"Paul?" Mike hammered on the bathroom door. "Can I borrow your leather jeans please?"
Mike knocked on the door again. "Please..."
"No! Fuck off!"
"Oh pleeeease, Mike. Just for tonight. I wanna go to the club in them."
The door opened and Paul stood there dripping from the shower, clutching a towel. "They're new. I only got them last week. Get your own." He rubbed his short black hair vigorously with the towel as he pushed past his brother. Mike followed him into the bedroom.
"I can't afford some of my own," Mike wailed. "Please, bro - I'll take good care of them. Just for tonight?"
Mike tugged at the towel. "I lent you my Madonna CD..."
"And I lent you Aphex Twin. You are not having them. I'm off out as well tonight. Gonna pull."
"You never go out on Fridays, you bastard. You're only doing it cos I want them."
"I'm horny and I want to go out." He threw the towel on the floor and regarded his reflection in the mirror. His cock was semi-hard.
"I'll tickle you..." Mike smiled an evil smile.
Mike lauched himself at his brother, his fingers digging into the boy's sides. Paul convulsed in hysterics, trying to fight him off. "Haaaaah! N-n-no! Gerroff you fucking bastard!" They wrestled and fell onto the bed. Although Paul was the elder boy and stronger, his extreme ticklishness always made him completely helpless under his brother's skillful hands. Mike had developed that skill over years, and it had served him well in the past on very many occasions. But right now tickling Paul was not the only thing on Mike's agenda.
They rolled around on the bed and Mike ended up on sitting on Paul's stomach, pinning his arms to the bed under his knees. He worked on his brother's body with one hand just enough to keep the boy helpless while he reached behind his back with the other and gently took Paul's hard cock beween his fingers. Although he hated it, being tickled always got Paul hard and horny. Mike knew this well. Slowly at first, and then faster, he began to wank Paul off.
"Fuck off! Noooo!!!!" Paul tried to struggle and to throw Mike off, but each time he moved, the fingers tickled harder, working on his ribs, his sides, and his armpits. And all the while, he was being methodically milked.
As always when he was being tickled, Paul came quickly. He closed his eyes in ecstasy, and moaned as his cum squirted out - covering Mike's hand and his own thighs in thick, white puddles.
Mike slowed his hand, milking every last drop of spunk gently from his brother's cock, then sat back, looking down at the exhausted boy. "You still horny, bro? Still wanna go out?"
Paul gritted his teeth, but he was smiling. "You're a fucking bastard, you know that?"
Mike nodded. "I know."
"Listen to me very carefully. I want those jeans back tomorrow in exactly the same condition they're in now. If there is one single mark on them, your balls are history. Is that clear?"
Mike grinned. "Thanks bro. You know you can trust me."
Paul eyed his brother, pulled an arm free and tousled the boy's blond hair. "That'll be a fucking first," he chuckled.
* * *
The XY Club had only opened a few months ago, and it was heaving. Mike had never been there before, and he felt self-conscious as he made his way to the bar. Men in leather, rubber or tight faded jeans stood around drinking beer and watching the new arrivals, and he was aware of all the eyes on him as he ordered a Coke. Paul's leather jeans felt incredibly sexy. He and his brother were the same waist size, but Mike was bigger in the thighs because of all the running he did. This meant that while not being excessively tight across the crotch, the leather stretched like a second skin over his legs, without a single crease anywhere. He wore combat boots over them, a tight white teeshirt which showed his well-developed pecs, and a bullet belt around his hips. With his startlingly blond hair and blue eyes, he knew very well that he looked hot.
It seemed that many of the guys in the room shared that view - lustful looks followed him as he took his Coke to the back of the club, to one of the cut-down oil drums that were scattered around the place. Before he sat down he made sure the drum was clean, and he tried to pull the jeans up at the knees to avoid stretching the leather, but they were far too tight to move a millimeter. He sat down carefully, keeping his legs as straight as possible.
He looked around the room. There were quite a few guys that he fancied - one of whom was leaning against another drum, staring straight at Mike. This guy was in full bike leathers and wore a bullet belt identical to Mike's. The leather-gloved thumb of one hand was hooked in it, the fingers resting gently on his bulging crotch, and stroking it slowly. He was also wearing a black leather mask - it was the first time Mike had ever seen anyone wearing a mask in a club. Only his eyes and mouth were visible.
Mike's cock began to get hard. It didn't take much. (A friend of his had once said that at his age, boys were never more than ten seconds away from orgasm - and Mike knew that in his case it was probably true.) In his sitting position, the jeans over his crotch were not tight, and his growing erection began to push the thin leather out into an ever-increasing bulge. This proved to be a self-driving cycle, as the feeling of the jeans moving and re-adjusting themselves over his cock and balls felt amazingly sexy, making him ever harder. He had a powerful urge to grip his cock and wank himself off there and then. But he resisted. Very soon he was conscious of this obscene pyramid sticking out between his thighs.
The sight of this was clearly having an effect on the guy who was staring at him, as his own cock got hard in response. Before long the guy's bulge was almost as big as Mike's - even though his bike jeans were a lot thicker. The bullet belt was actually resting behind the leather-covered head of his cock.
A second guy came up to the one who had been staring, and handed him a drink. This guy was also masked. There was a short conversation, with the first guy nodding his head towards Mike, then the second one looked over too.
This one was a hunk! Mike was disappointed that they were together - it meant he probably couldn't have either of them. But then they both walked over to him. "Hi," said the first guy.
Mike smiled. "Hi."
"I'm Gary, this is Tim. You up for a bit of fun?"
Mike looked confused. "Aren't - aren't you... together?"
Gary smiled. "Just mates. But we sometimes play together - if there's a cute leatherboy to get tied up."
"Ah." The thought of being tied up and played with by these two was a very nice thought indeed. "Oh, sorry - I'm Mike."
"Come on then, let's go."
Mike finished his Coke and followed the two guys out of the club, smiling to himself at the envious glances from some of the other customers.
As they walked out into the open air, neither Gary nor Tim seemed self-conscious that they were wearing leather masks in public. But the club was in a quiet area and there were few people about.
Gary unlocked the car and got into the drivers seat. Mike and Tim climbed into the rear. Once inside, Tim opened his leather-jeaned legs wide and pulled Mike onto the seat between them. He produced a plastic wrist cuff and fastened Mike's hands together behind his back, then pulled him back so that he was leaning back against him, the boy's head resting on his shoulder. As the car moved off, Tim placed a leather-gloved hand firmly across Mike's eyes, blindfolding him, and kept it there. "Don't want you to know where we're going," he whispered. Seeing in the rear-view mirror that the boy was blindfolded, Gary removed his mask with one hand for the drive.
Mike's cock was rock-hard inside his jeans as the car moved through the streets of the city. He had no idea where he was - he'd tried to keep track, but had lost his bearings ages ago. Behind his back his hands were pressed against Tim's jeans and he could feel the guy's hard cock through the warm leather. He kept up a constant, gentle massage of the shaft, enjoying Tim's quiet moans of pleasure.
"How much further to - mphhhh!" Tim's other hand clamped over the boy's mouth, gagging him. He tried to struggle, just for the fun of it, but the hands held him tighter. He could neither see anything nor communicate.
Eventually the car slowed, and came to a stop. Gary turned and reached back from the driver's seat, dropping a canvas hood over Mike's head. Mike wondered why they hadn't hooded him to begin with - and guessed that it was because Tim enjoyed holding a boy helpless with his hands. He felt the warm midsummer air rush in as the car door was opened, and he was guided out of the vehicle. Hooded and cuffed, he was completely dependent on the guys as they led him up some steps and into a house.
He was led through the building and into a space that was not as warm as outside, but not as cool as he'd have expected indoors to be. The accoustics were odd too: it sounded bare. An outhouse, perhaps? Or a garage?
Thick leather fingerless mitts were forced over Mike's hands, locked on, and then the plasticuff was cut off, freeing his wrists. Immediately the guys pulled his teeshirt off, grabbed his arms and lifted them up. He heard the click of metal fasteners as they were secured to a single restraint point directly above his head. It moved slightly, and Mike guessed it was a chain hainging from the ceiling. A strap was tightened around his combat boots, forcing his feet tight together, and another one went around his knees.
"Oh fuck, beautiful body," said Tim, eyeing Mike's slim waist and defined pecs appreciatively.
Tim pulled the hood off, but before the boy had a chance to see anything, he pulled a narrow strip of stretchy black rubber over his head, blindfolding him and flattening his ears. He sprinkled poppers onto a pad and clamped it over Mike's mouth and nose, so that the boy had no choice but to breathe it in. "Yeah," he growled, "breathe that in. Gonna make you one horny boy..."
Mike felt a hand on his crotch. A finger and thumb squeezed his cock repeatedly, working their way slowly up from the base of the shaft to the tip. A second voice, on the other side of him, whispered into his ear. "We like making boys cum early - makes them react a lot better to what we do after..."
The fingers gripped Mike's cock and started to wank him fast and hard through the thin leather of his jeans. Mike's head was swimming with the poppers, and he felt so fucking horny - but suddenly an awful thought occurred to him. "NO! Don't make me cum in these j-" the leather-gloved hand was back over his mouth, gagging him. If he returned Paul's jeans stiff with his spunk he was dead! He struggled and spun from the restraint, desperate to keep those fingers off his cock, but the hand over his mouth was joined by another one around his chest, holding him still and limiting his movements severely.
Gary knew how to make boys cum. He forced a hand slowly through between the tops of Mike's thighs from behind, working the fingers in inch by inch, tickling and teasing as they went, while his other hand continued to milk the hard, horny cock through his jeans - sliding the sexy black leather quickly up and down the shaft and rubbing his thumb over the sensitive head with each stroke. The hand between Mike's thighs was now through to the wrist, and the fingers began to tease the boy's balls from underneath.
Mike screamed into the leather-gloved, gagging hand, and shot his load. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the rubber blindfold as what seemed like gallons of hot, sticky spunk pumped out of his cock into Paul's brand-new leather jeans. For a few seconds, while he was cumming, he didn't think of this - his mind was totally taken up by his incredibly intense orgasm - but as the throbbing of ejaculation grew slower, and his brain began to function again, he realised what he'd done - and what he was in for from his brother. He groaned as the hand on his cock, barely moving now, milked him dry.
The voice by his ear chuckled quietly. "Hehe - tried to resist, did ya? We can always make boys like you cum in your fucking jeans."
Mike could feel sticky wet leather all over his crotch and thigh, and spunk running down the inside of his leg. He groaned again.
The hand over his mouth was removed, and replaced by a leather gag, forced between his teeth and strapped tightly behind his head. Then his wrists began to come down.
Gary lowered the hoist, paying the thin rope out as Tim pulled Mike's arms down in front of him. When they were low enough he fastened the rope, grabbed the boy's feet and between them the two guys got Mike first sitting - and then, after paying more rope out, lying - on the bare concrete floor of the garage. His arms were still held above his head as he lay on floor, the concrete scratchy, cool and rough against his bare skin.
Tim unfastened the straps from around Mike's legs, pulled his feet apart and attached a spreader bar. He stood between the boy's knees, lifted a booted foot and lowered it onto the lad's balls. He ground it into the leather - not hard enough to cause too much pain, but enough to make Mike groan urgently into the gag. "Yeaaahhhh...." he growled. He twisted his boot one way and then the other as if he were grinding out a cigarette, and used the heel to push against Mike's perineum. The boot left light grey prints and scratches on the leather wherever it touched.
Mike was shaking his head violently and yelling into the gag, but his words were unintelligible - which was perfectly fine with Gary and Tim. The boy had had his enjoyment - now it was their turn.
Gary put on a pair of long black rubber gloves, and picked up a can of grease. He scooped out a large thick, black handful and smeared it over Mike's bare chest and arms, leaving small islands untouched around his nipples. He took another handful, pulled the waistband of the boy's jeans out away from his stomach and, pushing his hand inside, coated Mike's cock and balls with the whole lot.
Mike was delerious. He struggled and screamed into the gag, but the guys took no notice at all. Tim held him down while Gary stuffed a second handful of grease inside his jeans, then watched as he grabbed the boy's crotch through the leather and massaged the grease in.
Despite all this, Mike was actually getting hard again. The grease felt wonderful as it melted slightly with his body heat and became thick, viscous and slippery. The leather jeans stuck to him and slid against his skin unbelievably sexily.
Gary took more grease and coated every square inch of the outside of Mike's leather jeans with the stuff, turning him over to do the back as well, making them sticky and even more shiny than they were already. Then he took the rubber gloves off, sat astride the boy's chest and took a nipple between the thumb and finger of each hand. Tim was massaging his own cock through his jeans as he watched Gary squeeze and twist the boy's tits, and sliding his hips and crotch up and down Mike's stomach on the lubricating film of grease.
Mike loved having his nipples played with. His cock hardened more as Gary's fingers worked on them expertly.
After a while, Gary got off and the two guys lifted Mike to a standing position. His bullet belt was removed, his blindfold was quickly replaced with a thick black leather hood, and he was given more poppers and another coating of grease. After removing the leg-spreader and clipping his leather-mitted hands behind his back, they strapped elbow protectors onto him, and then led him out of the garage onto the piece of land behind the house.
It was a farm, and before them was what appeared to be a swamp - a waterless pond full of thick, oozing mud. At one side of the swamp stood an old tractor. Mike could see none of this as it was a blindfolding hood they'd put onto him - and his first inkling of what was about to happen was when he was carefully tripped and pushed into it, landing with a loud and liquid squelch in the mud. He yelled into the gag in alarm, raising his head for air, the glutinous black stuff oozing down the outside of the hood. He was totally covered in mud from head to toe.
Seconds later he was joined by Gary and Tim, who jumped into the mud either side of him and slid their own - now mud-covered - leather bodies and hands all over him in an orgy of black, slimy gunginess. Tim unzipped his jeans and got his hard cock out, then both guys positioned the struggling boy so that Tim was lying on top of him. He pushed his cock between Mike's greasy, muddy, leather-jeaned thighs and fucked him hard and violently - kissing his gagged mouth passionately through the blindfolding hood until, within seconds, the slippery black leather of the boy's jeans sliding against his cock made him cum. The pounding of Tim's pelvis against Mike's crotch caused his hard cock first to slide to the side in the film of grease inside his jeans, then to spring back to its original position from the tension of its hardness. Each time this happened it felt like he was being wanked - and together with his sightless helplessness and the pure pervertedness of the situation - it made him cum for a second time. More spunk shot out and mixed with the grease inside the leather jeans.
Breathing heavily, Tim stood, zipped himself up, and climbed aboard the tractor. The old diesel engine coughed and spluttered, then caught.
Gary took the end of a rope that was attached to the back of the tractor and pulled it to where Mike lay. He unclipped the mitts, brought the boys' hands round to his front and fastened them together again, then tied the rope through the rings on the mitts. "Go!" He shouted, waving to Tim.
Tim put the tractor into gear and released the clutch slowly. It started to move forward. The rope tightened, stretched Mike's arms over his head, and then started pulling him bodily through the ooze.
The weight of his body tended to make him sink into the sludge, and he had to keep his head back to be able to breathe. The feeling of the slippery mud sliding over him was intensely pervy, and even though he'd cum minutes ago for the second time, he was finding the whole thing surprisingly horny.
Mike reached the end of the swamp, and the tractor stopped. Gary had been watching his progress, his cock out and his greasy hand moving slowly up and down the full length of the shaft - but now he released Mike's hands from the rope and waited until Tim had driven the tractor over to the other end of the swamp. He re-attached the mitts to the tractor, and knelt over the boy. Taking the pad and the bottle from a pocket, he forced Mike to take another large dose of poppers. "You like being pulled through the mud? Eh? This is better..." He reached down and unfastened Mike's leather jeans, pulling the zip right down. "Go!"
The tractor moved off again and the rope tightened. Mike was once more pulled through the mud. With the belt gone and the jeans undone, the mud pulled them down slowly and oozed between his bare legs, over his cock and balls, between the cheeks of his arse. The jeans, now down around his ankles, were filled with the slimy black stuff, and acting like a parachute, dragging him and making the rope stretch him more. His cock, hard again, ploughed a furrow through the sludge beneath him, alternately being forced backwards between his legs and then springing back again in the hardness of full, youthful erection. The poppers were working on him, and inside the blackness of the leather hood he was in a universe of squelchy, slippery sex.
The tractor slowed, then stopped. Gary pulled the boy's jeans up - making sure they filled completely with mud as he did so - and zipped them up again carefully. He removed Mike's gag, poppered him again heavily, then unclipped the boy's mitted hands from the rope and separated them. Apart from the blindfolding hood, Mike was now unrestrained. He took up a combative stance over the boy. "Gonna make you cum again, boy - if you can stop me I'll give you two hundred quid for a new pair of leather jeans before we take you back - if not, you go home exactly as you are.
"You fucking bastards!" Mike's jaw ached from the gag. He could see nothing but the black leather over his eyes, but he dreaded to think what state his brother's jeans were in by now. A new pair of jeans would save his skin! YES! He could give Paul the money for a new pair and keep these for sex!
Gary launched himself at Mike, who had stood up, though still up to his knees in the mud, and pushed him back into the squelching gunge. Mike fought and tried to slip out of the guy's grip, but he couldn't see anything - where Gary was, or where his hands were going. "This is unfair - I can't see anything!" He yelled.
"I know you can't. That's what blindfolding hoods are for - so you can't fucking see," taunted Gary.
He struggled blindly, doing everything he could to keep his crotch out of the reach of Gary's determinedly milking fingers. He turned away from where he thought the guy was, and was suddenly pushed face down into the mud, Gary on top of him. He fought to keep his head out of the ooze.
Gary laughed an evil laugh, and pushed a hand down between Mike's thighs into the mud. At least the gag had kept the mud out of his mouth. Holding the boy down with his body weight, he worked his hand up until he felt the boy's cock bulge under his fingers, then gripped just the head, firmly. Vey slowly, he began to milk the boy.
"No! You bastard! NOOOO!!!" Mike closed his legs, squeezing his thighs together, and tried to twist to get his cock away from the hand - but there was nowhere he could move to escape the relentlessly milking fingers. Face down as he was he couldn't use his arms to fight, and he realised that Gary had got him helpless. In desperation he tried to curl up - to bring his knees up to his chest to get the hand out - but that proved to be counter-productive. In that position the leather over his cock was even looser, and gave Gary a better and firmer grip. The fingers moved frustratingly slowly up and down and over his cockhead through the slippery, grease- and mud-filled leather jeans. "Remember, boy - don't let yourself cum again." Every time Mike tried to bring his own hand down to grab Gary's, the guy would wrench it back. When he tried to bring both down, Tim - who had climbed down from the tractor and had been standing watching, grabbed the other one and held it out of the way.
Mike was out of options - there was nothing he could do to get away from the hand slowly tossing him off in his jeans, and every movement he made in the oozing slime just added to his horniness. For the third time he felt himself approaching orgasm. With a final, desperate struggle, he tried to push Gary off him - but it was hopeless. Gary knew he wouldn't be able to hold out - the slow, frustrating way he was working on his cock was clear evidence of that. Mike could feel the grease and slime inside the jeans, and the leather itself, moving, caressing his balls and thighs with each stroke.
Suddenly, and without any warning at all, Gary began to milk him hard and fast. The abrupt, unexpected change to fast, firm strokes pushed him over the edge instantly, and he came in brother's jeans again. For the third time he was helpless to stop his spunk from squirting out into the black leather.
Gary continued milking him until he felt Mike was done, then knelt up astride the exhausted boy. "Guess you lose, leatherboy."
Tim released Mikes arm, and cuffed the mitts together again behind the boy's back. He turned him face up, then he went behind Gary and knelt down in the mud. Gary took a sharp knife out of his pocket and made small cuts in Mike's jeans in various places - the bottom of each leg, one each side of the crotch, and one at each knee. The boy's jeans were so tight that he had to be very careful on the legs, but when it was done he folded the knife and put it back in his pocket.
He grabbed Mike's feet and gripped them hard between his thighs, sitting on his ankles, to keep him still - then, inserting a finger into the cut he'd made to the right of the boy's crotch, he slowly tore a long rip in the leather.
Tim reached around Gary, unzipped him and took his cock in his mud-slippery hand. He began to wank the guy slowly.
Mike suddenly realised what was happening, and screamed. "STOP IT YOU FUCKERS! GET THE FUCK OFF ME! YOU FUCKING BASTARD CUNTS!!!!" He tried to get away, but again Gary had got him helpless in the soft mud. The more he struggled the harder it was to keep his head above the surface.
One at a time, Gary pulled each cut into a long rip. Sometimes he had to use both hands to guide the tear. It wasn't east getting his finger into the ones on the legs as the leather was stretched so tightly, but once he managed it, the thin leather parted easily. Tim continued working on his cock from behind him. He was not far from cumming.
One more cut left - the one to the left of his crotch, the side his cock was. He made this tear wider, then forced his hand inside and up onto the boy's cock. He knew there was no way he'd be able to make the lad cum again, but the feel of his hand inside the ripped leather, and his fingers gently sliding over the greasy, slippery cockhead, was exactly what he'd longed for since the moment he'd first seen the boy in the club.
Tim was milking him more firmly now, and with a shudder and a loud roar, Gary came. His spunk landed in white, semi-transparent pools on what was left of Mike's jeans.
Exhausted, Gary collapsed onto the boy.
* * *
The car - the seats of which had been covered with plastic sheeting - slowed and stopped. The rear door opened and Mike was pushed out onto the pavement. A carrier bag landed next to him. He felt the plasticuffs being cut off, and then heard the car race off. By the time he'd got the gaffa tape from over his eyes, the car had disappeared round a corner. He had no idea who those two guys were, what they looked like, or where he'd been taken. He couldn't even remember what kind of car it had been - or even the damned colour. And they'd made sure he didn't get the registration number. Bastards.
He'd been dumped in a quiet street he didn't immediately recognise. He opened the carrier bag and looked inside - his bullet belt and his clean white teeshirt were inside. Achingly he stood up and started walking. Within a few minutes he realised where he was, and set off towards the flat he and his brother shared. It wasn't far away.
He was surprised to find that his wallet and keys had survived the ordeal intact, and he let himself into the flat silently. Before going in he took his combat boots off - there was no point in leaving muddy footprints all over the place, and it would make a silent, unobserved entrance easier. Mike had no idea what the hell he was going to say to his brother, but it could wait until tomorrow. He didn't know what time it was, but it was late, so Paul would probably be asleep in his bedroom.
Paul wasn't asleep in his bedroom. As Mike padded quietly down the hall, Paul came out of the bathroom. Not having heard him come in, he jumped at seeing him there. "Mike!" He said. And then he stared, open-mouthed at the figure in front of him. Slowly, his eyes travelled down Mike's body until they came to rest on the ripped, greasy, cum-soaked, stinking remains of his new leather jeans. He blinked once, then closed his mouth and swallowed. "Tell me, tell me that those are not my jeans. Tell me that, Mike."
Mike looked as if he was on the point of crying. "Oh Mike, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He shook his head slowly. "These two guys got me - and - and..."
Paul stood there in silence, and Mike waited for the explosion he knew was coming. Then Paul walked up to him, put his arms around him, and hugged him. "Are you all right, bro?"
"No I'm not all right. I've ruined your jeans."
"No," said Paul quietly, "are you all right?"
Mike nodded silently, and a tear ran down his cheek, unseen.
"Go get a shower, then come and tell me all about it. I'll make you some coffee." He held his brother at arm's length, looking down at what was left of his leather jeans. "Better leave those outside the bathroom, I think." He padded off to the kitchen.
Mike couldn't believe it. He'd expected fisticuffs at the very least. His brother's concern - and apparent unquestioning forgiveness touched him deeply. He spent a long time in the shower.
When he came out a cup of coffee was waiting for him, and the leather jeans were gone from the floor. He sat down, naked, and told Paul the whole story of what had happened to him.
When he'd finished, Paul shook his head sadly. "Well, that might teach you to be more careful about going with masked men. Still - you came three times? Couldn't have hated it that much then...
Mike smiled self-consciously. "I'll buy you some new leather jeans when I've saved up enough money."
Paul sighed, then shook his head. "Don't worry about it, bro." He stood up. "Come on, let's get some sleep."
* * *
The summer had gone, and today was September 20th - Mike's birthday. He felt good. Sleepily he collected his cards off the dormat and took them into the living room. It wasn't until he'd opened them all that he noticed a beautifully wrapped box on the table. The label on it read "To Mike - Happy Birthday, Bro. Love from Paul XXX" He ripped the paper off and opened the box. Inside, carefully wrapped in plastic, were the leather jeans - every bit as greasy and smelly as the day he'd returned from his ordeal in them.
At that moment Paul came in, beaming. "Happy Birthday Mike!" He noticed Mike's downcast face. "Like your present? Hope so. Oh - you've got them until midnight tonight, then I want them back. Gotta wrap them up for your Christmas present too."
Mike stared at his brother.
"And then for next year's birthday. And Christmas. And the one after that..."
Paul grinned. "I reckon about three years should pay for them. Waddya think?"
Mike stood up slowly, making slow, threatening tickling movements with his fingers, and chased his brother into the bedroom.
Paul's desperate voice echoed around the flat. "No! Don't you fucking dare! Get away from me you bastard! No. Noooooooooooo!!!!!! Arrghghghghghgh!!!!! All right! All right!! I give in! STOP!!! Your real present's under the bed!"
Then there was hysterical laughter - which went on for a long time.