Is there are weight tied on to their cocks and balls, I wonder. Maybe they've been warned that if anyone's weight touches the ground, which it's sure to do when they get soft, a particularly hideous torture will ensue.
And I'm sure the tit-rings on the guy on left can be put to good use.
I can speak from experience of such teasing. In one case it was my being tied down naked on a bed with, most importantly, a waterproof rubber sheeting under me (using the old army groundsheet I mentioned in one of my most recent blogs) because being softly tickled - in my case the most effective being by using a matchstick - starting with the soles of the feet before moving to armpits, both areas just building-up to the teasing of my middle area. It would so effect me that I could hold back no longer, being unable to control my body and just letting it all out - and I do mean all! 😧 I'd been forewarned that any such result would mean severe punishment and humiliation - in public, in some form - but it had been no good. Once I start being tickled in sensitive areas there's nothing that can prevent me from disgracing myself - and this particular tormentor I'm talking about (deceased since twenty years ago) knew it full well, it only goading him on to have an excuse to further humiliate me.
In my early days before we'd even first met face-to-face I'd put in a letter to him a list of my very personal fetishes (okay then, perversions) in the hope that he might relate to at least some of them (which he, in fact, did). It was a list rather like the one that currently appears on my blog profile. But once I'd given away my 'secrets' he used it as ammunition to taunt and tease me with when we eventually did meet up, something which had never entered my mind when I'd first told him f my 'secrets'. For instance, one warm Summer night he made me go out and follow a prescribed route wearing nothing but a plastic raincoat - there being not the slightest hint of rain - and he following me a little way behind to make sure I did everything he'd ordered to the letter. The raincoat was not completely transparent, being a cloudy dark grey when hung up, but when worn and touching the body it could be seen what was being worn - or not worn - underneath. It had side pockets but also slats where you could put your hand through, obviously to reach pockets in the trousers you'd normally be wearing. So I could at least put my hands inside to cup my cock and balls so they wouldn't be visible even if most of the rest of my naked body was discernible. Trouble was that as one walked, where the raincoat came in contact with the body, it became clear that you were unclothed - and by putting hand through the slats it pulled the plastic mac forward, showing up my bare back and arse for anyone behind me to see. At the same time I was aware that any headlights from a car approaching from behind would show up the silhouette of my naked self to anyone coming towards me. Boy, I can tell you that that walk brought me out in a cold sweat! And why didn't I just refuse to obey his instructions? Because his tactic was, on my arrival at his place, to confiscate and hide my flat keys and wallet, which he'd not return to me until fully satisfied with my compliances. He had me in his power-grip - and not only that, he had taken a number of polaroid pictures of me in my various states of naked capture with anguished face in full view, which he threatened to leave in various public shithouses with my name and address on the back. I was a perfect quarry for blackmail - and he used my vulnerability up to the hilt. If he'd still been around when the computer age had fully exploded in popularity there's no knowing where my image might have ended up - all over the world, I'm sure. To be honest, for that very reason a masochistic part of me regrets that he didn't live to see and use it.
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