brush his balls, and
the
other hand to stroke his pubic hair. He moaned, his cock jutted, and
through
the gag he began to laugh. Long hearty laughs spewed forth from him
muffled
by the gag. And then, without warning, he climaxed. I was so startled I
stopped, and I think he was equally as surprised, but he shot across his
chest and face, covering himself in cum.
I grabbed his dick and began jacking slowly. He howled as I
continued
pumping his sensitive dick, shuddering and straining. With my other hand
I
spidered up and down his inner thighs and knees. Ten more minutes of
tickling and he was hard as a rock again. I cut the sleeves on his shirt
lengthwise and down his sides, and pulled away the cloth that once was a
preppy polo shirt. Stan lay completely naked on the board. Circling back
around to his head, I removed the gag and tickled his armpit, full force.
"Stop! Nohohohohohohohohoh STOP hhhehe hee hee hee
aaahhhhhhahhahahahahah" He laughed and laughed and laughed.
Finally, I lowered my pants and shot my load onto his face and
chest.
We both paused for a moment. Darkness had taken over the woods
and
in the distance I heard a car driving on gravel. Someone was returning to
check on Stan! I gathered his clothes, stuffing them into my nap sack,
along with his shoes and the gag I had made. I started back toward the
school...away from the car...and then a final thought occurred to me. I
went
back to the shoe box, extracted the magic marker and wrote on Stan's
stomach "BRUSH THE TOP OF MY PUBIC HAIR, IT DRIVES ME CRAZY" which was
punctuated with an arrow pointing to the most sensitive area I had found.
I bagged the marker and ran back towards to school. Once I reached the
edge of the forest I stopped and listened. I heard numerous voices
exclaiming "HOLY SHIT!!!", "Oh My God!", "Look At this"...and as Stan's
uncontrolled giggling began I knew my revenge was complete.
None of the pledges were allowed in Key Club that year for some
reason, and no one at school ever talked about it....But I know what
happened, and sometimes when someone at work gives me a hard time, I pull
out those sliced up red jockey shorts and remember that I may get
retribution if I just wait long enough. Care to cross me? AND JUST OUT OF VERY MORBID CURIOSITY WHAT ELSE WOULD HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?
