The Telemachus Story Archive

Bolero
By Hooder
Email: hooder@ntlworld.com



Bolero

Rick slid the side panel into place on his new computer and sat back. He put the screwdriver down and smiled. A Dell Q-9000 for less than half its full price. He’d never have been able to afford one from the shop, but by buying the parts and putting it together himself he’d managed it. The case wasn’t quite as stylish as the proper titanium one, but that alone, with its cool fins and glowing blue strips, would have cost almost as much as the quantum core he’d found second-hand on Ebay. This should make vsex.com a completely different ball game. His old computer hadn’t been able to handle VR, and certainly wouldn’t have even looked at haptics – and touch was what it was all about on that site.

He switched the power on, and sighed in satisfaction at the almost total silence. No noisy fans on this – the cryo unit kept everything very cool very quietly. The only sign that it was working at all was the single green led alight on the front. He’d also treated himself to a broadband upgrade; the fastest available. He was all set.

Rick was itching to try the VR - especially on vsex site - but he made himself visit a couple of ordinary websites first, and played a shoot-em-up game just to make sure everything seemed Ok. All appeared to be well – and the speed was incredible.

“Right,” he said, and went to the vsex site. Slowly he picked up the headset and pulled it on. It was light in his hands, and matt black. He’d gone for a top-of-the-line one which had, in addition to the eye screens and headphones, a pair of electro-haptic transducers that rested on the sides of his head. He’d debated whether to spend the considerable extra on that, or go for just a haptic suit. The suits were tried and trusted technology, but wearing them detracted a great deal from the experience: no matter how well they worked you were always aware that the suit was there. The E-H transducers, on the other hand, fed sensory touch data directly into your brain and you felt it all without the need for a bulky suit. They hadn’t been on the market at anything like affordable prices for very long, but he’d heard that people were raving about them. Although he’d saved for months and also cashed in the inheritance he’d got from Aunt Freda, it had still just about cleaned him out buying this set-up.

The welcome screen appeared, and he clicked the ‘Search for VR-Enabled Partners’ button. More options appeared. He selected ‘Tops’, then worked his way through a dense page of assorted types, activities, fetishes, and much more. When he was done he hit the ‘Display Matches’ button.

A list of twelve guys who were online, available, and who matched his search criteria appeared, along with their details, reviews and ratings. Rick was concentrating on the photos, and dismissed six with beards (he’d always hated beards for some reason). Of the remaining ones, three were fanciable, but one in particular, Anton, was especially horny-looking. Oh yes, he thought, he is hot. Quickly he read through the guy’s profile: leather, edging, tickling, fucking, tit work, milking – the usuals. He would do very nicely. Anton had his own dungeon uploaded too. With slightly trembling fingers Rick pressed ‘Request Session’.

Nothing happened for a while and he was beginning to think that the guy wasn’t interested, or that he was AFK – but then the ‘Request Accepted’ light came on.

Rick had never experienced Virtual Reality before and he didn’t really know what to expect, so when the screen disappeared and he found himself in a well-equipped playroom, sitting on a restraint table, and with the sexy Anton stood there looking at him, he gasped. It was so real! He could feel the cold PVC-padded table through his jeans, and could smell the slightly musky room. There was almost complete silence except when Anton moved – and when he did, his leathers creaked quietly in a deliciously sexy way.

“Hi,” said Anton. “Welcome to my dungeon.” He nodded appreciatively. “Mmm. You’re a good-looking boy.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “First time with VR, I think?”

Was it that obvious, Rick thought. “Um, yes.”

“Ok. Let’s get you stripped, then you can lie down.”

Rick started to unfasten his jeans but Anton stopped him with a chuckle. “This is VR.” His eyes looked down for a moment – Rick guessed he was interacting with his Top’s control panel – then the boy jumped: he was suddenly naked. His cock, although soft, sprang out as it was released from his clothes, and he felt the cooler air of the room on his skin.

“Ah. Right.” Rick looked down at the table and lay flat out on it. Anton buckled his wrists and ankles into the leather cuffs attached to it, and Rick gasped – he could feel the straps going on exactly as if they had been real. He tried to move, but they held him down every bit as effectively as actual ones.

As a sub, he had no control panel himself. He wondered for a moment what options were available to Tops; no doubt he’d find out before long.

Anton climbed onto the table and lay on top of him, his motorcycle boots scraping over Rick’s calves. Slowly he lowered himself, and Rick gasped in pleasure as the cold black leather jeans and jacket made contact with his body. They kissed. Anton tasted good, and the boy kissed him back hard.

The turned-up collar of Anton’s leather jacket stroked the boy’s neck as he pulled his head back and smiled thoughtfully into Rick’s eyes. “Hmm. I think I would like to edge you first, then make you cum, and then tickle-torture you.”

Rick thought about this - the first two were fine. And he quite enjoyed being tickled sometimes, if it was gentle, but tickle-torture? And after he’d cum? “I’d rather you tickled me before I cum.”

Anton’s smiled widened slightly. “Oh I know you would. But you’d be horny then, and so it wouldn’t be torture.”

Rick wasn’t at all sure about this. “No, please. No tickle torture.”

The leather guy looked slightly disappointed. “No?” He sighed. “Ok, as it’s your first time, no tickle torture. Just gentle stuff.”

He climbed down from the table and pulled up a stool to sit on. Rick wondered what the guy was doing when he pulled a single tissue from a box and held it up by just one corner. He watched it slowly approach him, and when the dangling corner touched his thighs and began to stroke over them he groaned. It tickled, but it was much more than that. The feeling was acutely horny. When it got to his balls and drifted over them, his breathing got faster and he groaned much more loudly. He would never have imagined that a piece of tissue could cause feelings like that. His cock had started to get hard immediately, and now it was fully erect.

The edge of the tissue arrived at the base of his cock. He thought it was going to continue up it, and he longed for it to do that – but it didn’t. Instead Anton moved it back the way it had come, over the boy’s balls and along the insides and the tops of his thighs.

Four or five times the leather guy did this – very slowly along the thighs, over the balls to the base of the cock, and back again. Sometimes the corner got between the top of a thigh and the side of his balls – and that was particularly intense. Anton noticed his reaction and drew the edge of the tissue up between them intentionally. That made Rick grit his teeth and sigh with pleasure.

This was becoming very frustrating. More than anything the boy needed to feel something on his cock. He moaned and whimpered.

“In time, in time...” Anton whispered. The tissue began another journey.

At last the tissue didn’t stop. Anton held the cock at the base, pointing it in different directions so that the tissue could work on all of it. It continued up the shaft, the point of the corner tickling unbearably upwards. He avoided the frenulum for a long time, working on the flanges of the head – that alone made Rick pump his hips and moan in frustration. It was more intense than he would have believed possible: acute shocks of pleasure ran up and down his cock.

But when the leather guy directed the corner of the tissue onto the boy’s frenulum, Rick’s reaction was more violent than ever before. He yelled, his pelvis fucking the air.

Anton chuckled. “I think we need more restraints.” He got up, found a long leather strap and buckled it over the boy’s hips, just above the root of his cock, very tightly. Now Rick couldn’t hump at all. “And I think I’d like you gagged too.” He found a leather gag and pushed it into the boy’s mouth, strapping it tightly behind his head.

Experimentally Rick tried to say something; all that emerged was quiet, muffled and unintelligible rubbish. The gag made him feel more helpless than the rest of the restraints put together: now he couldn’t communicate, couldn’t ask the guy to stop even if he wanted to.

Anton went back to tickling the cock head with the edge of the infuriatingly soft tissue.

This was unbearable. He needed to cum so badly that he couldn’t stop himself from trying to thrust his pelvis, and before the strap had gone on, that thrusting had relieved a tiny bit of the frustration – but now that movement was denied him, and it made everything much worse.

When Anton took a second tissue and started to tease the boy’s balls with it at the same time – being careful to get it often into the warm, dark gaps at the sides of the scrotum – Rick thought he was going to go mad. He needed to cum!

But in spite of the unbearable frustration, this was wonderful; Rick was loving every second of it. Anton seemed to be a responsible, sensible kind of guy, and Rick didn’t think he’d do anything to him he really didn’t want. And it had been a long time since he’d felt so fucking horny.

Anton sat back for a moment. “Ok. I think that’ll do for now. I’ll let you cool off a bit.” He changed the tissues for two new ones and started to run their soft corners over the boy’s upper body. His arms, shoulders, chest, sides – even his neck and face.

That just tickled – a lot. Rick giggled and writhed on the table as the tissues drifted lightly over his skin, leaving tingles of pure, itchy ticklishness in their wake. At least the way that he was holding the tissues, the guy couldn’t get them deep into his armpits, and Rick was grateful for that.

No! Anton had moved to the bottom of the table and looked like he was going to start on Rick’s feet. He discarded one tissue and rolled the remaining one up diagonally into a long, thin cylinder so that the corners formed the pointed ends. This made it stiffer so that it could be used horizontally, but the working tip would still be every bit as soft.

Even before it had made contact Rick was jerking his feet from side to side in hysterical panic. A leather-gloved hand descended and gripped the foot, holding it immobile.

Rick screamed into the gag as the edge of the tissue stroked lightly across the bare sole. It was far, far worse than he had even imagined it could be. He fought to free the foot, to escape that dreadful tickling, but the hand held it firmly as the soft point continued to stroke over the boy’s sensitive skin. Even so, his cock was still just as hard; he could deal with the tickling – just – and the feeling of not being able to control it was intensely horny. Anton had said no tickle torture! Perhaps this wasn’t torture, but if it wasn’t, then Rick didn’t want to think about what the real thing would be like.

Anton released the foot, and then did the same thing to the other one for a while, then he stopped. He sat down on the stool again.

“Good grief you’re ticklish, boy. Oh, I really want to torture you...” He smiled at Rick’s suddenly terrified expression. “But not today. You must come back again. Now, I’m going to make you cum...”

Yes! That was exactly what the boy wanted.

“But I’m going to take a long time to do it.”

There was a flash. At first Rick thought that something had exploded silently in the room, but then he realised it wasn’t that. It had been a complete white-out that lasted only a tenth of a second, and then it had gone. Rick looked around: everything seemed as normal.

Anton climbed back onto the table, his leathers creaking, and as he did so he noticed the boy squirming slowly. Obviously likes being restrained and gagged, he thought. Slowly he lowered his leather-clad body and breathed in pleasure at the feel of the sexy boy under him. It was a shame he couldn’t tickle him hard, though, because he would dearly love to. He kissed the gagged mouth and ran his gloved fingers through the soft hair.

Rick had relaxed again now, but he was still looking strangely worried. Anton just cuddled him for a while, and then got off the table.

“Ok. Time to make you cum.”

Rick jumped. A tingle of ticklishness had gone through him. The guy wasn’t touching him anywhere at the moment but he’d felt it distinctly - nowhere specific, but all over - through his entire body. It wasn’t too bad, but like a tooth that suddenly twinges slightly, it held an unmistakable threat that it could quickly become totally unbearable if it really wanted to.

Anton frowned. Why was the boy jumping like that? He wondered. Oh well, not to worry – the lad was probably just nervous. A little music may help, he thought.

He ran his fingers along the rack of CDs and pulled one out. That would do nicely: Ravel’s Bolero. It lasted about fifteen minutes, and if he could time it right and make the boy cum at the end, that would be excellent. He put the disc into the machine, turned the volume up, and pressed play, then he sat down on the stool by the table again. He poured some lube onto Rick’s semi-hard cock and then took it between his gloved fingers. From the playroom’s speakers a quiet snare drum began to beat out a rhythm in ¾ time. A flute announced the melody.

Rick stared at the face of the good-looking leather guy who was working on him. The tickle-tingle was back, and this time it wasn’t going away. It was fairly low-key and it was actually quite nice. His cock responded quickly under Anton’s fingers; it felt to him like it was the fingers that were causing this tickling feeling. He didn’t recognise the music.

The flute passed the tune to a clarinet, and then a bassoon took over.

Anton’s fingertips were sliding very slowly up and down the full length of the boy’s cock and he seemed to be doing it in time with the music.

Things stayed like this for a while, and Rick was getting into it. The tickling actually seemed erotic. A few repeats later the slightly sharper sound of a saxophone took over. Rick realised that the ticklish feeling was increasing. He had never felt anything like this before. He’d been tickled in the past at various times, but it had always been on clearly defined spots. This was frighteningly unlike that: the most worrying thing was that there was a kind of base tickling, not on any specific spot, but at his very core, and constant. It was as if his soul was being tickled. Then on top of that there were spikes of more localised, acute tickling which darted about everywhere: the palms of his hands, between his fingers, his back, his knees, his arsehole, his nose, ears – there didn’t seem to be a single spot on his body that wasn’t affected by the tickling at one moment or another. The whole thing was coming rhythmically, in sharp waves in time with the music, and it was gradually getting worse.

The music was getting more forceful now, more insistent, and louder. When the horns started playing the tune things got much more intense and the sharp brass tickling seemed to be targetting his armpits. It felt to Rick like his whole nervous system was vibrating in time with it – it was as if the tickling had audible form somehow, as if it were the music. And it was very quickly becoming unbearable.

Then, with a start, Rick realised what was happening: it was the music that was doing it. Sound! The first time he’d felt it was before Anton had put the CD on, when he’d spoken, and had told him it was time to make him cum. He’d yelled urgently around the gag – and his body had jerked at an agonisingly intense spike of tickling that his yell had caused. He was not going to do that again. That proved it – but shit, he thought in dread, there was nothing he could do about it: he was gagged and there was no way he could let the guy know – and any sound he made would only make it worse.

Anton had glanced up at the yell, but when the boy’s muscles had relaxed a little he’d gone back to concentrating hard on the boy’s cock, holding the base with one hand and sliding his smooth leather-gloved fingertips over and around the head.

Strings now – these seemed to be homing in on his pecs and abs - and things were getting louder. Rick writhed on the table in time with the Bolero. The music was gradually getting stronger and more forceful, and the tickling was getting much, much worse. The snare drum was heavier, seeming to probe sharp drumsticks into his sides, and more instruments were playing together – and every time the tune reached its end, the next time was worse still.

Anton’s fingers were milking him slowly in ¾ time. This boy was really getting into it, he thought – he was even moving in time with the music – and he was writhing in what was clearly extreme pleasure.

The boy’s cock was rock-hard and dripping precum. Rick was incapable of knowing what was going on now – all he could think about was the tickling that was getting more and more intense, and was rapidly becoming torture.

Each time the tune repeated, instruments were added, it was getting progressively louder, more energetic – and each time, in perfect synch with it, the tickling got worse still.

When the tympani arrived, seemingly targetting his leg and thigh muscles, and the central-core torture got even worse with the increased volume, Rick arched his back and screamed with every beat. The strident horns and strings playing in fifths poked, prodded and kneaded his sensitive body, combining to wrench shrieks of unendurable torment from him – shrieks which only added to the torture.

Towards the end of the piece Rick learned that the word ‘tutti’ was a synonym for ‘agony’, and that ‘coda’ was something even worse. That last time through the tune was the worst yet; his body was bouncing on the table in more insanely ticklish anguish than he could stand. When the entire orchestra began playing fortissimo, Anton gripped the cock harder and milked it with full-hand, firm strokes in perfect time with the pounding rhythm, and as the final cymbals entered with deafening crashes, the boy’s spunk erupted and shot in white arcs into the air. Rick was screaming, writhing and thrashing in his restraints on the table, his hips thrusting madly and his body jerking on the black PVC padding – all in time with the thundering music.

The Bolero ended in a cacophonous smashing of sound and Rick crashed back down onto the table, moaning and panting, still in synch with music that was no longer there, as the memory of that dreadful ordeal echoed in his mind. His cock was still jerking rhythmically though his orgasm had ended. Anton wiped the spunk off the table and stood up. “That,” he said, “was wonderful.”

Rick’s body jerked again sharply at the words. He let out a frantically stifled groan – he needed Anton to keep absolutely silent. That had been the most intense orgasm he’d ever had in his life. And it had also been torture worse than he would have ever imagined possible.

As Anton unstrapped the gag Rick tried to pull himself together. The first thing he did was whisper, “don’t make any sound! Please!” His eyes were wide open, staring urgently.

The leatherguy opened his mouth but Rick shook his head violently. “Shh!” Even whispering as quietly as this was sending spikes of tickling through him and now that he had cum he did most certainly not want to feel it any more strongly. “Come closer.”

Frowning, Anton lowered his head.

“There’s something wrong with the VR on my computer.” Rick’s lips were touching Anton’s ear, and he was whispering directly into it as quietly as possible. “The slightest sound tickles. Like fuck. I can’t take it. Please. No sound. Let me go so I can sort it out. Please.”

Anton blinked. Sound causing tickling? He’d never heard of that happening before. For one wonderful, sadistic moment the possibilities that this presented went through his mind. Pure tickle torture just by making noise. The 1812 overture or William Tell occurred to him. But then he frowned, and nodded. “Ok,” he mouthed.

There was no need to release the boy from his restraints – he waved goodbye, then used his control panel to end the session.

* * *

Rick pulled the VR set off and collapsed back into his gaming chair. He was trembling all over. His heart was still pounding, but its rate was beginning to come down. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he breathed. He looked at the new computer. He didn’t understand exactly how the VR worked but he knew in principle what had happened: the sound data and the haptic data had somehow got mixed up. He had no idea what he could do to fix that – he could look on Google but he doubted if there’d be any answers on there to that particular question.

He staggered to his feet and got a glass of water from the kitchen. As he leaned against the counter he couldn’t stop thinking about that session. On the one hand the tickling had been absolutely unbearable, but on the other he’d never in his life imagined that an orgasm could be that wonderful.

An hour later he was still thinking about it. It had been strange: the music, the tickling, and what Anton had been doing to his cock had all merged together somehow – it was as if they’d been one and the same. He must find out what that piece of music was called – he had to get a copy. And when he’d started to cum, with the cymbals crashing and the tympani booming and everything playing fit to bust, it had been like the music had been both tickle-torturing him insanely, and also milking him with mind-blowing intensity.

He looked at the computer. He could take it apart again and try to find the problem, he supposed.

But he knew then that he wouldn’t. He needed to feel like that again.

He opened a message window to Anton and, with his fingers poised over the keyboard, he stared at the blank page, wondering exactly what he was going to say.

He started to type.