Brick stops thrashing around, and just tries to stretch the wrist-cuffs. He's panicking -
I've got to settle down and think.
That isn't what he wants to do... but it makes sense. He tries to kick again, but his legs are stuck there. Held, somehow.
A thick ring of leather is moving to his left ankle. Where the hell are his clothes? All he's got on is his socks - and something shoves them down. He can't do anything except watch.
Shit. I'm really going to be stuck, here.
The cuffs are heavy. All of them. With his hands over his head like this, he can't do anything. It's scary. Brick has never been restrained before - well, not since he was a kid. Cowboys and indians, or something. But that was just rope, and it wasn't tied all that well. This is entirely different. The cuffs seem to be bolted down. Black iron brackets.
Custom-made. Aw, hell.
Made for what? That's the big question. It's bad enough to be in a fuckin' dungeon. Thick stone walls. Nobody can hear him.
"Haaallllppp!" he shouts again, as loud as he can. "Hey! Heeeeeeeey! Haaaalllp..."
No one's gonna come, he thinks. This is terrible. I'm really fuckin' trapped.
One more cuff is slowly wrapped around his right ankle. There's another faint sound, metal-on-metal, and Brick feels a hard tug. But his leg stays put. Whatever's holding on to him - invisible hands? Eight or ten of 'em, except that's impossible - starts to let go of his leg.
His legs are bent a little, knees out. It's not uncomfortable. And he is stuck. Ankles, especially - he can wiggle his knees a little, but those cuffs down there are not turning at all. It's kinda dark, in the room... Thick metal slabs, holding the cuffs up off the black vinyl pad.
Gotta be some serious bolts, there.
His feet are leaning out.. Heels, maybe four inches apart.
They're going to do something to me. The hands. Fuck.
Brick kicks and kicks.
He feels something tighten - and pull.
His right shoe falls off.
Staring at his sock, he stops kicking. The other shoe is pulled off. He listens to them land on the floor.
Uh-oh...
That's crazy, the idea he just had. No way. He tries twisting his feet around, watching them flex under the old white socks -
Pulling. Right foot, again. The cuff... Of the sock.
They're taking my socks off. Oh no. No! They're going to... do something. To my feet. I can't stand it.
"Haaaaalllllpp!," he roars again. Slamming around, in case there's some way to squirm he didn't try earlier - one that will pull the cuffs loose. His sock slides off, hangs there for a few seconds... and falls.
Not my feet not my feet oh hell no not down there -
The left sock goes next, and he's fuckin' defenseless, here. Bare feet. Impossible snug cuffs. And the creepy fuckin' room. A dungeon. His cell. It's scary.
Why am I scared?
Brick gets a quick mental picture - and shuts it out. Too outrageous. He thinks of other things instead that are much worse. Painful, severe damage, and he can't prevent any of it when he's held down like this.
No. Too bizarre. Nothing like that.
In his thoughts, he's laughing. Hysterical. Brick forces himself to breathe deeply. He's gotta stay calm. But the fuckin' cuffs, they've just got him totally freaked out.
I'll get used to 'em. I don't have any choice.
"Shit!" he barks.
Anger. That's better. Gotta stay sharp, here. Maybe it won't be... that bad.
He looks at his feet.
Maybe I'll even like it.
Like it? What? He doesn't even know what's going to happen, here.
Sure I do. Isn't it obvious?
He groans. No. It could be anything. Obviously, they wanted his feet stuck so he couldn't move -
A creaking sound. He squints. Something dark, and big... A belt? Near his side, though.
Laying over his waist. The buckle jingles, as it's used. They've pinned his waist, too. Not very tight, but it'll keep him from twisting around.
He opens his mouth to protest, or something - but Brick is so frustrated he doesn't trust his voice to come out strong and mean, right then.
They don't want me to hurt myself. Sure. But they're gonna torture my feet... This is totally fuckin' crazy. Got me held down so I can't do shit to stop 'em, and I can't injure myself if I try. Oh, shit.
The walls look solid. Real. The padding, under him. He wants to believe it's all just a dream.
I know better than that. I'm awake... and they've got my feet all ready. Gonna have fun with me.
There's something else approaching. Larger.
Total fun.
A table. Old. Dark wood. It's floating, silently. Being set down, there, past his feet.
Oh, no. Here it comes.
As he squirms, there's a sound coming from the table. Sliding... A drawer, maybe, on the other side he can't see.
What's going to come out of that dr-
Red box. Cardboard. It looks like a box of facial tissues, almost. It lands on the table, and the top starts opening. It's too dark for Brick to make out the words on the box.
I'm going to like this.
What? Creepy thought. Sarcastic. He's losing it -
Black. Stretching. For a second, it looks like a hand, if... Oh, shit. Of course. It's a glove.
Wait a minute.
Definitely... a black glove? Rubber?
"No," he wails. "C'mon."
Easy. It's just a glove.
There's, what, a hundred gloves in that box? Shit...
Another one is pulled out of the box. And then they fill up. Somehow. Unmistakably, they're made of latex. The fingers are so smooth and firm. Curling, a little. Brick knows there are no hands inside 'em - even in the weak light, he can see no bumps where the knuckles would be - and those fuckers are full, just the same. Flexible.
This is gonna be... bad. So fucked. If they wanna do what I think they're - oh, no, I can't stand that. Not here. Intense. Too much. They can't think I'm gonna enjoy this... Or maybe they do. Shit. Maybe they're right. I could end up liking it. Gotta do something... Weird. I might really get into it.
He looks at the ceiling. Enjoy it? Why does that idea keep coming to mind?
Well, it's not any crazier than the rest of this setup. If somebody had told me I was gonna be locked in a dungeon tonight, with my feet caught like this... lookin' at these fuckin' gloves, here...
They hang there, with their fingers curled a little.
Ready to go. Shit! Confident. Aren't they? In charge of the situation. I'm not goin' anywhere. And they know it.
"Look," he says, and his voice is wavering. So he shuts up. But he wants to tell 'em they can't do this, he does not wanna be here, and surely there's some guy out there who'd love to be in this position, right now.
Man, I want a cigarette.
He sighs hard, wishing his hands weren't caught like this, so he could get a smoke -
A glove starts to move. It dips down, past the table.
Returning with something... white. Thin. Terrifying.
It's a feather.
"No. Fuck, - help!" he shouts, trying to move his feet. A feather, near his trapped feet. Held by a magic glove. "Don't... You can't..."
So that's it. I'm a goner. They are gonna tickle me. I can't budge. Dammit. It's no use. They're gonna tickle the shit out of me. I can't stop 'em. Everything's all set. Serious tickling.
The glove sets the feather down on the table.
Nobody's gonna interrupt 'em, either. I just know it. Fuck, I'm gonna get it now.
Then the other glove floats down, and gets a feather of its own. There they sit, side by side. Ready to be used.
On my feet. Gonna tickle my fuckin' feet. That's for sure. They just confirmed it. We're gonna make you laugh, jerk-off.
"I don't wanna.. be here..."
A good time. Them - and me. We're all gonna enjoy this.
Brick shakes his head a little. All? How many -
Me, and them. 'All' includes me. And the hands. Plenty of gloves, there. Oh, yeah, I'm gonna get worked over now. And I got a bad feeling they want me to like it, too. They're calling all the shots...
Black rubber starts pulling again - out of the box of gloves. Another one - and a fourth, right after.
Now they got four hands ready. To tickle me. Lots more to come. Oh, shit, of all the fucked-up things to do. Hardcore tickling. And not just my feet, I bet.
All those fingers and thumbs...
One hand gets something out of the drawer. Shiny - a metal can.
It comes closer, to his left foot, and pushes down on the top button. Brick finally recognizes it... One of those old spray-cans. The glove pumps the button again -
Something wet hits his toes. He jumps.
The finger keeps pushing the button down, again and again. Cool mist soaks the bottom of his foot... There's got to be alcohol in it, because it's cool as it evaporates.
Something to make me even more ticklish. This is so twisted...
When it starts spraying his right foot, Brick notices something else. The liquid is cold, so he's sure about there being alcohol in it - but his left foot is tingling now.
Yeah. It isn't bad enough that they can tickle the fuck out of me, with my feet stuck here. They want super-ticklish feet. Imagine what those feathers are gonna feel like now. Shit. They own my feet, now. For as long as I'm caught here, I'm just a big fuckin' toy. I'm all theirs. And they want me to feel it, totally, and I mean hard.
There's something odd, about his thoughts. Too much information, or something. Freaked out. Maybe that's all it is. Watching the mist get sprayed all over his right foot, and he can't do a single fuckin' thing about it. Trying to deal with all this impossible shit.
Perfect tickling. Long as they want. More fun than I know what to do with...
Both of his feet are tingling, now, and the can is put back in the drawer.
Two gloves pick up the feathers, and wave them slowly. Still not touching him. What are they doing?
It's almost like they're - oh, that's it. Fanning. They want that shit to dry off. So they can get busy. They can't wait. Start in... and those fingers look strong, too. I wonder what they're gonna feel like, 'cause I know they're gonna dig in too. Oh, yeah. No doubt. Unbelievable.
They just hang there, building up the suspense.
Major, unbelievable fun. No way out. They're gonna make me howl.
The feathers are moved closer. Until they touch his midfeet.
And the torture begins.
He starts to growl, clenching his teeth.
Constant excitement. Impossible -
The feathers brush lightly, and he can't stand it. The cuffs won't let go. He can't do anything...
Except chuckle.
Oh, yeah. He can't help it. Laughing. That's what they want him to do. And there's no getting away from the feathers. Light edges, flicking down, and across.
"Oh hah hah hah hah," he laughs.
This is fun.
What? He shakes his head.
I like this. They're gonna tickle me... all over. Cool.
"Nooooooo hooooaaah hah hah hah hah..."
He squints at the gloves, wishing he knew the magic word to make them stop. Rocking from side to side, hooting forcefully. And he'll be laughing harder, real soon. He's positive of that.
Wonder how much I can take. Tickling. Oh, yeah...
The feathers are pulled, so carefully, between his toes. He tenses up and shouts laughter at the ceiling. Oh, fuck, his whole body is laid out just right. His sides - and his belly. He can't take it -
Oh yeah, fuck yeah, this is gonna be extreme. Sweet.
"Laaah haw haw aaawhah hoh hah haah haaawww..."
I've gotta get out of here, he thinks. Somehow.
The feathers move faster.
After a long, confusing time, Brick figures out that there are two spots under attack - on each foot. He blinks a few times, but his eyes are still filled with tears. There is more activity, down there. At his feet.
Four feathers.
Yeah. Such ticklish feet...
Brick wails with laughter.
He wants to thrash around, but his body won't move.
The feathers won't stop. Oh, shit, he laughs continuously and it's still unbearable. He just can't stand it.
But I have to.
"Caaah hah haaah c-caaan tah hah haaawww..."
Can't take it. And not a fuckin' thing is gonna change. Can't get away. Can't look for anyone to come and get me out of here. They made sure no one - aw, I'm in for some real fun. They're gonna tickle me and tickle me and tickle me and tickle me and tickle me and tickle me and ti-
Stop, he tells himself. Just stop it. You're delirious. This is what delirium feels like. Oh, fuck, I have to make it stop, I can't take this any more.
The gloves are going to tickle the absolute fuck out of me.
Yeah. If there was someone else here, he wouldn't give up until he said it out loud. Talking is out of the question now, though. If there were hands inside the gloves, and arms moving the hands, and a face with a psychotic grin - then it would be easy to beg. C'mon, please. You're killing me. Don't tickle me any more. Let me go.
Not a chance. Magic hands. Full of energy. Tickle-torture, no hands, no waiting. There's no one else here. Except me. Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle. No getting away. I'm in for a full tickling. A good, hard tickling. Just endless. That's definitely true. It's not going to be abbreviated. World-record tickling for me. No way out. Laugh harder... Complete tickling. There isn't even a word to describe the level of tickling I'm gonna get. Sturdy cuffs. Feel the tickling, concentrate on it, forget everything else. Get used to quality tickling. It just doesn't get old.
Brick has been watching the gloves. They look just like they're being worn by somebody, but he can see inside the openings. They're just so damn fascinating. Maddening.
They're a mystery. This setup couldn't be any more airtight, could it? Sweet. Nobody else around. I don't even get to beg. Nobody can hear me anyway.
The gloves are empty. And they picked up the feathers. He's just positive they'll set the feathers down at some point and reach over, with those fingers. Start tickling. Oh, fuck, that'll be intense. Real fun. And there will be something to make it worse. Right? A big bottle of oil. The little table - of course, Brick just knows there'll be a bottle of oil in there.
And what else is sitting in those drawers? Huh? Is there a checklist for tickling me? What are the gloves gonna pick up next? Aw, I can laugh harder than this. They know it, and I know it.
He tries to look at the feathers, but his eyes are watery.
They've got me. A whole fuckin' box of gloves. Nobody wearing 'em. This is just driving me crazy. Supernatural tickling. There's nothing I can do about it. Nobody's interrogating me or anything, and they don't seem... angry. This is a whole new game. So much tickling that there's no way to compare it to anything else. The gloves are here to make me suffer. Just like this. There's a whole box of gloves there. I can't move...
Maybe time has stopped, and now I'm in some other place where they don't have to worry about a thing. Maybe I'll get tickled like this forever. I have absolutely no way to make 'em stop. Incredible. I never imagined anything remotely like this. And now I'm living it. They're not going to stop tickling me, are they?
It looked like something pulled the gloves out of the box. They didn't just... fill themselves up. And what could be doing this? A ghost? Is it magic? Brick doesn't think that a ghost or a magic spell would be this... relentless. He hasn't done anything to deserve this. No one can be this mad at him.
Somebody's enjoying this. Doing this to him. That could explain it.
Yeah. They make me ecstatic, I make them ecstatic. It's perfect. Oh, shit, look at those gloves. They're fuckin' magical, empty, mysterious... The box floated up there. My shoes were pulled off. Lock down my ankles - and off come the shoes. Something took my shoes off. And my shirt. Got me all ready for tickling. Lay into my ribs. Just fuckin' nuke my armpits. My belly-button... So it's not just the gloves. Oh, shit, I'm being tickled by something I can't even see and it's got my hands caught good, and my feet, all this fuckin' tickling. I just can't stand this. The feathers won't stop tickling me. I just can't take any more.
He laughs harder.
Wrong, dude. So wrong. Totally, completely, absolutely wrong. I'm gonna get tickled for a long time. All over. I'd better just get used to this, because that's how it is. I'd better learn to like it. It's got me good.
I can't believe this. It's going to keep tickling and maybe it'll never let me go. It's got all those gloves, and the feathers, and whatever they're hiding in the drawers, there. And these fuckin' restraints. It's going to keep doing this. I went to bed and woke up here, now I'm the permanent fuckin' guest of... whatever it is that's got the gloves out, and the feathers, havin' a great time torturing me, driving me out of my fuckin' mind and I'm going to stay right here... Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle. Isn't it wonderful?
How fucked I am? It's making me laugh. Harder, Brick. Laugh. Feel it. So much pleasure. Way too much pleasure. I'm not going anywhere.
Something rubs his face.
Brick opens his eyes. A towel? Something like that. Drying him off. Tears. Drool...
Another glove moves to his mouth, carying a water bottle.
The towel moves down to his chest. He watches it vacantly as he sucks down the water, studying the black fingers flip it over and curl around it again, looking just like there were fingers inside. The towel doesn't linger in his armpits, on his sides. Businesslike. He's surprised to see all the sweat.
It dries off his crotch. There's something humiliating about that - not only did he piss all over himself, but he doesn't remember it.
The towel runs down each of his legs without lingering. Then Brick braces himself - but the towel doesn't touch his feet. He's relieved - and immediately, he's also worried.
When the red box starts to move, he's struggling again. Automatic. Pulling and twisting...
The gloves firm up and go to the drawer.
More feathers...
Brick shakes his head, staring at them.
But they don't stop at his feet.
Their flight ends just over his sides. Well, the feather to his right is actually over his armpit.
"No no nooooooooooooooo," he whines.
The feathers just hang there.
Even more gloves are pulled out of the box.
A squeal slips out of him. Slamming around as much as he can, arching, he grits his teeth and notices how hard his heart is pounding. More. More tickling, from more gloves -
There must be something I can do, Brick thinks frantically. Anything.
No way. It's really gonna get intense now. More, and more.
The newest pair of gloves are squeaking a little as the fingers flex. They didn't go to the drawer and get more feathers...
He realizes, with a shock, why his feet weren't dried off.
Those fingers are in charge. And it's time to shred.
They head down.
Brick can't even swallow.
The smooth fingertips move across his arches...
Wild-ass cackling, screeching. He can't keep it in. They're not even tickling hard - yet.
But they will. Oh, fuck, they're gonna get brutal on me. Strap me down, perfectly helpless. No limits.
He tried to lunge around, laughing at the feathers - right there, still pointing at his sides.
They want me to laugh. So I will. Howl like a crazy man. Insane fucker. Tickle me, huh? Full-bore. Make me suffer...
The gloves clench, and pause. Gripping the center of each sole. Brick finally stops chuckling, and hiccups a couple times, panting for air -
Another sensation. Cool, and thick. Under his toes... crawling slowly, very solid. Wet. Running down the sides of each foot.
Brick doesn't want to look. He keeps his eyes closed. He isn't sure he can stand the sight of another gloves, holding a bottle. In his imagination it's a clear bottle, tilting a little. One foot, then the other.
"No... Aw, hah hah haaaah," he barks. The gloves start to shirt around - and even that little bit of movement is breathtaking...
Let's see how I like it with oil.
The hands let go, and fingers start sliding again. He jumps into the air one last time.
This is astounding. I can't believe it. They love this.
His back relaxes... and his limbs.
No getting out of this. Lay here and feel it all. I can't believe how exciting this is.
The fingers roam around. He can't move. The laughter flows continuously out of his mouth -
To his surprise, there's another sensation breaking in. Closer, somehow. Light movement.
He opens his eyes, blinking desperately.
White blurs. And they're moving.
There. It's the feathers. Uh-huh.
Brick shakes his head a little, and looks at the ceiling.
They're gonna use feathers. All over me. Then the fingers will start landing... Oh, fuck, I'm so excited I can't stand it. Caught good. They got me. TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE in big capital letters, lots of tickling. I love this.
Growling, hooting, he closes his eyes.
Yes I do. This is what I got coming. Hard-core, marathon... Make me suffer. You got that? Don't stop.
No, this is wrong, he thinks suddenly. They have no right. It's not fair. The realization is calm, and clear -
Fuck that. I love this. If I could talk I'd tell 'em. Make it official. Give 'em permission. Do it. I'm your victim, right? Kidnapped and tickled, I can't do shit about it. And I want it. Keep on tickling, you sadistic pricks. Let's go. This is great!
"Nnnnnnuh huh huh huh," he laughs monotonously.
Yeah.
"Naaaah hah huh ho ho ho ho -"
They're not going to stop... I'm gonna love this. And then it'll get serious. Harsh. More and more incredible. I'm getting tickled for a long fuckin' time.
Brick laughs harder, not making a sound.
Oh, yeah.
His neck relaxes.
The gloves, and the feathers, move a little faster.
Okay, then. It's on. Do it.
The tickling stops.
He sucks air gratefully.
Metallic sounds and activity are coming from above his head, Way up by his hands.
He pulls his left arm down - and it moves.
"Unh," he grunts. Very puzzled, all of a sudden. That's it?
He brings his right hand down and looks at it, making a few fists.
And a few gloves float above his belly...
One of them opens its palm, and reveals his key ring. Brick feels like cheering. He makes a relieved noise.
Another hand sets a pack of cigarettes on top of his keys. That makes him happier yet. One more glove sets his lighter on top of the smokes.
And the fourth glove opens its fingers - revealing a feather.
The other gloves retreat.
Two open palms, moving down and farther apart.
They want me to... choose ?
Brick looks from one glove to the other, floating perfectly still over him.
I can leave - no. That's ridiculous. They're fucking with me. This is another way to make me nuts when they start tickling again. And they will. I know it. Gonna fuckin' tickle my ass. This has to be a joke. Why would they let me go?
He moves his right hand, just to see what will happen. The gloves stay in place.
Brick touches the cigarettes.
It doesn't matter what I do. They're gonna strap me down again and keep tickling. All kinds of nasty fun. What else is in that drawer, waiting for me? Huh? And I'm supposed to believe they'll just let me walk out of here? Fuck, I wanna smoke.
Keys. Freedom. Get in his truck and go. He looks at the feather, sitting there all by itself. Choose the smokes, and the keys... no more tickling.
Bullshit. Tickling fuckers. They're gonna jump on me again. Definitely. I'm not going anywhere. Right?
His hand is trembling. If they'd just let him smoke, Brick thinks, he could think straight.
Oh, that's a laugh. In five minutes I'll be delirious again. No doubt about it. I'm gonna get tickled again. I'm trapped. They're not through with me. Gonna make me laugh. Nice and hard.
He reaches over, not sure why he was doing it, and touches the tip of the feather.
This is what's in store. Yeah. No getting away.
His cock is getting hard...
Fun. Insane - and it doesn't matter, anyway, because they're gonna tickle me. No matter what. I'm gonna get the works. A long time, trapped in here.
He sighs. Perfectly calm, resigned to what will happen. Getting away would be great - but that's not going to happen. And the other choice - so much excitement. He never would have guessed how an excess of pleasure could be turn into pure fuckin' agony.
So exciting. Real adult fun.
Brick hesitates... and picks up the feather.
Then he smiles.
Quickly, he tickles the glove which was tickling him. It doesn't react.
But the other hand - holding his keys - starts to retreat.
Other gloves come up, and take charge of his arms.
They pull the straps tight, and reattach the cuffs. Right hand, left hand. Pinned down again. His keys are taken away.
A yellow bottle is brought over his chest. It starts pouring oil, trailing a thick ribbon down to his navel, crossing just above the strap pinning his waist. Oil - seeping underneath the leather, oozing slowly through his crotch-hair.
He squirms desperately.
Gonna get it now. I never had a chance of getting out of here. It's almost time to find out what hard-ass tickling is all about -
"Oh no," he says automatically. Here they come. Four gloves. "Oh shit!"
They're gonna tickle me! Oh, yeah! This is impossible. I'm totally screwed.
"Please," Brick wails, watching the fingers come down.
Do it. Now. Everything. Don't hold back. Make it pay. I'm begging you -
They make him gasp. Sliding fingers. Ribs, belly, nipples.
Gloves clamp around his feet.
He jerks around, with his mouth wide open. But Brick doesn't laugh. The tickling is way beyond that.
I can't laugh. So I won't be gasping for air. No chance to pass out. Fewer rest breaks - and a lot more tickling. Oh, shit, this is wonderful. I can't stand it. No running away now. They got me. Prisoner. Gotcha.
Let's tickle the prisoner. Get him. Long and hard... TICKLE TICKLE on his feet. Oily hands. They're not gonna stop. Take that. TICKLE those armpits, get his ribs - get 'em good. Belly. Pecs. TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE, they're gonna work him over bigtime. Too blown away to fuckin' laugh. Strapped down. Feel it, prisoner. Strong hands. Playing with you.
Something is circling the base of his cock, but Brick can't even manage to open his eyes.
TICKLE. Yeah. Endless. They got me.
Tension, around his meat. Feathers moving there, under, above. Constant. So lightly moving.
Oh, fuck yeah. I'm loving this.
04may03