Back to Part 1
- - 5 - -
The far wall slid up. Behind it, there was a wide metal door. A miner's helmet floated out after she opened it. The light clicked on, and it landed on his head.
The tunnel was wide enough to park a car in. A small car. It curved to the right, and after it straightened out his head-lamp showed him another metal door... which was also locked.
"Somebody don't fuck around," he muttered.
"C'mon, tough guy."
After that, the tunnel slowly became... a hole.
Bodie's boots kept trying to slide out from under him. "How's anybody supposed to get up and down here?"
She grabbed the collar of his jacket. "Like this." Hands picked his legs up, off the ground.
They made much better time when she carried him.
"No. I meant..." And then he quit squirming, because the answer came to him. "Amy. Amuseur. Ummm. People can't get up and out of this hole. Without help."
"Well, I don't know," she said, teasing him. "It's probably never been attempted."
"So you cart 'em in."
"Uh-huh."
"And... Oh."
"Uh-huh."
He watched the tunnel walls for a few seconds. "If I had enough time, I could climb out. Make some picks. Stakes."
Rustling, in his pocket, stopped when a new smoke slipped out. "Sure. Anything's possible." He watched the cigarette come closer, and felt his lighter start to move. "It would take you hours. Assuming you had, let's say, full use of your hands and feet. No restraints on 'em. And assuming I wasn't busy distracting you - tickling the shit out of you - just to ruin your big escape."
"Ah," he said, at a loss for anything else to say. Bodie took a hard drag, and saw a third door. It was rigid steel cross-hatch, like in a locker room.
Beyond that - a black steel number with bars all the way across it, sliding back as the valve-type handle turned.
"Wow," Bodie said automatically. That was one secure door...
"It isn't opened very often."
His pulse started to speed up, but he thought it was better to change the subject. "There are other ways out, then?"
"No comment," she said quietly, turning him around. "Don't you worry, handsome."
The door swung in, and stopped. There were no handles on the inner side - but bars could be heard, sliding and locking.
Locking me in, he thought. When the hell was I here before?
"Your safety is my... favorite thing to worry about."
"Yeah. I just bet."
She set him on his feet. They were in the middle of a hallway. Caged light bulbs on the ceiling, dirty white carpeting in the floor. Thick shag. All of the doors were closed - and while none of them had handles, most had more than one kind of lock.
Bodie really didn't like the look of one room, further down - there must've been eight padlocks holding it closed. Big fuckin' locks. And that was on the side the captive couldn't even see.
"How many guys are down h-"
"None of your business. Prisoner." Then she paused. "Well, you did just pull off that sweet skid. Okay. Eighteen cells. And you. There's another wing, about the size of this one..."
"Whoa. All the cells are full?"
"Last I knew. At least you have the sense to be... very impressed. Now, walk. To your right - last door."
"Do I have to?"
A hand gave him a shove. "I wanna show you off."
"That's okay," he said automatically, "you don't ha-"
She shoved him again. "This is important to me. Last time I brought you here... you had potential. And now you fit right in." She squeezed his sides quickly, making him jump - and walk faster. "And you're spoiled rotten, do you know that? I wanna see the effect this place has on you. Definitely. So you're gonna get the tour. Behind-the-scenes."
"Cool," he snickered.
"Now you wanna watch that sassy mouth of yours. Understand me?"
"Oh yeah -"
"Stop." He was almost at the door. "Wait." Across the hall and down a little, a door opened.
He looked at the entrance to their destination. Behind the scenes, huh?
Metal clicked. There were... shackles... floating over to him.
"C'mon, now -"
"Bodie." She was right up to his ear. "You do not want to embarrass me, here."
It had been months since he heard that tone out of her. He gulped, completely unable to help it. In a way she sounded worried, and that was totally fuckin' rare.
"Do you?"
"No."
"Do you?"
"No, Amuseur. Definitely not. I won't."
"That's better." The wrist-shackles sprung open. "Here's the plan. Finish your smoke, and pull off your jacket. Hurry up."
When her hands shoved the legs of his jeans up, a little cloud of brown dust appeared, settling on the carpet. His ankles and wrists were caught at approximately the same time. He was a little relieved that his arms were stuck in front of him, and not behind his back.
"Another house rule," Amy sighed. "None of you shifty, low-life types are allowed to even see this room... unless they're hobbled." His cigarette drifted away from his lips. The coal was pinched flat, and the butt flew behind him. "And there haven't been many, Bodie. It's a big privilege. Very rare."
"Gotcha," he nodded.
"Thank you," she said sarcastically.
The door opened.
- - 6 - -
The sound of people laughing and cheering. Guys. At a bar, watching a hockey game...
As he went through the door, there was something reassuring about all the smoke in the air. The first thing he saw was that the far wall was covered with TV sets. No - monitors. Security cameras. All these little screens with different views of the desert, and the road.
Then he cleared the doorway, and stared at a couple dozen gloves.
His ass puckered up. Amy got him good this time. The only thing that kept him from freaking out was that the gloves didn't react when she basically shoved him further inside.
Most of 'em were... facing away. That was a real good thing, even if it could change in a heartbeat - fingers toward him. Fuck.
They were crowded around a pair of big monitors. Leather, rubber, cotton. Satin. Some were making tight fists, and pumping them at one of the screens - go, team, go. A few were wrestling around with each other, or doing high-fives.
Just below the monitors to his left, there was a shelf. A big ashtray - and over it, a stained brown work glove held a cigar between its fingers. There were a bunch of cigarettes in the ashtray already, just sitting there. Burning down. A little atmosphere -
Bodie leaned back against her hands, wishing he was invisible.
He couldn't get over how scared he was.
The ticklers wearing all those hands were just totally caught up in what was on the monitors. Something blue moved, to his right. He flinched, but it was just a pad, being dragged into the center of the floor.
Fingers squeezed his ass. That was an old signal, from Amy - settle down, inmate. You're okay.
The shackles on his hands stared to rise, and his ankles were picked up. Off the ground. She got in another deep squeeze as she carried him to the pad, and then he was being lowered. Sitting down. Closer to all those wild-ass tickling psychos -
He had a better view of the monitors on the long wall to his left. Every single one that was turned on displayed a guy. Most all of 'em were naked. Bondage shit everywhere. And tattoos... Gloves moving, feathers, brushes, vibrators.
The two big TVs that had the ticklers so fuckin' rowdy and riled up were showing a couple of bikers get nuked.
It was pretty much the view Bodie would have if he was actully standing a little ways past their feet. They were spread-eagled, and their cuffs were even thicker than the ones Amy used on him. Toe restraints, too. The whole deal. Their feet looked really big from that angle.
But their faces were easy to see. And their cocks.
Shit, were they laughing so hard. All sweaty. Covered with tats, like Bodie was. It was one thing to watch Amy's favorite movies, but this was the real deal. Could be some kind of tournament.
Maybe that's why Amuseur dragged his ass out here. He could be next. Wouldn't put it past her at all.
Nothing staged about it. That was the thing. Every guy here was fuckin' forced to go through shit like this. These two were howling with laughter... and thrusting. Cumming -
No. Bodie forgot to breathe for a second. They kept trying and trying to cum. It was so horribly clear, now. So many feathers on each guy, and they were moving fast.
He'd been there.
Tickling them so hard they couldn't shoot their loads. Uh-huh.
He looked at all the gloves again. Real happy fuckers. He was sitting behind 'em, on the floor. Shackled. And they were already about as excited as if it was the last minute of the Super Bowl.
"Amy," he whispered. "C'mon. Help -"
Something was shoved into his hand. A bottle of beer. She had it ready and waiting. Did she know him, or what?
He stared at it, and finally nodded. Maybe if he was shitfaced - no, that just made matters worse. I am so ridiculously ticklish, he thought numbly, and look how worked up they are.
After pounding down the brew, he got up enough nerve to look at the little screens again...
It was like the nightmare he didn't even dare to have - all those stocks and swings, padded chairs and benches, different racks. Big fuckers... shackled to the walls, bent over exam tables with rope climbing halfway up their arms - and most were strapped down on big beds like the thugs on the big monitors.
Scooter trash, every one of 'em. Maybe six or seven looked like they were sound asleep, but all of the others had that same fried expression. Almost grinning. So out of it... Hours into a long day packed full of tickling, with no reason to think tomorrow or the next day were gonna be any different. Hardly any of 'em were watching the action on their hides, either. Gloves and tools everywhere, moving, tickling -
His bottle was taken away, and replaced with a full one.
Something landed on his leg. Bodie looked down and saw a pack of smokes. His lighter was stuck into his other hand...
"Thanks," he sighed, keeping it as quiet as he could.
Suddenly the ticklers got louder. One of the guys they were watching had started to arch a lot harder, shaking with the effort to hold himself up there - while he laughed with his mouth wide open. A couple of quick jerking motions went all through him, and it looked as though he was just about to cum. But the feathers sped up, apparently... and he collapsed back down again. His head rolled around slowly, and it was obvious he was still laughing his guts out. Smiling, a little. Or maybe Bodie just imagined that part. He'd looked in enough mirrors as he came, thanks to Amy...
A few voices in the room let out disappointed yells, cussing and laughing.
A cigarette tapped his lip. He took it, and brought the lighter up. His hands were really shaking.
When the other victim began to thrash, another voice or two got excited. It's a race, Bodie realized. They're out to see which guy can be... stalled off longer. He took a real hard drag and exhaled the smoke slowly. At least they weren't fucking with him yet. Looking around at all the monitors, he chugged beer. This one black dude - the guy draped over the rail, with all that rope on his arms - had gloves working on his neck and armpits, and a studded paddle cruised slowly into the air, paused for a second and raced down to smack him in the ass. He'd jump, and the paddle just drifted back up again. Over and over.
There was something fascinating about it. Amy hadn't spanked him in months.
After a couple more minutes, it still wasn't over. The guy who arched did it again, and a fuckin' blizzard of feathers got busy on his feet. The guy who thrashed around so much was rocking in place, hard as he could, while feathers buried his armpits. Bodie realized he'd been smoking his cigarette continuously. He fired up a new one.
An ashtray floated down to him.
Then, a false alarm... from the thrasher. But maybe half a minute later, the other guy arched, and arched, and slammed back down - but he bounced right back up into another arch, and gushed like a fuckin' fire hose.
The cheering was so loud, it made Bodie wince.
The other guy started to come. Other voices cheered at that. They sounded just like... people, in a bar or something. Half-drunk, blue-collar... thugs.
Bikers. Of course.
They had the act down perfectly. Only he got the impression - and being shackled there, on the floor, didn't fuckin' help one bit - that they were way larger than any biker could be. Giant one-percenters who really, really liked to make bad guys... laugh.
Sweat ran down his belly.
What was Amy thinking? Bringing him here? He tried to pick out her voice. So far, she'd never really given him more than he could handle. But c'mon.
She wouldn't just... leave him here? Right? Throw him to the wolves. Then he realized something -
Shit. She's one of them. She tatted him up, got him the Sportster... And maybe thirty minutes ago, she had him out there, hotdoggin' on some other guy's bike. Showing off.
I'm dead, he thought. This is it. So many fingers, seriously motivated - and he was shackled. Bodie tugged like a mutherfucker on his smoke.
The guys who'd just cum weren't moving anymore. But the feathers were still busy. Of course. Their captives were so much more ticklish now. They'd keep torturing 'em for a while. An hour, maybe two. Bodie knew all about it -
Well, he had more pressing concerns. The gloves were turning away from the monitors, two by two. No big hurry. The ticklers were quieter now, razzing each other.
Phantom hands...
And most of 'em were coming closer and closer.
Bodie got a last drag in, and snuffed the butt in the ashtray. He hoped he'd get points for being... tidy. Or something. Anything -
"Well, what the hell," one of 'em said. A different voice laughed. "Who tracked that in here?"
"What? Oh. This turd, here?"
Amy chuckled... but she didn't say anything. Thanks a lot, he thought. Bitch.
The gloves paused.
"Ain't very big."
"Little piece of shit -"
"Sweatin' like a pig, ain't he? Why do you suppose that is..."
"Looks like maybe he's been playin' outside, there."
Oh, hell. They were reaching down. Slowly. Way too much of a good thing -
He started pulling at the shackles. Couldn't help himself. Fighting off total panic was the only goal he had left...
"Hmmmm," a low voice said, from just over him. "Could be."
"Them tats are okay. A good start. For a poser."
"You think? How'd he get in here, then?"
Amy still didn't say anything. Bodie tried to think of what he did to piss her off this much -
"Naw. He's one of ours."
"The hell he is -"
Several voices talked at once. Some agreed, and some didn't.
"Check his teeth."
He didn't like the sound of that -
"Bodie. Smile real big for us," Amuseur said. So he did -
Laughter broke out. Loud, and crude as it gets...
"What?" he said.
"I told him. Really, I did. Told him to keep his mouth shut," Amy said. That got another laugh.
He couldn't remember her ever telling him that -
"Dumb fucker." But that was said with affection. So it was okay to breathe, again - but it also creeped Bodie out in a whole different way.
"What?" he yelled.
"Whoo-oooo..."
"You got something... on your teeth," Amy chuckled. "The big ones, in front."
He ran his tongue back and forth. There was something there. A weird... texture. He made a face -
More laughter.
"Fuckin'-A!," one of 'em barked.
Another voice whooped it up. A pair of gloves clapped, slowly, and another pair joined in.
His hand was nudged - the one holding the beer - so he finished it off, swishing it around in his mouth.
"Bugs," one of 'em laughed. "Welcome, brother."
"Little brother."
"Bugs?," he repeated. "On my... Oh."
Somebody whistled. How they did that - without lips - he still didn't know.
"Yeeeah."
"Bugs on his teeth. Okay, then. He's in."
This one yours, Amy?"
She sighed. "Do I have to claim him?"
"Aw, hell no."
"Leave him... to me."
A new cigarette came up, and slid between his lips. He knew a hint when he saw one. So he lit up.
"Yeah..."
"Just throw him in Nineteen," the really gruff voice said. That got a laugh.
Oh, fuck, he thought. They gotta be kidding. No -
"Nineteen. Alright."
The gloves were coming closer.
"Gotta be sure about him."
"Yup. Can't just have any ol' wannabe bullshit taking up space in here."
Uh-oh. Amy, he thought, looking around. As if he'd see her. Please -
"Now, if he can ride..."
One of the big monitors blinked - and caught his eye. It showed the desert. A bike came over a rise, into view. Popped a wheelie... turned a skid. Real nice. Then the rider took a drag as he looked around, kinda bored. Is that it? Any excitement 'round here?
The voices laughed again. Wilder. Edgy.
Damn, Bodie thought. That was really me. The camera was hidden somewhere. In the rock-door? Yeah. That would be the right angle for what he just saw.
The video paused. Amy set me up but good, he thought, studying himself. Shit - he was cool. Head turned a little, cigarette in his teeth. And a scowl. Arrogant. Not easily impressed. Real slick fucker... with no idea what was in store.
He looked like exactly the kind of guy they liked to catch.
Over him, a voice sighed. "Fuck. Yeah."
"Nice moves -"
"Keep him."
"Definitely."
"Nineteen," another tickler laughed. "Get 'im."
They were almost on him now. He braced himself -
"Find out... if he's fun."
"I bet he is." Several voices agreed, or chuckled.
"Let's... do it." More clapping.
One pair of leather gloves pulled his shirt up - and tore it apart.
"There -"
"Oh, yeah."
"Much better."
The scraps of cloth were yanked away.
"Nineteen. Hmmmm." That voice was real interested, but still kinda wondering. "Amuseur? Uh... You mind?"
She made a growling noise. Her happy growl. Shit!
Bodie closed his eyes.
"Knock yourself out."
Fingers started to land. Everywhere. And it was on.
Fuckin'... ticklers. He whip-sawed back and forth, squealing like a pig. Hollering laughter...
Barely aware of the cheering. More clapping.
From what seemed like a long ways off, a few voices were chanting something. He thought maybe it was "Nineteen..."
Oh, shit, he was just losing it! Some hands he couldn't see pinned his shoulders, and the gloves were having a fuckin' field day on him. A long minute. Impossibly long. Maybe two. Or five...
And when they pulled off, he knew he was really in for it, because there was no way these jackals were gonna stop after a lousy couple minutes.
- - 7 - -
"Oh, yeah," a gravelly voice declared. "Dude's got it bad."
Bodie gasped for air, too scared to move.
"I think he made the cut." More clapping.
"Damn right. Ticklish little fucker."
"Scooter tramp."
"Real sensitive type. Touchy."
"Yup."
"Nineteen it is, then."
"Am - Amy," he stammered.
"Yeah, Bodie?"
He opened his mouth... and didn't really know what to say next. Help, he thought. You gotta help me. But that wouldn't do him any good. She'd probably just mock him. So he tried to think of something else -
The ticklers just roared.
"Oh, stud," she chuckled, way too fuckin' delighted. Hearing her that jazzed made him wanna scream. "The look on your face, there." Hands started to rub his shoulders.
But he wasn't reassured. "So what's... Nineteen?" Even that was funny to some of 'em, apparently.
"The rooms are numbered here," she said.
Oh, shit. They already decided - and he'd end up on the monitors too. Starting today. His own room - his cell. This was not a short-term place, either. He could just feel it. The guy in Nineteen, that would be him. Nothing but advanced tickling, let's-keep-him-totally-insane tickling. When did Nineteen get here? Aw, I don't know, sometime last year...
Right then Bodie had to bite his tongue - literally - to keep from begging. But he managed to nod.
"One... to Eighteen." Hoots and howls. Clapping.
"Eighteen?," Bodie said. "You said I'm Nineteen."
She gave him that sigh, like he was thick as a stump. "There isn't any room number Nineteen. Badass. It doesn't exist."
He had to think about that one for a few seconds. They were just yanking his chain?
Another cigarette slid out of the pack.
"Well. That's..." and as one or two started to laugh at him again, he blurted, "You guys are fucked up."
Dead silence. Three awful seconds.
And then - howls of approval.
Gloves punched him on both arms. Bam, bam, bam, bam.
His lighter slipped out of his hand and provided him with fire, then snapped shut just about as hard as it could.
"Sorry," he whispered. Not knowing if she was mad or not, for what he'd said -
"Hey - let's go build a Nineteen. Tonight."
"Just for him..."
That sounded like a popular idea.
"Teach him some respect," Amy said. "Hey-yyy. I know..."
Uh-oh, he thought. He knew that tone. Apology not accepted. He started to squirm. "Aw, now, Amy -"
His cigarette was taken away.
Somebody else hooted at him.
The gloves came back.
"No! Look - I, uh -"
And fingers dug in.
"Get 'im!"
"Harder!"
"Naaaaww haaw haaaw haaaaaaaawwaaawww..."
His arms ended up over his head. The shackles were being pinned to the pad. Same thing, at his ankles. It was unbelievable -
"Well... damn."
"Hey," one of 'em barked. "Grease-spot. You like this?"
"Nooo hooooo hoooo-ooo," Bodie wailed... before realizing it was another fuckin' no-win question.
A mild shout went up. "The fuck he doesn't," one voice said firmly.
"I'm gonna see how much he... doesn't like it. On his belly." A pair of gloves wiggled their fingers -
"I get his pits."
"Nooooooo -"
A white satin glove grabbed the toe of his left sock.
He yelled again, louder, and squinted at it. No, no, no -
Yeah. Of course. Now his foot was gonna get it. The glove hopped over and pulled off the other sock.
The rest of 'em kept right on tickling.
Aw, Bodie just had to flop around and roar.
They drilled him. A lot longer than two minutes, that time. If he hadn't been sorta dehydrated already, Bodie knew he would've pissed all over himself - and the pad.
"Doesn't like it. Sure." A happy voice, right by his ear.
"Liar."
He was vaguely aware of more contact. Soft -
Oh, they couldn't be serious! He wanted to yell at 'em but it took so much effort to try to kick, and kick again, because he was sorta distracted. His legs wouldn't move. They made sure of that, dammit.
And now satin was coasting all over his feet too.
Just insane... Toes to heels, up and down the sides, squeezing the tendons under his ankle. He couldn't stand that. Why that made him explode with laughter like it did, he'd never understand.
Screeching, he brought his head up and saw two different colors at work down there. Black hands tickled his left foot, and white gloves had his right. Why did it have to be satin?
Letting his head fall, Bodie kicked out a little scream.
Some of the fingers really dug in -
And all of a sudden, he stopped laughing. A real quiet whine leaked out of his throat. That was all. Just a few minutes in all their eager hands, and he couldn't laugh anymore. That meant the bastards could stick it to him for a lot longer now. Amy usually teased him for an hour before pushing him to this point. Riding his ass like this - so solid and deep. But then she was a big fan of uncontrollable laughter. Wearing out his voice -
"Oh... Ffff... Fuck," he panted. It took so much effort to get the words out.
Only eight of 'em, he told himself, ya big pussy. Suck it up. She's buried you with gloves, more times than you can count. But that was the thing - she knew what he could take. What if she said seeya, Bodie, real giggly about it, and left him here? These fuckers didn't care if he enjoyed it. He was a biker, and he was freakishly ticklish. Best of all, he was already locked in.
They dug that he got off on it - but really, the torture would've been pretty much the same.
Where the hell was Amy?
She ditched him. Oh, no. And Bodie was all theirs now. Ticklish little biker. He could picture boards floating around right now. Hammers at work, a door being hung. Thick fuckin' door. Here come the lock kits. He's Nineteen, and they weren't kidding. Slap together a cell just for him. Didn't have to be as solid as the others, 'cause he'd be cuffed down anyway. Never getting anywhere near the door. None of us do, he thought.
Just one of the boys.
For keeps.
Borrow a set of stocks for the new biker. A coil of rope. Oil and lube. Twenty rubber gloves all floating down at the same time, happy to welcome little Nineteen the hard way. And they'd take turns, which had always seemed to him like the worst possible tickling 'cause he couldn't ever get used to what they did. How they did it. Theirs, now. Permanently.
You're losing it, Bodie told himself.
Layers and layers of tickling kept him from getting her name out, but he tried.
"Ay," he sighed, chortling for a while. "Aayy -"
"Suffer for me," Amuseur ordered. "Harder."
Actually, that made him relax. She was right here. Amy would never, ever leave him like he'd feared. Kinda sucked, sometimes, but right now he was so glad.
Bodie gave himself permission to whoop real loud. Fuck, there was no denying that he loved this. If she really knew how much -
"Lookit that," a voice said. "Big ol' grin."
Several voices laughed.
"He's eatin' it up."
"Damn, girl," one of 'em laughed. "What'd you do to this fucker?"
"Don't blame me. He was like that when I found him," Amy shot back.
"Hhhhhuh. Huh huh huh," he bubbled. "Huh huh heh heh huh huh h-huh huh helll-lllp-puh huh huh huh h-helllp uh hah huh huh -"
"Bodie." She clicked her tongue at him. Made that sound, anyway. "O-kay, then. I'll help out -"
Her hands slid under his knees. Invisible - but he recognized the feel of them. The shape.
He squeaked once, real loud.
Those fingers knew just what to do. Absolutely the worst attention-grabbing thing, blowing away all the other tickling hands. And here, that was saying something.
Bodie just slammed his eyes shut, and shook his head.
"Wild," one of the ticklers remarked.
"Blissed out."
"Stone-cold addict -"
"You don't see this every day."
"I'm gonna play with his titties."
"Let me at his fuckin' neck..."
Once in a while, he remembered to beg. It was usually silent.
The hands kept right on tickling him anyway.
- - 8 - -
His skin was... so wide awake.
Bodie was tired, though. He laid there, wondering what the deal was now. And finally, it dawned on him - no tickling goin' on.
He opened his eyes and peeked.
There was a cigarette in his mouth, but it wasn't lit. Right then his lighter clanked open...
After a drag or two, his smoke was plucked from his lips. It hung just over his head. A water bottle came down.
Cautiously, he tried to sit up. Laughing hard didn't make him sore at all anymore. Not for years, now. He was waiting for hands to slam him back down. When that didn't happen, he reached for the water and sucked it down. As he did, Bodie looked around.
There were only eight gloves in the room. Of course, since the bastards wearing 'em were all invisible there was no telling how many were actually ogling him right then. Where did they - ah, of course. He got the picture. The little monitors confirmed it. All but two or three of the captives were awake now. Getting tickled. Another wild day had begun.
"Hungry?" Amy said.
"Uh, yeah."
"Guess I better scrounge up a couple burgers -"
The door opened.
"Hey," she said happily. Not to him. Way above his head.
A guy chuckled. "Somebody pissed his pants."
Bodie looked - aw, dammit.
"I missed the party, huh..."
It was a new voice. Low, and calm. Dangerously casual. Like it didn't need to talk big. It reminded him of somebody - Amuseur. Oh, yeah.
"Nineteen," one of the other voices said.
The newcomer laughed once or twice... and immediately Bodie wanted to run away. Real bad. Just from that sound -
A pair of black leather gloves cruised over him. "They pull that 'Nineteen' shit on you?"
"Uh-huh... Sir."
It chuckled again. "Sir. Well. She taught ya right."
His cigarette, and then the water bottle were taken away - and Bodie's feet lifted off the ground. He kicked, but they kept on rising...
After his shoulder blades were on the pad again, his wrists were yanked up. Over his head - and slammed down.
"Of course, that ain't gonna help you any. Outlaw. Yes sir, yes ma'am..."
Tracking the gloves, he tried to arch and turn. But they went straight to his feet. Rubbing very lightly.
Oh, fuck, it was like they were electrified. Barely coasting around his soles, too. Bodie hissed in air, and started to squeal. Did this learn how to really stick it to him in some past nab? These fake fingers knew things about him.
"You got it coming."
"S-sorry, suh-huh-whoooo hoo hoooh haw haaawww," he shouted.
"Smile when you say that..."
And he had to do something to make the fingers stop, right away, because this was such a talented son of a bitch - like Amy. A real executioner, and it wasn't even using all of the fingers yet. Already he was ready to jump out of his fuckin' skin!
After ten or fifteen eternal seconds, the gloves paused. Whew. Bodie remembered to breathe. He stared at them... Just more leather. Thin, with a little oil or something worked in. But, oh fuck, the technique...
One of his jack-off fantasies came to mind. The tickler that trained Amy - was it true, then? Because this bastard was just incredible.
"You," he said, like it was an accusation. "Have you... uh... I know you -"
The voice laughed. Twice. "Still tryin' to flatter me?"
The gloves started moving again -
"Yes, little Bodie. We've met before."
And the fuckin' hands kicked it into gear.
He screamed laughter, just like a little kid.
It knows, he thought wildly. As if Amuseur wasn't enough - this one too. It really knows...
After a minute - a much longer minute than usual, possibly even the longest minute of his life - the fingers stopped moving.
"That was some good motorin', A. The last one-eighty, at the door... fuckin' sweet."
"Well, thank you," she said. Sounding pleased.
Fingertips drummed slowly, high up on his right arch - as if the tickler was lost in thought.
He started to snicker, and realized that if those fingers started tickling again, he was going to laugh harder, and harder, until he was hooting again, and whooping, and howling like a wolf, and then he was gonna be back to the place where he couldn't laugh at all, and the tickling would slam through him harder and harder, if the fingers kept going...
"Got him off the Sporty?"
"Gave it away," she replied. "Another rookie I mess around with."
Wait - his Sporty? So that's where it went, Bodie thought. Tht pissed him off, even if he already sorta figured who was responsible -
Another rookie... So that's what she thought of him. Or it could be just another taunt.
"Uh-huh. Real good work. This one's a keeper, now."
"Yeah. Pain in the ass, sometimes."
"Show me one that ain't," Bodie's tickler said easily.
He whimpered. Once -
And the gloves started back in.
Oh, no. No! What the fuck was so intense about these fingers? He was hooting right away. Totally surprised when he did, too. This tickler was fuckin' dangerous -
Bodie started to bark laughter, real hard, right at the gloves. Stop now, he thought, right this second. I can't believe how much this tickles. And I should know.
It seemed like the bastard didn't even need to pay attention or anything - and there he was, with his cock trying to bust out of his jeans. He was about thirty seconds away from shitting his pants. This tickler was extraordinary. As wild as the other gloves had been making him earlier today, these fingers served up the biggest fuckin' shock he'd had all year. Or at least since Amy got into rotary tools.
"How's Dee working out?" Amy asked.
"She's catching on. She's been on the same guy for, what, four months now." The tickling stopped.
Thank you, he thought, oh thank you, th-
One of the gloves was sorta gesturing toward the monitors. Then he stared, with horrorstricken eyes, as it returned to his left sole. Gently tracing down, with the index finger - until it found the spot it wanted to really fuck with.
He couldn't breathe.
"So, babe... You gonna share the wealth, here?"
Bodie hiccuped - twice - and gasped for air. Then he giggled like a fuckin' fool.
"This goof? Well, I guess. Just like old times."
Wow. Oh no, please no, she didn't just... Amy. No. She didn't just tell this magician it could tickle him again. One of the most skilled torturers who ever got hold of him, and turned up in his dreams already, had just been promised more time on his ass -
"Alright."
"Tomorrow. Then, we gotta split -"
"Aw, now. A-my..."
"I know. Unless I come to my senses."
More of the fingers started working around his toes.
Bodie fuckin' howled again. Not very loud. The sensation was making him delirious. She'd taught him that word. What it really meant. Right now the whole room was sliding away and all that was left, growing every second somehow, was the fuckin' tickling...
Watching him, Amy fought not to giggle. Really, nothing made her as happy. Bodie's anguish was so pure and blissful. Such a huge compliment -
"Whatcha gonna do?" it said.
"Loan him out."
"Lucky bastard -"
"Biker... rabbit."
The tickler whistled. Its fingers stopped. "No shit?"
"Not this time."
"I dunno," the voice said thoughtfully. "This lop -"
"Lop-eared, you mean. Conejo loco."
"Conejo?"
At last. It was over. He survived -
The fingers started raking again, so very lightly.
"Nnnnnoooooooooooaaaah hah hah hah huh haaaaaaah...." And then all Bodie could manage was a soft moan.
"The palace."
"Uh-huh."
They both sighed.
"When he's done there... Let me at him. A full visit."
"You can take that to the bank," Amy said. She sounded thrilled.
"Cool. He's worth it. Did some real fine work here, A."
They both chuckled.
The gloves let go of Bodie's feet, and he slumped back. Moving seemed to be out of the question. He was too busy panting.
"I'd build a Nineteen for this one. Trick it out," the voice said. Very matter-of-fact. "Have Cal break it in right. He gets first crack at 'em, always... And then your little badass and I got some business. If that works for you."
Amuseur gave a little squeal of delight. "Ooooo, wow. We're there."
"Alright."
Behind him, the door closed.
Hands - Amy's hands - grabbed him around the biceps and sat him up. He couldn't stay upright yet, by himself, so she held on. "Food. You lucky dog."
Lucky. Huh. "Hooray," he gasped.
"Whiskey, maybe a joint... a bath, definitely... And hell, I'll even let ya take a nap."
"Then -"
"You know."
"Yeah," he said, picking up his smokes. "I do."
- - 9 - -
She led him down the hallway. His boots and jacket floated behind him.
Bodie listened, as he passed the doors, but he couldn't hear a thing.
"Serious, uh... soundproofing," he said hesitantly.
"I told you," she chuckled. "No need to get their hopes up."
He didn't quite follow that, but he nodded anyway. They were coming up on the scariest door he'd seen, so far... the one with eight padlocks on it.
"You don't like that, do ya?"
He made a face - ya caught me...
Amy squeezed his butt-cheek. "That's where Bufhold plays. It's really into immobilization. Maximum restraints."
"Wonderful," he said. "I hope I never get you that pissed off at me."
She thought that was real damn funny. "Not a chance. Buf's okay. Just... excessively focused."
They turned right, into another hallway. She opened a door, and he padded in.
Big... rubber bathtubs.
"Whoa. Uh -"
As Bodie reared back she grabbed his arms, shutting the door behind him.
"So who was that last one in there? On me?" he said, between bites of his third cheeseburger.
Amy had pulled up a little table, and he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.
On him? As in... "Oh. You mean... 'Sir'?"
Bodie swallowed hard. "You heard that, huh."
"I hear everything," she taunted him. "I always gotta keep my eye on you."
"Eye," he snorted. "Hands, yeah. I don't see no eyes -"
"All the more effective. If you can't see me."
"Uh-huh. Anyw-"
"That was Cal-Boss."
"Oh." He chewed for a few seconds. "Your boss, too?"
"I have no boss. And I'm going to make you pay for that one," she said. And she wasn't kidding. "Gonna make you roar specially hard. No, genius. I don't answer to anybody."
"But..." He debated saying what he was thinking, but the pause had already given him away. She'd just tickle it out of him anyway. "Don't get any ideas, but it tickles me like you do. I was wonderin' if it - if you picked up a few things from -"
"You think Cal-Boss is that good, huh?"
He shivered and giggled out of pure reflex. "Oh, baby. Fucker knows what to do. Like you," he added quickly. "Just like ol' Amuseur. I mean, you're all impossible, but you and Cal-Boss..."
"Suckup," she teased. "Yeah, inmate, it taught me more than a few things."
"Fuck... So it's, uh, the boss of Cal?"
"Very good."
"And he's here? Now?"
"Who - Cal? Naw. Not right now. He gets to break in new rooms, when they're done..."
Bodie was having a little trouble swallowing. "Tough gig."
"Boss caught Cal, and then it decided to build a place to hold him. Real private. Just kept adding rooms..." She opened another beer.
"Eighteen rooms," he said, plenty worried.
"Yeah. Soon to be nineteen. Count on it. Oh, you're so screwed now," she laughed. "Boss missed you, I think. And you don't even realize what an honor that is."
Bodie decided not to say anything to that. No point.
"When was this place opened?"
"You're just full of questions tonight."
He changed course. "What's the record?"
"Bodie, honey, I d-"
"What is it?" he said, and his voice wasn't as steady as he would've liked.
She started massaging his arms.
"C'mon, Amy. How long... What's the longest a guy has been kept here?"
"No comment," she said quietly.
"Fuck!"
"You don't need to hear the answer to that one."
He grabbed his cigarettes.
"What's with you?"
"What's with me?" He shook his head, and lit up. Then, "It's that Buffer - Bufholder. Isn't it?"
"Bufhold. No."
"Right. All them locks, up and down the fuckin' door -"
"Wrong," she said, continuing to massage him. "It only hauled that guy in a couple months ago."
"Months," he snorted.
"Oh," Amy said. "I see. You're still scared."
He rolled his eyes. "I mean... damn. Nineteen. For me. This place creeps me out, and I... uh, can I possibly ask you to promise me something?"
"Shoot."
"I need... some reassurance, here -"
"Bodie -"
"Ssssh," he said, before he realized how fuckin' stupid it was to do that - to Amuseur. "I mean... Amy. Look. Promise me, uh, you're not gonna take off."
"Me?" She chuckled, and studied his face...
"Don't leave me. Here. With them."
"Hey..." Then she caught on. "You want me to watch over you."
"Yeah."
"How sweet."
"Amy." His jaw was set.
"Oh, alright. Sheesh... Here's a promise. I mean it. Um... Every minute you'll be here, I'll be here."
"The same... minutes?" he finally asked.
"Yes. Suspicious fucker."
"Well, uh, you're just being awful secretive," he said, and it sounded lame even to him. "Or something."
"Trust me. Biker dude. Rough and tough... Okay?"
"Like I have a choice."
"I just promised. Have I ever backed out of a pr-"
"No, no. I... Look, your word is good. I know. I'm just freaking out here."
Her fingers traveled up to his shoulders, and kept kneading. Very gentle hands. He took another drag. "No need for that, Bodie."
"Fuck. That Cal-Boss, it just got inside my feet. Right off..." And he shivered.
She stopped massaging him. "I love it when you do that."
"Don't I know it."
"You think Boss isn't monitoring dumb little bikers, as it's tickling 'em? Keep the impact right at the line?"
He blinked. "Oh. Didn't think of that."
"It's worked you over before," she said huskily, "and you're still here."
"No wonder I'm so fucked up."
"Ooooo, just you wait. I'll show you 'fucked up,'" she announced. "I know you inside and out. Once you relax a little more, you're gonna absolutely love what Cal-Boss will make you feel."
"I like it when you tickle me," he shot back, almost pouting.
"C'mon now. Be honest. You like it when anybody tickles you."
"Well..."
She laughed at him. "Poor Bodie. He's in for it now." He just sat and smoked. "But you got it all wrong."
"I bet I don't -"
"You're not the only one who gets into it."
Bodie let loose with a short, barking laugh. "No. You do. All you ticklers -"
"I'm serious," Amy said. "I mean, your fellow inmates."
"Well, that explains all the locks on that one door."
"Buf gets a kick out of it. It's not as if the prisoner can see 'em."
"Guys love it so much, you gotta lock 'em in. Soundproof the place. The security around here is all just for show. That right?"
"To be brutally honest, it doesn't matter. If they like it or not. But it just so happens... Look. Once the tickling starts, and they know there's no getting out of it... a lot of 'em come around."
He drank his beer. Careful not to react, but she knew him too well.
"You guys don't see yourselves the way we do," Amy continued. "Now, ol' Bodie here - he's real fun. In the first five seconds he's blown away. Couldn't be more obvious. Enraptured. Remember that word?"
Reluctantly, he nodded.
"It feels so goooood, huh? Expert tickling. Nowhere to run. But you'd stick around anyway. Definitely. And these other guys, tough as nails - until I take a feather to their armpits, and their feet... Gotta break 'em. All that attitude. It's a trip. Get rowdy on 'em a while as they tug at the straps, and howl at 'em. And eventually they figure it out. There's not a damn thing they can do to make the barbaric tickling... stop."
"Say that."
"It's on, brother, and it's gonna stay on. So they might as well relax. Give it up, badass. You're gonna feel this fever for months. I explore their bodies, and find out what makes 'em grin. Work on those spots. Those weaknesses. And some of 'em, Bodie, just flip right over. They just melt. Mean dudes... end up looking like you do, pretty much. Except no one looks quite as thrilled as Bodie does -"
"Very nice," he grumbled.
"Or as cute," Amy added quickly.
"They don't wanna be here!"
"Not true... I think I need to set your ass down in front of the video screens for a few hours," she said thoughtfully. "Those nice reclining stocks. The comfortable ones. I'll let ya smoke... and watch 'em go through the various stages. You guys either run with it - or you just get off on hating it. Endless tickling."
"So - what are you saying? Everybody learns to like it, soon after you start -"
"Don't use sweeping generalizations, Bodie. They're ignorant. There is no 'everybody', okay? Some guys never find a... groove. But they're in the minority. A small minority. Frankly, they're not as much fun. No transformation there, as the big thug discovers he's enjoying himself. Coping with it. And then, hell - they're in for the full ride."
"Let me get this straight," he says slowly. "Guys who... discover they like tickling, get tickled for months. And guys that never, uh, make themselves like it... they get cut loose sooner?"
Amy squeezed his biceps. "Sometimes I like a challenge. But as far as I'm concerned, yeah. I might argue with 'make themselves like it,' but I'd rather have you cuffed down than some panicky moose who just can't deal with what I'm doing. There are some exceptions, but they're few and far between."
"Because?"
"They're no fun."
He rubbed his temples. "Right. But sometimes, you work 'em over anyway. Just to try to change their minds. Give him a month to see if he... comes to his senses."
"Bodie, that's a rookie mistake. We know better."
"Oh yeah?" he grinned. "So what do you do, train the newbs? Is there a school for ticklers, somewhere?"
"No comment."
His smile disappeared. "Amy. I was kidding."
"I know."
He dropped the subject. Smart cookie. And the massage was working, as it always did. He was relaxing nicely. After his nap, he'd be so much different. Totally crazed...
"Maybe I'll make a tape of you, and stick it on the monitor. So you can compare your face to the other inmates. Then you'll see for yourself."
"Aw, now," he yawned. "That's just creepy."
She eased him down to the floor. "You're ready to conk right out, aren't ya? Taming that shovelhead, it just wore you right out."
"Yeah. All those gloves had nothing to do with it... And Cal-Boss..."
"And there's soooooo much more tickling ahead, Bodie."
He started to curl up in a ball, and she petted his head. "Was I that whacked out, or did I really hear you say that Boss could have at me tomorrow?"
"Uh-huh. Overdrive fun for you."
"Fuck," he muttered. "It knows something."
"Wha?"
He opened his eyes again. "Present company excluded - and I mean that, so don't be throwing it back in my face - that fucker..." All of a sudden, he shivered.
"What a day you're gonna have," Amy said happily.
But he ignored that taunt. "Scary. Supernatural. Tickling with a capital 'T'. Uh. You do that to me, and now there's another one. I'm so screwed."
"Well, it remembered you. Last time I brought you here, it found a couple new Bodie-buttons to push." Her voice sank to a whisper. "But I have to admit, no one uses leather gloves more skillfully than Cal-Boss."
"Fuck. Just... swell," he said, and then he faded out.
Amuseur kept massaging him well after he started to snore.
20oct2002