Giggle Gadget PART 1
by Casper D
LEIF:
The darkened street was quiet that evening except for the unobtrusive sound of a warm, light breeze. The sidewalks were barren, and I don't see any sign of the wandering nineteen-year-old young man whom an acquaintance had called and alerted me to.
This was a young man whom I might be able to use to test out my carnal gratification device . . . a rather advanced stimulation utensil that I've christened The Giggle Gadget.
When I created The Giggle Gadget I sought to produce the contraption that would bring about ultimate pleasure . . . a device that could elicit the experience of pure hypersensitive rapture. I sought to give birth to an instrument that could, through tickling, ignite the nerve-endings and zones upon the male physiology that would evoke the greatest feelings of ecstasy.
I believed that I truly built a machine that accomplished this. At first it was simply a glorified auto-massager, but then . . . as the mechanism was consistently refined . . . it became an instrument that could cause a man's very soul to sing with hypersensitive pleasure manifested itself.
But I needed a subject to test it on. Thus my current hunt.
The aforementioned acquaintance of mine had told me that a mutual friend had thrown away a toned comely angel because the little darling had attempted to steal from him. This, of course, meant that somewhere on these streets there was a homeless, unsoiled glorified spirit wandering about.
I searched the streets but couldn't find his. But the second I parked my car to search my Thomas Guide map of the area, the very young man I had been pursuing seemed to almost magically appear.
And he was a stunningly beautiful creature. His body that was perfectly proportioned, regal and completely at-ease with itself. His silky, strawberry-blonde hair was combed back in a delectable mane from his striking face. His enormous eyes were an emerald green color and looked across wide, seductive cheekbones.
This impossibly beautiful form came out of the darkness towards my car. He looked like some unconsciously beguiling lost angel . . . clearly not a street whore. He was probably some newly-arrived fresh-faced Midwestern boy (You can find one foolishly heading for Hollywood on any given day here in Los Angeles) who had gotten into a fight with his "benefactor" and was currently homeless, hungry and desperate.
I introduce myself to m and he surprises me by saying that he'd heard of me. I offer his a place to crash and some food to eat, and since this was a young man who definitely did NOT want to become a street whore, he gratefully accepts.
And the poor angel must have been exhausted, for he drops off to sleep in the passenger seat before we had hardly begun the drive back to my place.
I hummed to myself as I drove. The young man had introduced himself as Christopher Cullen. I wasn't sure if it was an alias or not, but this nineteen-year-old had only subtle Celtic features. He slept deeply beside me, his head hung out the window on the passenger side, his strawberry-blonder hair ruffling a bit in the breeze. His exquisite face bathed in moonlight. Eventually he shifted positions, but did not awaken.
The moon spread like cream cheese on the concrete riverbed, and Christopher's breathing was even; with his head now pillowed on the hump between the seats. I put my hand on his head, pushed back tuffs of reddish hair from peacefully closed eyes. I played with strands of his hair as I drove, winding them around my fingers, marveling at their softness and luster.
When we reached my street, I looked down at the sleeping young man beside me. Then I leaned over a little and sniffed him. Chris smelled of cream and fresh roses underlain with the sweet, sweaty bouquet of hormone-ridden masculinity.
I felt rather galvanized when I eventually set the hungry young man right down at my dinner table. He sat there all tousled and bleary-eyed and rumpled with sleep. He stared at the spaghetti I'd placed before his, perhaps wondering if I had drugged it. I took a forkful of spaghetti from his plate and swallowed it in order to reassure his.
He watched me after I swallowed the forkful. His skin was absolutely flawless, velvety, almost opalescent. A slight smile parted his full, raspberry-pink lips and sculpted his cheeks into a delicately sexy suggestion of a sneer.
"Yep ." I said, licking the last remnant of sauce from my lips, "I haven't lost my touch. If only my Uncle Angelo was still around to see that I'm doing his recipes proud."
"I'm just glad you came along and rescued me," said Chris eating with more relish now, "Being out alone on those streets was heart-stoppong. I could just imagine some thug beating my brains out."
"Ha! You're in Hollywood, Chris! What man needs brains out here?
Christopher giggled like a child.
And he continued to eat enthusiastically-his fork rising and falling, the sauce-covered spaghetti wrapped around it quickly disappearing into his alluring mouth before being downed with an ice-cold glass of strawberry lemonade. It's funny, this comely angel was so ingenuous that he didn't even consider the possibility that perhaps the DRINK I'd given his may have been drugged. It wasn't, but if I had wanted his incapacitation right then and there, drugging him despite his caution would have been very easy.
Once we were done eating, I took our plates and made my way into the kitchen to rinse them off. Well, I STARTED to rinse them off. Fortunately the anxiousness within me wouldn't let me do anything but get back to the business of dealing with this angel I'd brought home. So instead of washing the dishes as I told Chris I was going to do, I immediately returned to the living room.
And it's a good thing I came back when I did, for what I saw upon my return was rather entertaining.
When I entered the living room I was brought up short by the stifled gasp of the strawberry-blonde young man carefully filing through my billfold.
The front door was open . . . as if he'd been planning to leave in a hurry. His backpack, which seemed a bit more full than it had been when he brought it into the house, was lying right beside this open door. The angel stood frozen near my television set, beautiful face a mask of shock and fear. Wide emerald-green eyes fixed upon me--a sheaf of bills from MY wallet clutched in his hand. I'd caught him dead to rights.
"Now this is rather interesting," I said. A strange burning sensation had begun to spread through my muscles. My vision became red. I could see into the core of my own inner rage, and the core had suddenly reached the point of meltdown.
And the sound of my voice seemed to unfreeze the angel. He spun and broke for the opened door. But I was faster than he could ever hope to be. I blocked his escape route almost instantaneously. When Chris proceeded, as if he intended to go for the door anyway, I picked him up by his shoulders and bounced him against the wall. His head did a little rebound from the plaster. This boy would learn that, in addition to my own remarkable beauty, I was very strong and very fast.
I then closed the front door, trapping the nineteen-year-old inside. Chris was dazed, but not so dazed that he couldn't rush me and try to get me into a bear hug. It was SO sensual feeling his hard chest pressed so snugly against my own. I though he was going to make an attempt at wrestling me down, but the hug he was giving me was just that . . . a hug. He embraced me tightly--letting his head droop to my shoulder. And then he began to weep. After a few moments he tried to speak. The pleading words came out ragged. "I'm sorry, Leif . . . I'm so sorry."
While his strawberry-blond head was buried in my shoulder, I could feel the hot wetness of genuine tears soaking through my shirt clear through to my skin. I didn't say anything, but I gently pushed his back a little . . . then my hands found his beautiful, tear-streaked face. I touched his arching temples and smoothed back his hair.
Sweat lightly decorating his toned body, he eventually stood away from me--head bowed penitently.
I put my arm around here. "Just calm down, Chris."
"I'm so sorry. I-"
"Shhhh," I said, giving his an affectionate squeeze Let's take a stroll across the park. We can talk and figure things out."
And off we went.
CHRIS:
Trying to make off with Leif's cash was a royal screw-up on my part. And when he showed mercy and forgiveness for this violation, I had a hard time believing my luck. I mean, when he comforted me as we strolled across the park near his house, I was certain that he was going to beckon a cop at any moment. I just couldn't believe that this man could be so kind, loving and forgiving. Everything I'd heard about him seemed all wrong.
Leif wasn't a slutty-looking nymphette, and yet there was something dangerous about his. Well, maybe dangerous isn't the right word. But anyway, he and I started across the park together. And as we did so, I glanced at him. Even in the moonlight I could see that he was extraordinarily pretty—intense yet delicate features under huge dark eyes and thick chestnut-brown hair . . . a willowy figure in a simple skirt and blouse. But what had captivated me from the very first moment, when I had spotted him in his car earlier, was his kind and open expression.
I glanced over at him and eventually managed to ask, "You're going to call the police?"
"Nope," He answered in that pleasant voice of hers. He picked up two jump ropes which had been left on the blacktop portion of the park grounds where I suppose the little kids in the neighborhood frequently played.
"Thinking of sending me away?"
"Nope."
I was going to ask, if he didn't intend to call the cops or send me packing, what did he intend to do with me? I was not so naive as to believe that he would be altruistic enough to allow a thief to reside within his home for free.
"Well, when we return home the first thing we'll do is tackle that chocolate cake I whipped up for desert," Leif said, "It should be cooled on the counter and ready to eat by now . . . umm, unless you've already stuffed that into your backpack along with the other items you were attempting to appropriate from my home."
"No way I'd do that! In the first place, stealing a cake is just silly . . . and in the second place, I'm allergic to chocolate."
Leif chuckled and gave me another squeeze, "See? That's what I miss . . . laughing!" Then he sobered and said, "A male inventor's life is a lonely and generally humorless one. It's a profession that, I must say, truly is more suited for little geeky old men."
He spoke of how he had missed out on both life and love for the sake of perfecting his inventions, and I listened intently with a true modicum of compassion. By the time he'd concluded his tale we found ourselves in a secluded section of the park. I noticed this with some discomfort.
"When did you plan on returning home to your family?" he asked me.
"Well . . . my original plan was to not show my face in Springfield until after I had made my mark here in Hollywood,"
Leif chuckled at this. And I myself couldn't resist smiling at the clichéd absurdity of it all.
"Hmmm . . . we don't have much time," Leif said, glancing at the luminescent dial on his watch.
"What do you mean? We don't have much time for what?"
"Oh, nothing," he replied, rolling up the jump ropes that had been left lying around. "Do you know what I invent and develop? Pleasure devices . . . instruments through which women can manually please themselves, if you understand what I mean. Not SEXUAL devices mind you ¼ any idiot can create some sex toy. Mine are PLEASURE devices designed to stimulate in ways beyond the standard carnal way. Pleasure is extremely important to me."
My heart raced. I'd heard rumors about Leif Periconi, but I wasn't sure what to believe. Hollywood, as I had discovered on the very day of my arrival, was a town full of liars. Was my new savior really the psycho nympho stud with nothing but sex (be it with males or females) on his mind that I'd heard whispers about . . . or was he truly the lonely male inventor he claimed to be?
"Ummm, maybe we shouldn't talk about this stuff here," I began, "Maybe we--" Leif cut me off and went on to tell me about the tickling device he was working on. And about the boy he had originally hired to test it out . . . .
LEIF:
As we traversed the concourse of Nelson Park, I comforted the scared nimble thief and made an attempt at easing the awkwardness of the present situation by relating a story to his. The story of the first prototype of The Giggle Gadget . . . and of the young man I had hired to test it out.
His name was Shane Fahey. He was a slender blonde with wide, appealingly blue eyes. He had carefully tumbled blond curls, a breathy mischievous kid voice and the inability to frown. The day he tested out my invention I dressed myself in my medical scrubs . . . the same one I wore in the days I satisfied specific fantasy fetishes for men to help pay my way through college. I got a kick out of dressing in that uniform while testing out my contrivances. Made me feel so . . . clinical.
I led Shane to where the Giggle Gadget was situated. "Well, here it is. I know you probably want to rest-up before we begin. After flying out here all the way from Boston I'm sure even your brain is tired!"
"My brain?" Shane said sharply, "I've flown three thousand miles to act as the guinea pig in an experiment just to earn a few grand to set myself up here in Hollywood while I audition for work in the movies . . . would a man with a brain do that?"
I laughed. And by the next morning Shane, barefoot and clad only in bikini bottoms, was all ready to test out the prototype for what I hoped would be the ultimate pleasure-inducing device. A band of flexible molybdenum metal was cinched around his waist. His hands were fettered behind his back with the inflexible metal wrist-shackles themselves attached to the more malleable metal band circling his waist. Other Bands pinioned his arms and even more circled each leg in five places from rear to ankle, keeping his bottom half stationary.
There was no possible way that he could discover a means to get them off by himself, and I certainly wouldn't allow him to do so even if he did. Some time later his anger and desire to do me harm was quite real . . . when he discovered that he was to be bound so securely and for an indefinite period. But eventually, upon realizing that I had total power over his in his constrained condition, he stopped screaming to be released and cursing me for a sadist.
The bands utterly prohibited movement, and Shane clearly knew that freeing himself without help couldn't be accomplished without losing a substantial amount of blood or even a limb. My blonde tester was REALLY worried now. He had revealed to me earlier that he had always been excruciatingly ticklish all his life. It was a fact that had caused his extreme embarrassment on a number of occasions. And he'd never been tickled with any sort of high-tech devices before. The look in his eyes made it clear that he suspected the "Giggle Gadget" was everything it was purported to be.
With a whir and then a click, two mechanized robotic arms slid from beneath the Giggle Gadget . . . and then each of these arms picked up a long, pointed feather and twirled it in their mechanical metal hands. One of the arms stroked the tip of the feather gently over my tester's pink, tender sole, just once.
The blonde boy's reaction was violent. Shane tensed in his restraints, clamped his eyes shut and let out a shriek. Almost immediately he got himself back under control and lay still, but it was too late . . . the look in my eyes told him what we both already knew: that the machine could make the body respond in any way the inventor wanted, and that there was nothing Shane could do about it.
After two more robotic arms surfaced, I bent down beside The Giggle Gadget's base console to activate the mechanism. Shane struggled vainly against the bands, then seemed to resign himself to his fate.
Still at the control panel, I once lowered two levers which increased the capability of the robotic arms . . . causing the fingers of the metallic hands to wiggle teasingly. The control panel glowed yellow for a moment. Then, without warning, two of the robot arms jabbed their stiff fingers into Shane's sides. The Giggle Gadget pushed these artificial digits in, felt around for the exact place, and moved the fingertips to and fro quickly, stimulating the nerve centers deep below the surface. The accuracy of the high tech equipment ensured that the gadget located the precise spot first time.
Every tickled muscle in Shane's comely body tensed. He arched his back, and let out a shriek that was half a scream and half a howl of hysterical laughter. He was experiencing tickles like nothing he could have imagined!
The robotic fingers worked on his sides mercilessly. Then, they stopped abruptly, and began walking up the sides of his ribs towards the comely tester's armpits. This brought fresh laughter from Shane, who twisted and turned in his restraints, trying to get away from the tickling mechanical hands. Once at his armpits, the Giggle Gadget changed it's technique suddenly from stiff pressure to light, teasing strokes . . . the tips of it's robotic fingers hardly touching the smooth skin as they tickled in and around it's victim's sensitive pits.
After stepping out of my panties, my hand found my own privates and probed. And as I probed I watched Shane's pink flesh as it drew back and forth with the technological wonder I had created.
Shane convulsed within the restraining bands. He seemed to try by a sheer effort of will to make himself not ticklish . . . but he felt more sensitive than he'd ever felt in his life. He screamed, thrashed about and tried to get his arms down to protect himself . . . but that was the one thing the restraints were designed to prevent his from doing. The bands kept his immobile while his head and pits were accessible, vulnerable and completely unprotected.
The Giggle Gadget continued it's work. I increased the power as much as I dared . . . the flashing red lights on the control panel's top console warned me that the tickling were taxed to their limit. Eventually I eased up on the power a bit.
The robotic fingers were alternating between the young man's sides and his armpits. Shane was fighting his restraints and screaming hysterically. To allow him to be able to get in a few breaths, the mechanical hands stopped tickling and let it's fingertips glide slowly and gently over Shane's oiled skin.
And while this happened, I stirred my own flesh with my fingers.
Shane grabbed lungfuls of air and his hysterics subsided. "Please," he gasped, "no more. I - I can't take it."
"Awwww, what's the matter?" I asked tauntingly.
"I - I can't . . . " He swallowed, his breathing still fast. "I can't take this!"
The mechanical hands had moved down Shane's body when he'd begun talking and had been teasing the insides of the young man's thighs slowly while he'd been speaking.
His eyes were closed, and his hips were gently thrusting up and down. It was almost hypnotic: extremely sexual and clearly felt wonderful. Far from turning Shane off, the tickle torture had made him incredibly excited again despite the protests. After the unbearable tickling, the exquisite feeling of the Giggle Gadget's fingers sliding over his male erogenous zones (yes, they exist) had overcome his terror for the moment, and he surrendered himself to it without conscious thought. He opened his peepers and looked at me. My brown eyes must have been gazing into his blue ones in a disturbing way.
I could see it in his eyes--the thought was crossing Shane's mind that he'd like to get to know me better . . . but the realization of what he was thinking must have snapped him out of his reverie because the look vanished as soon as it came. He moved his hips, this time trying to get away from the invasive touch near his private parts. Now even the far-away look vanished from his face.
Shane shook his head slowly in desperation. "No . . . No . . . Please."
But I was on a roll. With the turn of a dial, the Giggle Gadget attached stainless steel plates to the fastenings on the table either side of each of Shane's bare feet. They stood vertically, and prevented the tester from moving his tootsies from side to side . . . now he could only move them forwards and back, and the position of the bands made even that movement extremely limited. The mechanical arms and hands nearest his feet took the two feathers in their grasp and began to run their pointing ends over the oily bare soles.
At the first gentle stroke, Shane started to giggle. By the time both feet were being worked on, he was hysterical again. "No! No! Please . . . No! For God's sake! I-I-I can't stand it ! Heeheheheaargh! Eeeeee! Hahahaha!!"
With one hand I turned the power up full force. Five times the normal power surged through the Giggle Gadget. The feather-armed robotic hands moved with almost blinding speed . . . and between each light-speed swivel it brushed itself with very short quick strokes. Shane's entire body shook as if he were in the throes of an epileptic fit. His arms and legs strained impossibly against the straps, his head jerked back, his face a grimace. Then a rising cry burst from his throat.
This time was worse than anything Shane had experienced so far. The robotic arms at the bottom of the Giggle Gadget worked on his feet, concentrating on the toes, having found that Shane was particularly ticklish there. The mechanical contraption used the pointed end of the stiff feather to get between them and tickle right down in the crevices. Shane scrunched his toes up to try to keep the devilish instrument out but it was no use. Toe by toe, the Giggle Gadget worked it's way along, staying just long enough between each pair to cause the maximum stimulation possible. Shane screamed with ticklishness.
One of the other mechanical arms, after I upped the power just a tad, tickled Shane's armpits expertly with it's robotic fingers; and the other worked on his sides and knees, using pressure techniques mercilessly.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
Blue sparks exploded and leaped like lightening from the Giggle Gadget while it was still causing untold stimulated havoc within Shane's body. Fuses blew on my control panel, and my instruments overloaded. Wiring melted, causing tiny fires to spring up in several locations within my lab. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling exploded into glass slivers.
After a couple of minutes Shane was drenched in sweat, and totally exhausted from hysterical laughter, screaming and howling, and his manic efforts to free himself from the bands that held his immobile. It was impossible for him to get enough breath to feed the screams and shrieks the torture was compelling his to make, and his whole body vibrated with pure ticklishness.
And through all this torture, his guy-nipples had grown hard. In fact he was clearly quite horny. A single firm stroke would have brought his off . . . I knew that without question. While he struggled and writhed, screamed and laughed, I knew that a tiny part of his mind wondered what it was that was turning his on so much about all this. Here he was . . . an average young American man . . . strapped down, helpless and being tickle tortured by a high-tech mechanical contraption. And he was getting off on it like he'd never done in his life before! I knew he was wondering if it was the bondage and the domination or the way that he was being controlled and manipulated against his will? All the while his body bucked against his restraints with unequaled fury. The Giggle Gadget's flexible metal straps held even as he absorbed the full pleasure-inducing overload.
I hit the "release" switch. The tickling had clearly been maddening; he was unable to speak; reflex alone launched his from the contraption once the bands automatically snapped loose.
I watched in fascination as my beautiful young tester's face was frozen in a rictus of rapturous mania. Shane's toes and fists clenched and unclenched, his legs were doubled under his, and his spine and neck were arched backwards. Though he was breathing in short, hard pants, his face seemed to grow even tighter with hysterical ecstasy.
To be continued