Chapter
2: Getting Nice and Clean
I
untangle myself from the covers and strip out of my sweat and cum stained
pajamas, tossing them into my laundry basket.
Bleary eyed and stumbling, I toddle off into the bathroom and shut the
door. As I flick on the lights, I catch
a glimpse of myself in the mirror and move in for a closer look.
My
medium length amber hair is matted and sweaty and my freckled cheeks are still
bright red. I’ve been told I have a
cherubic face and pouty lips, but I’m never quite sure if people are teasing me
or not. My emerald eyes take it all in,
turning from inquisitive to humorous as I catch myself staring back at me
critically.
My gaze
drifts down to my chest. I’d call myself
flat… if I was supposed to have breasts.
Not that it matters. Many of the
girls I know have fairly flat chests and I’m considered girly enough that most
people don’t know I’m physically male until they check under my skirt. I learned in history class that it used to be
idealized for men to be muscular and tough.
Nowadays, men are expected to be soft and feminine. I kinda like things better this way. Being cutesy suits me just fine.
Enough
introspection. Time to shower. I turn on the hot water, as hot as I can
stand it, and hop in. Our shower stall
is huge. Like ten feet by five feet
huge. We’re on the first floor and our
shower was designed for people of a monstrous persuasion. You know, nagas and driders and such. While they’re pretty rare, it’s university
policy to have special showers available in every apartment building. I guess you could say I lucked out. I never have to worry about being crowded or
the shower curtain molesting me.
The hot
coursing water feels incredibly good.
I’m not sure why, but being inundated with hot water always manages to
wake me up and sooths my body. I run my
fingers through my hair, just enjoying the splashing sensation before actually
cleaning myself off.
That’s
when I hear the door creak open. Before
I can even turn off the water, two muscular arms wrap around my torso in a
massive bear hug. I hear Rhonda’s voice
chuckle in my ear. “Hello again, tickle
slut. We just wanted to make sure you
were getting our favorite parts all nice and clean. After all, you don’t want us to have to dirty
our nails on nasty, grimy feet.”
Brenda
slides in front of me, grabbing up my ankles before I can even start
kicking. “Or have to mess around with a
filthy cock. Well, an unclean cock at
least. All penises are filthy. We just want to make sure yours is filthy in
a good way.”
“Oh,
please, not again! Come on, guys, lemme
go! What did I ever do to you?” I plead,
unable to wriggle free of their combined grasp.
I’m painfully aware that the two of them are as naked as jailbirds. Rhonda’s massive breasts are pushing
suggestively into my back and Brenda’s nipples are painfully hard at the mere
thought of my upcoming torture. Faced
with both the tactile and visual awesomeness of their twin chocolate mounds, my
cock reacts accordingly.
Rhonda
performs a complicated maneuver, pushing my upper body between her legs and
kneeling down. Suddenly, I find my head
sitting in her naked lap with my upper arms pinned between her calves and thighs. I can flail my hands and forearms around, but
that’s about it. “What did you do to
us? Why, every day, you walk around this
apartment with those sexy little feet and that tempting little cock. Knowing how excruciatingly ticklish you are,
you can’t expect us not to tickle you.”
Brenda,
meanwhile, has laid down sideways underneath the showerhead, her back to
me. My ankles are clamped down hard
between her enormous thighs. I’d have
better luck of lifting up the apartment building than pulling free. She demonstrates my utterly helplessness by
scratching at the center of my arches.
She giggles over my howling laughter.
“After all, if we didn’t tickle you a much as possible, you might start
to think we didn’t like you anymore. We
don’t ever want you think that we don’t adore these pretty feetsies and your
juicy flagpole.”
“Speaking
of which…” mutters Rhonda, reaching behind her and grabbing my bar of
soap. She runs it around in her hands
for a moment, ignoring my pleas for mercy as she builds up a good lather. She tosses to Brenda who catches it over her
shoulder. Hands filled with thick, soapy
bubbles, Rhonda begins to scrub down my penis.
At
first, it feels kinda good. Slick and
sensual, her hands caress every inch of my mast. It doesn’t take long before my foreskin peels
back, revealing my soft, pink tip. As
Rhonda rubs it down, waves of pure pleasure course through my body. Then, like the evil succubus from hell that
she is, she begins to dance her nails up and down my rigid shaft.
I’ve
often been asked which is more ticklish: my feet or my cock. And I can’t honestly tell you. I do know that both make me feel unbearably
aroused when tickled. Oh, and being
tickled on either makes me laugh hysterically like a clown on nitrous oxide.
“Ohohohohohoho,
please, Rhonda, you gahahahahahahatta stop!
You’ve got to stahahahahahahap!” I squeal, slapping the bathroom floor
like I actually expect them to let me tag out.
The thick layer of soap on my penis lets Rhonda’s nails glide
effortlessly from my scrotum to my crown, each torturous pass driving gales of
laughter from my swelling cheeks.
“Oh,
really, tickle slut? I’ve got to
stop? Lemme see if you’re right. Hmmmm… nope.
I can still tickle you. In fact,
we’re just getting started.” Her words
prove especially prophetic as Brenda starts coating my wriggling soles in a
creamy layer of suds. I can’t even tense
up for the torture I know is coming.
Rhonda’s wicked fingers on my shaft make damn sure of that.
I was
expecting her nails. I really was. Those long, pointed nails raking up and down
my soles. But that wasn’t what I got. Hidden behind her own heavenly ass and her
gargantuan thighs, Brenda reaches down towards my feet and I feel the most
prickly and scratchy sensation.
Thousands of tiny bristles run up and down each of my soles, filling my
wrinkles and crevices with tiny, poking tickles. The sadistic bitch is scrubbing down my sole
with real scrub brushes.
I
howl. I scream hysterically. I pound my tiny fists against the floor and
writhed within their clutches. I can’t
even shake my head with it trapped in Rhonda’s lap. A tiny sensible part of me is grateful the
pair of them hadn’t kept my head under the shower or I be drowned by now. Red faced, all I can do was stare helplessly
at Brenda’s backside and Rhonda’s murderous fingers. The insanely ticklish scrubbing only takes a
few second to take me from aroused to climax.
My hips thrust violently and a let loose an orgasmic cry of pure,
tortured bliss.
“Ooo, I
think she likes the brushes, don’t you?
I told you these would be perfect for her. You said they’d be too rough, that they’d
hurt her soft skin. I knew the soap
would keep them from being too harsh.”
Both of her arms work furiously, running the soapy bristles back and
forth. I try to dance my feet out of the
way, but she simply pushes down harder and my soles are trapped under the
brushes’ torturous paths. My penis
trembles under Rhonda’s fingertips, already primed for another release.
“Yeah,
yeah. You were right. Guess it was a good thing we decided to buys
these too…” she said, reaching behind her back and revealing to me… a pair of
thick shaving brushes. I stare at them
for a moment, uncomprehending. Having your
feet ticklishly molested by scrub brushes will make a person a little
slow. Rhonda takes advantaged of my
confusion to sweep the stiff bristles up and down the length of my shaft. It tickles!
Oh, gods, does it tickle! I
practically crawl out of my skin at the unfamiliar sensation.
But the
vile vixen isn’t done yet. While one
brush scraps along the underside of my cock, the other slips up to my tip and
swirls around the pink crown. I’m fairly
certain the scream I make is inaudible to everything except dogs and
dolphins. Cum shoots from my tip,
coating the brush in my hot cream.
Undaunted, Rhonda continues to caress my trembling cock with both
brushes, earning her screaming orgasm after screaming orgasm. She only pauses occasionally to lather me up
again. Brenda’s constant scrubbing makes
sure my climaxes continue uninterrupted.
After a
good, long while, I guess my tormentresses finally decide that their favorite
tickle spots are finally clean enough.
Brenda stops first, using the moveable showerhead to rinse off my bright
pink soles. I’m so hypersensitive, even
the water jets tickle like mad. Once
she’s finished, Rhonda takes it and sprays down my throbbing cock. I can’t stop giggling for the life of
me. The pair of them stand up, shake
themselves off like hound dogs, and head out of the bathroom. Brenda mockingly locks the door before
shutting it behind her.
Panting
and gasping, I stand up on shaky legs and finish my shower. For obvious reasons, I neglect cleaning off
my feet or my cock. I’m so hyped up, I’d
probably tickle myself to death if I tried.
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