The ticklers were between me and the door.
"This is not what I want," I said again. "I've changed my mind."
"But you came in here," a voice shot back.
"Well -"
"Never know 'til you try," it coaxed.
I look at the chair again. Iron stirrups, reaching out. Ankle-stirrups, I thought numbly. Metal bands for holding the wrists back. My wrists.
If I ended up in that chair, there was no telling what it would be like. Unless... I tried it.
'C'mon," the voice said easily. "Guaranteed fun."
"I bet."
The gloves' fingers were moving, slowly. Whether it was to intimidate me, or because they were really that impatient to get to it, I had no way of knowing.
But it worked. I was getting hard.
Crazy. I would have to be insane to sit down - but it was incredibly dumb to even come to this place.
I couldn't just walk right out now. The gloves were waiting there. Would they block the exit?
Maybe. It was hard to accept that they were really... alive. There were eight of them. Magical hands, with a known goal.
And worse - I knew, in my gut, that if I left I'd always wonder what this night could've been like. Being unable to make them stop was part of the attraction. This place was set up just to allow fantasies to be tried out. It was a business.
Three hundred bucks, and they'd want repeat business. Good word-of-mouth.
I could live with the curiosity.
Looking from the gloves to the chair, I realized I didn't want to. Stupid or not.
A glove floated down and patted the seat - right about where my cock would be, if I sat down...
When I sat down.
"It's OK," the voice said softly. "Really. You want it, we're going to do it. Nice and safe."
I looked around at the baffling, animated gloves. How could they be strong enough to... do it?
"Sit," the voice said more firmly. A command. The other gloves didn't move. Endure some tickling - unimaginable, to me, the real thing, and I expected it to be absolutely mind-blowing. Or try to get past the gloves in my path...
Hesitantly, I sat.
"Do you want us to take your boots off?" the voice said pleasantly. "Or would you rather do it?"
Both options had their appeal. But I reached down, mainly to stall for time, and eased one boot off. Then the other.
I stared at the ankle-braces.
None of the gloves moved...
Was I sure I wanted to do this?
Was it at all likely they'd let me run out on 'em now?
Finally, I set my right ankle between the curved spokes.
"Whoops," the voice said. "Too short. Hold still -"
A pair of gloves raced down and did something to the extended chair-leg. It grew a couple inches longer and made a loud snapping noise.
"There."
They adjusted the other rail...
And I put my left leg where they wanted it.
Gloves dove and took hold of padded straps. My socks were pulled down a little, and they surrounded my ankle-joints with puffy white nylon - lower than I expected. My foot would hardly be able to move at all, forward or back.
Others brought semicircles of iron, and hooked them into the braces. Swinging closed...
Fingers came down with bolts.
There was no way I'd get out of the restraints quickly. If I managed to reach down to my ankles, desperately clawing at the bolts, I'd still be their captive. A little firm tickling and any meaningful fight would be neutralized.
I felt a profound change of status... but told myself it was only my imagination.
"Take off your jacket," the voice said in that same maddeningly soft tone.
I started to comply - and dug for a cigarette. Lighting it quickly, I finished taking off the thick protection of my riding jacket. Only a t-shirt lay between me and those mystifying fingers.
One of the gloves reached out, and I handed my jacket over to it.
"Arms back."
Trying to shoot a look, I was tentative. It was a moment of finality. I wasn't sure I wanted to do this, and I wasn't able to imagine walking away now, living with the knowledge that I did. What could have been -
"Good," the voice sighed. "The cuffs are in the right place. No adjustment necessary."
Cold, cold metal against my left wrist... and now, both of them. My hands were about to be caught. I was cooperating with this! How crazy.
The metal pressed tight. All the way around, now. A frightening click.
Another.
I thought of something important. "Uh..."
"Yes?"
"What about a stop word?"
A chuckle -
My cigarette jumped out from between my lips, and something clammy stuck to my mouth. I knew, immediately, what is was.
Duct tape.
I yelled, snapping my head this way and that, bucking as much as I could. Mistake. I knew it was a mistake, and I did it anyway. Dumb, so incredibly dumb.
The door opened.
Metal started clicking, under me. The chair shifted -
Somehow it wasn't that much of a surprise when I lifted off.
A glove floated down and jammed itself into my pocket. My keys.
I fought harder. Completely wasted effort.
Plastic rustled - and I looked back. A trash bag. My boots were going into it. My jacket!
With no apparent explanation, the chair carried me, almost serenely, out of the chamber.
I made as much noise as I could, but none of the other doors opened. There was an elevator, waiting. No light inside it.
The doors closed.
Down -
Wait. It was taking too long.
Oh, I'm such an idiot. I deserve this...
The elevator didn't stop at the ground floor. It was still going -
Basement. I didn't even know this place had a cellar. Maybe it was a secret...
Thick doors - I lost count at six. And I was only about halfway down the subterranean hall.
One cell was open. Flickering candelight -
As I was carried past the room next to mine I heard low, mindless cackling.
Yelling into the tape didn't even make 'em pause, and neither did trying to slam around in the chair.
The door sounded more solid than I wanted, and it made me jump. Of course, a few seconds later, there was the sound of the deadbolt.
"One last thing to be said," the voice said - happily. Definitely pleased, delighted... "We have an arrangement with a long-term parking lot only a block or two from here. The owner is beyond helpful, since he doesn't ever want to be down here again."
I looked around wildly. The walls were covered with bins, straps, chains.
Cock toys.
Paddles.
More feathers than I could count.
Bottled water and food sat by the wall, next to a pile of clean, white towels. Ready when needed -
Gloves tugged my socks off and reared back a few inches. Ready to pounce on my feet. Torture, tickle, it was obviously all the same... in their basement.
A thumb and forefinger ripped the tape off.
At the same time I yelled, the fingers were moving.
I couldn't believe any of this, and I had no way to persuade myself they weren't about to land, energetic tickling, the definitive beginning of agony, barbaric, unquenchable drive and ability to force-feed pleasure to my vulnerable body.
The shock of the first moment was much worse than I imagined... and exactly what I had hoped for. Something in the first roared howls gave me away.
"Good," the voice said, close to my right ear. I knew, immediately, what had earned its approval. The gloves were even more pleased with me now. I knew there was no chance at all I'd get out of the cell anyway, at least not within any amount of time I could still comprehend.
As I had hinted, and the voice had told me, I was getting what I had wanted. This was why I drove to the place, after all.
I had paid for only two hours...
Now there was no way to know when the gloves would actually stop.
Wrestling around, I laughed so loud and hard that it scared me in a whole different way. Enthusiastic response. The tickling was far more riveting than I could ever possibly stand.
And it was so good.
30apr04