Vinni Is Captured And Tickled
Vinni’s breath hitches as the feathers trail his ribs, his wrists bound to the couch, ankles spread wide. His head thrashes, but the blindfold seals his helplessness. “Should’ve stayed awake, baby,” the voice purrs—low, amused, hungry. The tickle shifts to his inner thighs, his balls tightening as the feather’s tip teases the vein beneath his cock. He arches, a choked whimper escaping, but the restraints hold him open, exposed.
The game begins. Cold steel presses to his nipple—ice, dragged down his abs to the base of his shaft. Vinni gasps, his cock jerking upright. “Fucking beg,” the voice commands, and his lips part—desperate, fractured syllables spilling out—before the feather returns, this time at his asshole. He bucks, but the grip on his hips pins him. A tongue replaces the feather, lapping his crease, teeth grazing his perineum. His cock strains, aching, screaming for touch.
Then—nothing. Silence. The couch dips as weight shifts behind him. A blunt head nudges his hole, slick and merciless. “You don’t cum,” the voice warns, driving in deep, stretching him wide. Vinni’s scream drowns in the gag shoved between his teeth. The thrusts are jagged, primal, the slap of flesh loud as the feathers flutter down his sweat-slicked back. Cum pools in his balls, pressure unbearable, but the grip on his shaft tightens—pain, not pleasure.
“Not. A. Drop.” The order cracks like a whip. The cock inside him stills, pulsing, waiting. Vinni’s body trembles, a hair’s breadth from release, denied until his vision blurs and his knees buckle. The restraints fall. The couch empties. He’s left alone, cock throbbing, ass gaping, the echo of laughter his only reward.
