(A little "action" in this one, FYI)
As he lit his smoke, a quiet metallic sound made him turn...
Hands pounced everywere.
Something tight slid over his head and knocked his cigarette away. Fuckin' leather hood.
They reefed his arms behind his back - cuffs slammed down on his wrists - and his legs were shoved together. Straps were already pulling tight - shoulders, arms, thighs, lower legs, and it felt like at least a couple were around his ankles.
As he was picked up and carried off, dazed and fuckin' furious, the thought came that it happened way too fast. Nobody could've pulled that off. No six men. He was dealing with something a lot... bigger.
Into a car, racing off...
The air-holes for the hood made him panic once - they weren't big enough. Getting lightheaded helped him settle down. He got smarter about how he fought with the straps, not rolling around so much, and that way he had enough air.
His ride lasted only a few miles.
The car stopped. All these hands took hold of him, except they were invisible. They carried him into a building and shoved him into a chair. It seemed like about four or five hands were locked on each arm whenever a strap was taken off, so he couldn't budge. They got his hands behind the chair-back and both wrists caught in some leather cuffs. As that was being finished up his boots were yanked off, and each ankle got a cuff too. Clipping sounds, tugs -
Tension pulled his wrists on one direction - then the other. Again, the same tug-of-war with his ankles. He couldn't move his limbs in any direction.
Off came the hood. Cinderblock all around, not much light.
"Aaaah - dammit!" he snapped.
A hand grabbed his hair and tilted his head back. "That's the closest thing to a yell you're gonna make, here." A hard tug emphasized the point.
He couldn't see the son of a bitch who was talking. Grunting with pain, he sighed... and said, "Okay."
"This is to make sure."
A dildo-gag cruised over from the shadows.
That made him grimace, and groan again. The gag was stuffed partway down his shirt. Close enough to put to use real quick -
"Here."
A cigar was floating up.
About halfway through the smoke -
"Hey," another voice said.
"You like?"
They both just laughed.
"Thirty-three," his kidnapper said. "Off parole, no drug problem."
He kicked out smoke, wondering what the fuck was going on.
"Muscle tone is at least 8, maybe 9. This here's one of those dogs who learned to get rid of his aggression with free weights."
"Very good," the second voice murmured. He had the crazy notion that it was, like, shopping or something.
"No allergies, no family. Teeth ain't too bad. Dick works just fine."
"Hey," he barked.
"Got some fire left," the shopper-voice said. Definitely approving.
"Too much." the kidnapper shot back coldly. "That's what gags are for - but hey, that's me."
"I like it when they start out cocky. You got a list around?"
"Activities? Sure. One sec."
He puffed on the cigar. This was an elaborate setup, but he was fuckin' not gonna act like a wuss. It blew his mind that he couldn't see the dudes, and they were right here next to him. It felt like he was getting stared at. The voices sounded just like... confident sons of bitches. Damn strong, too, if one of 'em got him trussed up that quick. That was impressive. But weird - he couldn't see 'em at all.
After some quiet rustling, a piece of paper drifted up from the back of the room.
"Okay," the kidnapper said. "No food restrictions."
"Drugs?"
He perked right up. Good news, bad news -
"Oh, shit, anything. No prescriptions. Three different antacids in his bathroom, so probably his diet could use some work. The usual over-the-counter shit was there, too."
How the fuck did the kidnapper know all that?
"Now, for fun drugs... you want to talk about all of 'em? I mean, I'll do it, but there's no red flags. No combos to avoid."
"Fair enough. Not quite sure what'll really do the trick. Y'know? I don't mind experimenting, but the main deal just hasn't hit me yet."
"Well," the kidnapper said, "you got all the time you want. I guess that's obvious enough."
He squirmed around, wondering if there was any upside to objecting out loud, here. Didn't seem too promising.
"Hemorrhoids?"
"Not now. Surgery about five years ago. Looks real good, down there."
"Hold on just a minute," he said.
"If you wanna smoke that thing," the kidnapper said, sounding irritated, "and be able to breathe through your mouth - if you know what I mean - then you better pipe down. Right fuckin' now."
"Gravelly voice," the shopper remarked. "Kinda cool."
"He can get loud. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"No problem, where we're goin'."
He sagged. It was inclined to... move him, then. Maybe a padded room. This shit was so ridiculous -
"Vibrators?"
"I'd say yes."
"Fisting?"
"Sure."
He groaned.
"Giving yourself away, there, fuckhead," the kidnapper snapped. "Reacting only some of the time. Itching powder."
"Yes."
They kept on talking. Enemas, yes. Violet wands, yes. He didn't even know what the fuck that meant. And the second bastard had said yes to everything - which didn't mean he'd go through all this shit, but that any of it could happen. All he could do was growl and tug at the cuffs...
"Caning."
"Yes."
"Spanking - want me to break that down? Different tools?"
"Yes to all of 'em."
"Wax?"
"Yes."
"Heat - all kinds, again."
"Yes. All."
"Ice cubes... external, and anal -"
"Yes, and yes."
C'mon, he thought, all pissed off. It had to be a scare tactic, naming all that sick shit, but he wasn't gonna let on that any of it scared him.
"Okay. Milking?"
"Yes."
"Denial?"
"Yes."
Fuck, they went on and on. Everything that could possibly be done to a guy's crotch. Fifty tools, or maybe they just made up shit. The answer for everything was yes.
After talking about clamps and clothespins - and piercing his fuckin' nipples, which made him pull harder at the cuffs - they moved on to more general shit which could be done all over him -
"Tats. Well, duh."
"Yeah," the shopper laughed.
"Branding."
"No," he said quickly.
"Yeeesss," the second voice said carefully, like it was rubbing his face in it.
"Scarification."
"Yes."
Now, he didn't know what the hell that was either, but any word starting with "scar" couldn't be good...
"Physical exam."
"Yes."
"Tickling."
"Y-"
It said only part of the word, and then suddenly - silence.
Oh... no. He froze.
The fucker who thought it was gonna haul him off started to hoot very quietly.
And there was the most awful pause, again...
"That's it," the shopper finally said.
"Yeah?"
"So against type. Y'know?"
Now the first voice laughed. "I get it. Yeah. Good one."
They couldn't be serious. Fuckin' out of the their minds -
He felt a huge rush of adrenaline, and fought like crazy with the restraints. And he wasn't even sure why. There was something really frightening, so insane, coming - and he didn't even really dare to review the last few things they'd been talkin' about, it was that bad.
"Has he got it bad?"
"Watch this."
Hands slid under his jacket - and into his armpits.
They fuckin' dug in.
Everything was shocks and stars and moving heat, flopping so damn hard, and the pressure built and built until the groan became a whine and then another and slid right into a gasp, mouth full of smoke, coughing, then a wheeze and he sputtered and barked no, no, no! and there was a huge inhale, and the pressure overflowed and blew out of him, "huh huh huh huh huh huh huh naaah hah huh huh huh huh," because the fingers hadn't stopped rubbing and even through his shirt it was making his mind cut out, the room was flickering and all he could see in his head was somebody's fingers really tickling the fuck out of his armpits, and his body just sucked in more air and hooted louder, and harder, way behind because there were so damn many volts of pure feeling to force back out...
Lower, now. The pressure level. Draining.
He opened his eyes and saw the ceiling. His chest heaved. Sweat had broken out everywhere. He was still snickering, too. Trying to shut up didn't exactly work, so he had to let the laughs sorta trail off in their own time. So fuckin' blown away.
Expecting there would be absolutely nothing to see, he gulped and looked around anyway. Yeah, still an empty room.... with somebody watching. Real close.
He looked around. The gag had fallen on the floor, and the cigar was a few inches further off -
"Deal," the shopper said. "Oh, yeah."
"Noooo," he rasped. No, fuck, not that. C'mon. He wasn't a kid, dammit. The butt plug was actually sounding better -
"Haw haw haw haw," the kidnapper said quietly, right in his face. Just to mess with him. "Haw haw haw... haw haw haw."
"I'll get him locked down," the other voice said - sounding excited, now - "and go out for the right toys."
"Just a couple hours, right? Then he's off the hook?"
After a... supercharged pause, the voices just howled.
Straps started to loosen - and whip around his gut.
He saw his chance, but all the kicking and thrashing didn't stop 'em from wrapping tight.
The hood was coming back. Oh, shit.
"Haw haw... haw," the first voice said cruelly.
Then he was feeling the leather scrape back down his cheeks.
Another car ride. Longer, this time.
When the car stopped and the door opened, there was something different about the air. It smelled like... nature. I'm way out in the woods, he thought, bucking hard. Probably not a fuckin' soul around.
He was carried for about half a minute - and then set down, with something soft under his belly. Apparently he wasn't outside any more.
Many hands, again - dammit! - yanking his clothes off, and at the same time others were spreading his limbs out, attaching something to the cuffs that pulled tight. Stretched just a little too far, he squealed into the leather covering his mouth...
His own knuckles seemed to be pressing down on vinyl. Thick padding, though.
The hood was loosened - and pulled up halfway. The strap tightened again. He still couldn't see, but gasping for air was more important...
Hands lifted his head.
"Drink," the shopper said.
A tube - no, a big straw - tapped his lips. He sucked in - and decided it was just water. Whew. A little bitter, maybe, but he was thirsty.
When he stopped drinking the hands let go of his head.
A few triumphant laughs, well over him...
His joints were loosening a little, apparently, because after a couple minutes it didn't hurt to slam around and pull at the straps. He was okay but stretched tight enough that he couldn't hardly even shift around at all.
So the panic wore off... and he was still wound up. It felt familiar. Yeah - fuckin' speed. Probably in the water. Now he'd be hyper all night.
There was a reason for that.
Aw, shit, he didn't even dare think about it. Nobody was that cruel. Maybe it was a big-ass bluff. That was pretty much all he had left.
Another hour, maybe, and he was all twitchy. He needed to piss. Couldn't move, except his head... What he wouldn't give for a mutherfuckin' smoke, right now.
Enough with the fuckin' blindfold. He started rubbing the back of it against the pad under him, and felt it shift just a little.
Okay, then.
After a good five minutes of that, the strap was finally off his forehead and he got the fuckin' thing loose. Whipping his head back and forth about a dozen times finally made it fall off -
There was padding on the ceiling. Oh shit. Shit. Aw, no...
And the walls. Bright white, new. Soundproofed, he thought numbly. No chance at all that anyone would ever, ever... know.
He lifted his head - and thought his heart was gonna stop.
There was shit piled all around him... laid out in a circle, evenly spaced, not even two feet away.
A huge bag of feathers.
Next there was a big pile of brushes. It was hard to guess how many different kinds, and there had to be at least a hundred. All different kinds of bristles and textures and sizes -
After that he stared at a stack of white boxes, three columns deep and five tall. The nearest box on top was open, and a rubber glove had been pulled partway out. At least a dozen bottles of oil were lined up in front - like they were on display or something, facing forward so he could read 'em. Almond oil, baby oil, massage oil, mink oil, tanning oil, mineral oil. Five or six different kinds of sex lubes too.
He was sorry he managed to shake the blindfold off.
Then there was this heap, over a foot tall, of... medical-type stuff. Dentist's tools, little wheels with handles, disposable razors, hair combs, different stones that looked sorta like what he'd use to sharpen his knife, backscratchers, a few rough-looking sponges, little buffers that he guessed were maybe for women to give themselves facials or something...
His eyes moved along. A couple feet wide and spreading back at least a yard, there were all these pill-bottles with no labels on 'em, bags of syringes - a couple hundred, there, at least - and row after row of liquor bottles. Whiskey, rum, scotch, vodka, plain ol' 151.
No cigarettes, he realized numbly. Or food - but it wouldn't gather so much fuckin' stuff and forget that he needed to eat. Probably there was a closet or storeroom, right close by. If there was this much shit laid out where he could see it then he figured there could be a whole damn room full of more fun stuff... The thought made his next breath stutter, sorta. Another case of rubber gloves. Bottles of oil, row after row. And cock toys, probably.
His hands pulled longingly, not even able to shift the chains. There had to be some fuckin' cigars at least, he thought. Aw, please. Please.
When those gloves were gone was he gonna get to watch fifteen more boxes get stacked up in the same place?
It was a weird kind of shock that had a hold on him, as he looked from one pile to another. The second voice had wanted him to know. And, fuck, now he did. Not just a couple hours of raw tickling torture...
Or a couple weeks. Not from the look of things. Hell, there had to be hundreds of feathers, there. It thought big. Ten or twenty feathers would get the point across, right? But this fucker wanted hundreds.
That's how long it was gonna tickle him.
There was just so much shit around that he couldn't buy into the idea that it was just showing off.
Setting his head back down, he looked toward his feet. Those ankle-cuffs were way too thick...
The tower of boxes was right there. Way too close. He thought it had to have been put right in that spot on purpose - so whenever he looked down his body, all those fuckin' gloves were where his eyes ended up.
It would be so much better to just... check out. Right now.
All those gloves. Phantom fingers. Full-blown nightmare, all set to go. Something he never expected was scaring the fuck out of him. How much effort did it take to collect all the... toys?
It was just way too much to take, and the fucker who brought him here took the time to lay everything out, evenly spaced and everything, to clue him in on what was gonna happen. He'd never wanted to pass out before, not once. And with his luck it was probably way too smart to let that happen.
Begging wasn't gonna do any good. He couldn't do anything else.
Oh, fuck, how he wanted to get out of here -
There was a throat-clearing noise. He looked toward it right away - well, where the sound seemed to come from - and wished he could come up with any words that would make it let him go. I am a big boy, he thought, and I can take anything. Right? Aw, I don't fuckin' believe this is gonna happen. Not to me.
He looked at the gloves again and thought, wanna bet?
That tore it - sorta made him cave in. His body relaxed, all by itself. There was no point in wrestling around. Hell, he'd start doing that in a few seconds anyway, totally losing it, howling his guts out, and he'd probably keep it up until he got too tired to tug anymore. But the electricity wouldn't stop zapping him, deep inside. Endless fuckin' tickling.
Just thinking that made him kick out a big, shaky sigh. Things were about to get real bleak.
The fuckin' voice made a little "uh" sound. Getting his attention.
"Ticklish?" it said - real innocent - like it was just curious, that's all.
"Yeah," he grumbled.
12jul2006