"Now that I've got your attention," Hawler said.
That was a dig. Enemy wasn't talking - he felt like he was gonna hyperventilate. Time had come to a complete halt. It happened when the covered platter floated up. Enemy couldn't take his eyes off what he saw. Feathers.
His body just started trying to back away. The cuffs absolutely prevented that. Oh, the reason for such tight restraints was absolutely clear now.
The phantom was going to tickle him.
No words, or threats, were going to make it back off. They were caught, in a secret place - a house selected because no one would possibly hear them. And of all the unbelievable, horrible things... tickling.
There was no way to make it stop. An hour, six hours -
Six days?
More?
He had to stop this from happening. No job could possibly be worth it. I give up, he thought. This was so unfair. Totally sucked. Rival would get the partnership -
He looked over at his rival. All of the blood seemed to have drained from his face, and his eyes were locked on the feathers.
He was ticklish too.
"Hey," Enemy shouted. Rival looked over. All of the arrogance was gone. Obliterated. That gave Enemy a sense of relief. The deal wouldn't be settled this way. Enemy shook his head, and Rival nodded quickly. As much of an asshole as he was, even Rival saw the impossibility of going through with this.
"On three," Rival said. That was one of the most wonderful things Enemy had ever heard. He nodded, and took a breath.
"Whuh -"
Something got in the way. A cloth...
No. Aw, no.
"Naaaah!" Rival yelled through the cloth which tightened between his teeth.
Oh, fuck, it was gagging them. How could they surrender if -
The fact hit home like a sledgehammer. It was going to tickle them. Nothing in the universe would call it off. Serious, superhuman tickling. Enemy had to get his hands loose, right now, or else more torture than he could even imagine would begin crawling over him, spreading everywhere and finding horrible new spots, picking up speed - and pressure. There were hands here. They'd strapped him down. Fingers exploring, polishing, digging.
Rival was just flipping out too.
"It's only natural," Hawler said smoothly, "for you to panic. It's fear of the unknown. That's why I'm now making a new rule."
Rival screamed like a girl, and Enemy knew just how he felt.
"The battle starts tomorrow. Anyone wants to be a pussy and throw away the partnership - getting more of this every month - that's your decision. But you're both too freaked out to make an informed choice."
Oh, no, no - feathers were rising off the tray.
"So I'm going to give you a full introduction to the... rules of engagement," and it laughed. "And I do mean full. We're gonna stay up all night, boys. Even after the gags are gone, I won't accept either of you packing it in. Not until after you wake up. Period."
Enemy kicked and thrashed around, but the damn feathers were on the way. In a few seconds they'd be at his feet, and two were still drifting up - no, they were calmly being carried. Brought very much on purpose. Unstoppable, really determined.
Pointy white feathers were aiming for his armpits.
Rival had the same problem, but Enemy couldn't deal with the fucker right now. Something had to happen, right now, to make the tickler stop. It couldn't possibly be allowed to drill him all night. Not tickling. If it only knew -
Wispy edges dragged right across the middle of each sole.
Enemy slammed his eyes shut and arched as hard as he could. Every kick and lunge failed him. Nothing interrupted the dismal moment when the feathers sawed back to their original position -
Tiny points moved through his armpit hair.
Oh, fuck, it was really happening.
"Tonight will seem like it's a hundred years long," the tickler promised. "But it's only the first night. Of many."
Rival howled, long and miserable - an "ooooo" sound being forced through the gag.
Cackles just exploded out of Enemy. I can't stand this, he thought. Bouncing, yanking at the straps, bellowing laughter - it was only just beginning. The fucker had hands. I cannot stand this, really, there's no way I can endure another second of tickling. It has no right to do this.
But he couldn't have said that, even if the gag wasn't frustratingly effective. He was laughing too hard.
It didn't need anyone's permission. He was very effectively restrained -
Laughing so hard he started to cough. The movement stopped, then. He wasn't sure if the feathers actually pulled off - oh, fuck, how wonderful would that be? - but when he'd stopped hacking and was snickering again the damn tickling started back up.
He couldn't move. It was so diabolical.
The fact that Rival was going insane too didn't particularly help.
Oh shit, oh fuck - it could go anywhere it wanted. With the feathers. Under his knees, which just made him explode with energy. Fighting the cuffs. And the feathers brushed and flicked anyway, kept doing it, he couldn't fuckin' roar hard enough...
Enemy found new strength when the feathers started dusting over his nipples. Every movement there seemed to make tickle-receptors come alive all over him. The feathers weren't even messing with his toes right then, but the most incredible warmth told him it was gonna be unspeakably bad when they returned. His thighs were wide awake. His fuckin' palms... At one point Enemy realized his fingers were just as active - desperately yearning - as his toes were. Longing to get away.
The feathers moved from one spot to another.
Every fuckin' place was a landmine. He just shrieked for awhile, then barked this real meaty laughter, and there were alternating cackles and hoots. Completely involuntary. All of the noise and the struggling were side effects, doing no good whatsoever.
The real deal was liquid fire, sloshing deep inside, like waves that never stopped pounding. A strange power. Somehow the impact was so far beyond pleasure that Enemy couldn't do a damn thing except observe it. And there was far more than he could recognize. Six places crackled - hell, a dozen - light feather-strokes causing a huge earthquake of thrilling, deadly sensation to race around. Legs, arms, body, head. Volatile energy surged for a way out, and Enemy couldn't possibly feel it enough. Process it. And feathers kept generating more excitement every second.
He still couldn't move. Restraints - that meant more of this fire. Far too much pleasure.
All night?
It really seemed like years. Each instant was stunning, riveting...
Enemy heard panting. After a minute, he realized it was him.
Rival wasn't doing any better. Their gags were gone, but he had a wild look Enemy had never seen before. Eyes darting all around - looking for feathers, probably, or whatever hellish thing came next. To tickle them. Real hard -
Water bottles were hanging in the air. It actually took Enemy a few seconds to remember that the torture was being conducted by somebody invisible. With a lot of hands. Sociopathic, extremely skilled, strong hands... dangerously impressive with a feather, sure to dig in all over his spread-eagled body, and there was no way of knowing how many sets of insatiable fingers surrounded him right now, in that hidden dungeon, powered by a chucking sadist who was clearly smart enough to lay in food and vitamins and more feathers, weeks maybe - hell, months. Months...
"How long?" Rival croaked.
"Believe me - you don't want to know."
That made Enemy's blood seem to freeze. Instantly. But Rival shook his head. "How long was that?"
"Like I said -"
"Please," Enemy begged. His voice was raspy too.
There was laughter over him - carefree, delighted ease. Then something floated over...
His cell phone.
22:47
"Oh, no," he sighed, closing his eyes.
Not even an hour. How long did the night last? Eight more hours - maybe ten. Like that? No, hell, of course not. That was just the feathers. Surely this fucker had other tools. More agonizing...
All those obsessed hands.
"Lemme see," Rival demanded. After a few seconds, "No. Bullshit! You're f-fucking around with the clock." There was hysteria in his voice.
"Rival," Enemy said tiredly.
"What?"
"That's network time. The phone gets the time from the network. I can't reset it."
"Noooo-ooo!" Rival squealed. He'd figured it out. All night - and the voice must've been telling the truth. Everything else had worked out just the way it wanted. It wasn't even eleven o'clock yet and the tickling was going to continue, and increase, build up and just fuckin' explode and then keep right on building. Enemy knew in every fibre of his being that there was no chance of anything changing that.
A finger pressed in his navel.
"For the... I'm fuckin' begging you," Enemy said to his belly.
"Nooooo no no no no," Rival wailed. "Nuhhnnnnaaah hoo hoooo hooooo-oooooo nooooooo."
More fingertips landed - all over Enemy's chest. And abs. Pelvis, outher thighs... collarbones.
"Please, no," he managed, just before they started to skate and the cackles forced their way through his throat.
Oh, fuck, Enemy couldn't take the gloves anymore. Not right then. Please, he thought desperately - way too frightened to say it out loud, because they'd probably just double up - not gloves this time.
A toothbrush lifted off the table.
Hell. That wasn't any better, really. The damn cuffs weren't gonna let him skip out. Maybe the bastard wouldn't let him go even if he won.
No - after he won.
Four brushes started to drag around his pecs.
Seizing up, he exploded with raspy, high-pitched shrieks. This tickled too much. It would go on for an hour, maybe longer, and there wasn't a chance in hell of stopping it.
Rival's giggling was winding down. It was his turn to rest... and watch.
Enemy was going out of his mind. Three days of this shit, maybe more. There was no end in sight, apparently. Enemy wasn't gonna cave.
Four words could end the excruciating tickling. Supposedly.
He just couldn't take this, but living with the result of saying those words seemed even worse...
Hopkins was making them decide among themselves. He wouldn't budge.
The big class-action suit was wrapped up, and the old codger refused to let 'em take on anything new until they "settled their little spat." Enemy knew he deserved to make partner, but the ass-kissing Rival had brought in a little more money. The guy would stop at nothing. Enemy had backed down enough times before, in other situations, but this time - dammit - he drew the line.
The new partner would get to run a brand new satellite office. Enemy wanted that. It was time to move up. Run things. Rival was after the job mainly because Enemy was the obvious choice, or so it seemed.
The brushes teased his armpits, and Enemy cackled until the tears just streamed down his face.
Rival was probably watching.
It was a relief, oddly, to rest up and watch Rival just come unglued. Sadistic tickling.
The fucker had 'em, alright. Stalemate. Whichever one surrendered would lose the job. Worse - well, almost as bad - the tickler promised 48 hours of this torture every month to the loser. Enemy didn't buy that at first, but now he was convinced. Agreeing to that was unthinkable.
Oh, hell, the brushes were starting to tickle his belly too. He flopped with all he had. Damn restraints. The tickling felt like electrical shocks crawling back and forth, always going on, continuing, no matter how many times he reached that fuckin' point where he just longed to pass out rather than feel one more feather, or one more stroke.
Enemy couldn't lose. This was impossible to take, but not coming out on top of Rival would make it so very much worse.
He woke up, and a jolt of fear shot through him.
His arms were chained way up, over his head, and there were thick wodden stocks trapping his ankles. Rival was caught the same way...
"Rival," the tickler said smugly, "are you ready to be reasonable yet?"
"Fuck, no," the guy spat.
"Enemy - is it time for another full, hysterical day of excitement for ol' Rival here?"
The hatred welled up. "Tickle him," he snapped.
"Yeah?"
"Make him wail."
"Even if you get it too."
"Break him today," Rival growled. "Rev it up."
"You both want to continue," the tickler said quietly. "So..."
A big fuckin' flock of gloves appeared. Smooth, and steady - but so damn eager to stick it to 'em. Another unthinkable day of the same shit.
"It's mine," Rival yelled. He meant the partnership. Enemy hawked spit, getting ready to launch it at Rival's feet, but the gloves were almost there. So many cruel fingers, closing in on Enemy's worst spots too. It would probably be a full day even if he gave up right now - the tickler was digging this way too much. They were both supposed to be gone for as long as it took. Fuck, nobody'd even miss 'em. A second week of this hell, and a third. Sure. Who'd believe it?
Convulsing, Enemy started to squirm in the cool grips tickling him. He sucked in a huge breath and started to roar. Rival wasn't doing any better, and that was the only damn comfort in the whole situation. Rival was suffering too, and he'd get his ass kicked until Enemy said - no, wait, there was no way he'd let all this incredible torture mean nothing. He wasn't going to cave. So Rival was stuck in the ultimate nightmare - too. Until he wussed out. That was the only exit for the arrogant bastard. No way Enemy was letting him off the hook.
Throwing his head back, his laughter ramped up until it was silent. The tickling didn't feel any less unbearable, though, and sure as shit the gloves weren't about to back off. Not until Rival broke, like the pussy Enemy knew he was. Until then...
Oh, hell, he couldn't take this shit. All day? Another ten seconds. It was just killing him.
And Rival too. That was the only good thing about it.
"Tih... tickle him harder."
"Well, that would mean I tickle you harder too. You up for that?"
Looking over at glassy, thunderstruck eyes.
I can't say yes, he thought. I'll die. Of course, I'll lose. After all this -
"Nuke him," he rasped.
"Al-right."
"I just can't decide who's more ticklish," it said.
Enemy groaned. Well, of course it couldn't. Such a fuckin' sadist.
It wasn't going to stop tickling today. No chance in hell. Rival had to know it too.
"And I want to know," it continued, sassy as fuck. "So there's only one thing to do."
"No no no no no no," Rival begged. Enemy knew just how he felt.
"And I guess I'll have to pace myself... until one of you passes out."
"Again," Enemy snapped.
A bandanna levitated over him - oh shit, not the gags again. And there were rubbers being pulled out of the square packages. One for each.
"Again," tickler agreed. "Definitely."
Fingers started taking hold of Enemy's ribs and feet.
2006