- - 31 - -
Once in a while, I hear Tor chuckle.
It's probably chuckling a lot more than I'm aware of... 'cause all I can do is try to... digest each stroke.
Fuckin' impossible. And I can't get my thoughts to go anywhere else.
I can feel its satisfaction. Like a mountain. An iron maiden, locked around me. Total attention. It just loves tickling - way more than anything else.
And it's pathologically addicted to tickling me.
"Rise and shine, Originators."
Groaning, spontaneously. Hearing the same noise out of D.
Plates are cruising on in. Heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, ham, a dozen vitamins.
I haven't... laughed, in a while.
Flooded, though. Brushes, all over me. The fuckin' oil. The long-haul bit, this can take all night, and fuck it's intolerable, no more no fuckin' more aw no...
If this is what Vex has been able to do to Shon all along - not just ring his chimes, but I mean really ring his deep-down personal mutherfuckin' chimes - well, I'm toast. This is... unbelievable.
Rest, and water, and tickling.
Repeat a few dozen times.
- - 32 - -
"Damn, Hare. You're fun."
I look. D's asleep.
"Fun to chase. All the way across the fuckin' country, mano. More fun to lay into. I could just work you over here. All that food... But you know what's even better? The palace! Damn. You gotta be there. Not one or the other. Vex told me. Both conejos. So I got all kinds of shit just for you, Deck. Just for you. Vex, and Shon... Me and you. In the jungle. Two-on-two..."
It sounds like... me. Sorta.
That's a whole 'nuther head-game.
- - 33 - -
Pre-lunch, post-morning-rubdown nap. I come around thinking, well, another meal, three or four hours of hardcore delight, another nap, dinner, another long night of pure delirium, sleep, breakfast, three or four hours -
And I notice the cigar between my teeth.
Big, fat cigar. Shon's got one too. He nods his head at me.
"What's with this?," I say, puffing away.
"Tor." His voice is almost history, too.
Huh. I know this kind of cigar - a-ha. "Butte," I say, with a little moan.
"Huh?"
"Tor. Caught me in Butte, Montana. These cigars... A week and a half. It was really insane." I guess I thought the tickler just got lucky, hitting my buttons just right. No luck involved. Just... Tor.
"Insane. Compared to this," he says, straight-faced.
"Smartass."
We lay there for a minute.
"How many... are there?," he says.
I know what he means. I was just thinkin' the same thing. "No fuckin' clue."
"If each tickler, uh, made... two more -"
"Don't," I jump in. "You don't wanna go there."
After a pause, he exhales. "Why not?"
I shift my ass around. It's oily, and it's tingling in a way that only reminds me of how Tor's fingers rubbed it. "Exponential numbers."
He lifts his head. I shake mine - as in, let it go. But he looks annoyed, so I sigh.
"How many days since... how old is Vex?"
He smokes. "500?"
He's way low, but I see no good reason to make the news any worse. "And, just to use round numbers, say the average marathon is ten days long. Each tickler, uh, creates one other tickler..."
"Okay..."
I start calculating. My hands are still cuffed down - of course - but at least I can bend my fingers...
"1, 2, 4, 8, 16... 32, 64, 128, 256... So, 512 ticklers at day 100 -"
"Ooooh... Stop," he yells. "Dammit. I get it."
"Told you you wouldn't like it."
An invisible hand pats me on the head... and Tor makes a private little noise, like it finds me amusing.
- - 34 - -
Worse it's worse it's worse -
I gotta cum, I gotta... right now now now now, oh shit...
Booooooooooommm.
There. Yeah oh yeah oh baby oh fuck yeah. Yeah. Hollering at the top of my lungs, which doesn't matter anymore. Total laryngitis.
Finally, Tor lets go of my meat -
Aaaah! No! Soft fingers plow their way up my sides.
I leap in the air and throw my head back, howling soundlessly.
Squeezing me just the way that bugs me the most. But this... What the fuck. I'm not any more sensitive after a cum-shot, unlike poor Shon over th-
I...
Oh
my
fucking
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...
"Bato. Alright."
Tor is jazzed about... something.
Hours. Hours hours hours no probably just one. Oh. That was a new... peak.
"Talk, D. Hey." Whispered -
I squint... Shon, chomping on a cigar. Worried look on his face.
"Oh...fuck, D -"
"Smoke up, Hare. You earned it."
And there's my next stogie, zeroing in.
"Not yet," I gasp, throwing my head to the side. My voice has an edge in it.
"Deck?"
"Oh, fuck, buddy, I'm dyin'..."
Vex chuckles. Mocking me. "No, you're not..."
"Let us go. Now -"
"Oh, now that's a good one." To illustrate how funny I am - it's done it way more than once - Shon starts to laugh. Gloves are making him. He's not givin' up that cigar, though. He shakes quietly for a few more seconds, and then kicks out a sigh.
"After that?" Tor chuckles. "Right. Okay."
"What... just hap-"
"Well, Field-Hare, you had a certain advantage over my sensitive buddy, here." Shon giggles several more times. "He's so much more ticklish... after a good hard squirt. But sadly, you were not..."
There's a pause.
"Until now," Shon adds, shooting me a look full of pity.
"Yep," Vex laughs. "Tor has learned a lot. And, better yet, a lot about you."
I shake my head. "Please -"
"What a time we're going to have..."
- - 35 - -
"Hey-a, Deck."
Vex. Not a voice I want to hear, first thing after waking up.
I try to roll... and I can't. Gagged.
Shoes?
They've put black tennis shoes on us - no, wait, they're running shoes. Another little dig - try 'em, guys, go run and see how they feel. But there's more straps than usual holding me down. Shon, too.
The shoes are very light. They look expensive. Mine are tied real tight. Inside 'em, under socks, my feet feel weird. Too warm. It's been a while since I had shoes and socks on. Not since we were lifting weights. There's a faint throbbing, too... all over 'em. Something special to make the tickling worse.
Shon's also gagged. He looks up from his shoes, at me. Really dreading what he suspects is gonna happen, here.
A match flares. We both look -
The door's closed. That's... unusual. No need to shut 'em. We ain't gonna get up. One of the chairs is in front of it, with an ashtray.
Above the seat, a cigarette floats up to the match and rotates slowly, being lit.
I can't help but groan. I want a Camel so bad right now I can't believe it.
"So... Now that you're both up. We want two volunteers. Special duty. Real barbaric shit..."
We look at each other.
"You - and you. Okay. Tor and I, we were talkin'. You guys had a whole day off... Well, almost a whole day. Too bad you slept through it, huh? Doesn't that just suck. For you. And now, we're in the mood for something... special."
Shon cusses into his gag, and tugs on the straps.
"And then Tor says - hey, tell 'em what you said -"
"Gonna tickle... some feet."
Time for me to start testing these babies. I'm really helpless this time -
The match is shaken out. The lit smoke floats down to the ashtray.
"That's it. 'Gonna tickle some feet.' Okay. Sounds like fun. So... Look. Here's some feet. Heels, and sides, and toes... Shit, these soles are overly sensitive. Just layin' around. These fuckers have stamina. So tender. So much fun. And hell, the Originators aren't going anywhere today..."
In the air, another match blazes. Another cigarette floats up...
"Gonna... tickle... these feet."
"Yes, you are. Hey... those gags have gotta be buggin' you rabbits. Here..." Loosening -
And two water bottles comes up.
Tor makes me chug about a liter and a half. More than usual. This is gonna be hairy.
As the bottles leave, the gags are pulled back into place, and tightened.
"There..."
There's a pile of leather around my ankles. Anchor-straps in a few directions... I tug, but there's no play forward, backward, side-to-side. Shoes, almost touching each other - and not that far from Shon's...
Over on the chair, the pack of cigarettes is being torn open.
"Yep. I wasn't exactly sure what Tor was thinkin'. I mean, of course you're gonna tickle some feet. These feet. Just like we have been. And just like we will be... for the indefinite future. There's just a shitload of tickling ahead. Just us four... Turns out ol' Tor wants to tickle 'em all night. These feet. But wait, I asked him... Won't they get numb?" Fake innocence in its voice.
The cigarettes are dumped into the ashtray, on top of the two lit smokes...
"No they won't, Tor says. So we made a little bet. Tor goes, those feet are gonna get tickled for twelve hours straight, and the Originators, they're gonna be so into it they're not gonna sleep until the tickling is done."
Shon closes his eyes, apparently mumbling to himself.
"So I thought... interesting. But I'll go ya one better. I bet these guys' feet can keep 'em feverish and far too happy... for thirteen consecutive hours."
His eyes snap open, searching the ceiling. He looks lost, and hopeless...
Feet - Shon's touchiest place. It'd be like if they announced a rib rally. I'd be lookin' pretty whipped. Hell, that's probably next anyway -
"And Tor says... Vex, you're on."
And I catch some movement, swivel my head -
A shoelace on the right sneaker... is lifting up.
Same thing, at Shon's left foot.
The lace is being pulled straight up. Magic. Perverse tickling magic -
"Each of you will have at least one finger on your feet at all times. Moving. Plus whatever else Tor wants to put on 'em, of course. If you snooze..." A cart rolls up to my right. "Hey, Tor. If this doesn't work, we'll have to do it again -"
"Again and again," my personal torturer agrees.
"Until we get it right."
"Uh... Vex, amigo... We gotta go. Soon."
For one stellar instant, I feel like celebrating. Then I realize what it's actually saying.
The bow collapses, and the other lace pulls out...
And the smokes in the ashtray are starting to smolder.
"Hmmmmm...." Vex goes, "That's true. What we need is a place, where time is unlimited, and no one else is around for a hundred miles... so we can try this as often as we have to. Until we get it right."
The laces slip out of the first eyelets. Maddeningly slow. It's intimidating as hell. I know they pulled the shoes on us, just so they could tease us by taking 'em off. It's just - seeing 'em do it... Fuckin' invisible fingers, undoing those knots - mocking us by doing it so slow.
Anybody with their feet in this position would be spooked, I guess. It just seems so much worse when it's gloves fuckin' with you - or hands you never see.
The laces pull through the other eyelets, taking a long time. Oh, they're enjoying this.
The shoes' tongues are tugged out, and pressure is steadily closing around the heel. I spread my toes - talk about an empty gesture...
Sliding off. Held for a moment, then dropped to the floor. Shon jumps at the sound. He's geeked. I want - I mean, I long for something to offer 'em that would get our shoes back. But I'm gagged.
There are thick athletic socks on our feet. New, and white. Protection. Pulled on us just so we could see 'em taken away, horribly, tragically.
A lace on the other shoe heads straight up in the air...
And Shon starts to squirm. It's too much for him, watching this. Seeing him writhing makes me mad... and scared. So I join him.
Knot undone, laces separating, backing through the eyelets. Tongue pulling out. This seems to take five minutes. It could hardly be done any slower...
Gentle pressure. Plop, plop.
Something invisible slides into the cuff of my right sock. We're both twisting around... and staring hard.
The sock... begins to slide. Slowly, down the rear tendon... over the heel... to the sole. It stops.
The toe is snagged. Something pinching my big toe - and sliding away. The sock drags up. The feel of it being pulled over my foot is... more constricting than I would expect. Even in the open air, my foot is... ticklish. Oh, fuck. Fuck.
The last sock starts peeling off. Crawling, taunting, my last protection. Brand-new shoes, new socks, discarded... while we watch. We need 'em. They could protect us. And they're being thrown away.
It springs off my toes. We're both ready. I have a bad, doomed feeling.
"Alright, Tor - Oh, yeah. Show's over. Nothing more to see."
Flash of color, by Shon's head -
Darkness. Cloth, being pulled tight. Blindfolds.
"Let's do it. Good luck, Tor. Thirteen hours, starting in four... three... two... one..."
Time locks up for, oh, a good solid month. I swear it does. Full stop.
And then I'm adrift in a wonderful, soothing darkness, where it's quiet... and there are no feathers. No shiny hands, or leather hands, or strong invisible hands clutching me, impossible to watch, frustrating all my attempts to brace myself, to prepare for the impact.
- - 36 - -
Next thing I know, it's hot. I mean, hot. And humid. Unfamiliar smells - like being out in the country, only multiplied.
Rocking gently, on water.
Manacles keep my limbs spread. It's fairly dark. A small room, metal walls, a container -
Shon's here. By my right side. I can almost touch his left hand.
The sight fills with me with relief... and shame.
Aw, fuck it - I go with the relief.
Next installment: The Palace
20oct2002