The empty house was secure, ignored and well out of earshot.
It wouldn't mind putting the place to use for a couple of days. No specific plans... until it came across an old abandoned mattress. Hauled it in, moved it from room to room.
It was ripped on one side. Badly strained. Out of place against the neglected hardwood floors.
The living room would... work -
But then it checked out the attic. One small window. When the mattress was centered in the dusty room, it covered the trap door, leaving no other way out.
After a while, it sank a few U-bolts in the floor. Looped ropes through four of 'em. The simplicity of the place was very appealing. On impulse, it lobbed an open pack of Kools alongside, and the plans came together.
Well, it went hunting.
Fifty minutes later, it settled back to watch and listen. The captive man was strong and had terrific lungs. Promising. He gave the ropes a fierce testing... yelled like someone was gonna hear him. Persistent, too.
But he calmed down eventually, looking around. Not much light at all - he stared at the smokes for a long while. Studied the window he couldn't fit through. The barest complement of supplies was tucked in a dark corner: water, more rope, paper towels, a few packs of cigarettes...
Then, rising behing him, spreading out -
An old blanket. His struggles started up again as it was tucked in over him, mildewed army wool shoved under his sides and legs. Hiding him except for head, hands...
And bare feet.
The only clothing it removed, before tying him down, was his boots and socks. Cords held each toe tightly. His ankles were tied and countertied, moving very little in reaction to his kicking.
Every spot on his feet was going to receive constant attention... until it was willing to let them go.
Faint sounds of cloth -
He quit moving and peered into the darkness.
Something moved beyond him. Rose from the floor, approaching -
Silhouettes of hands.
His scowl faltered.
Large hands. Thick and firm. Acetate in the shape of hands, made just for opportunities like this. Honing in on the soles of his feet.
He stuttered wordlessly and pulled hard on the ropes, anger returning -
It closed the gap, stopping the gloves a centimeter away and holding 'em there while it savored the moment. Such tremendous enjoyment about to begin, all the work done. One frantic body there, a full measure of reactivity it can savor with a dozen gloves, starting with these immobilized feet.
The first long embrace -
His fury died in a last useless kick. Immediately tense, neck craned to watch...
Cold satin bore down leisurely, squeezed and slid.
He yelled once... then chuckled, rowdy and desperate.
The rubbing was far too deliberate to be mistaken for a soothing massage. His expression changed again - pained, bleak. He dropped his head and began to laugh in earnest.
Raspy, gravelly, hoarse. Voice cutting out at times...
It made him continue laughing. Laying motionless, face and hair soaked with sweat, eyes closed since the second pair of gloves latched on. His midsection stank of urine, but was nearly dry. Nowhere near unconsciousness, incapable of acclimation, he found nothing to divert him from the feverish pleasure.
The gloves were never out of contact, rarely holding still. Warmed from him, soft and adroit, tireless...
Despite being a bear to make, it liked gloves because the shape was familiar by touch as well as sight. The unremitting coverage of magic hands, willful and free, was recognized by the... body even more than the eye.
A cigarette was slipped out of the pack.
After forty-five minutes, he managed to hold it all by himself. The Kool was taken away, lit, stuck back between his teeth...
Soon he took took a drag reflexively, laughing smoke right back out. The coal danced, a couple inches over the blanket, in time with his intense chuckles.
Dawn grew outside. It opened another pack... brought a lighter, rasping the wheel and flicking it into life until he caught on. He sucked in mechanically, then burst with silent laughter. He tugged fiercely on the smoke, over and over, and the roiling haze above him grew thicker.
Another hour. Plunder his feet for that much longer, then let him regain his strength. He'll need it - when it peels off the blanket, his clothes. A gigantic parcel of fertile land stretched out before it...
This, though, was just the thing for his nights. This afternoon would be extreme, and after all that hysteria there was darkness and a tucked-in blanket, squirming cries of protest, and hand-shapes exercising on helpless soles... Forcing hoots and barks of smoke 'til the sun rode high.
10may98