Newell turned to the right. He had been walking straight, heading home, and all of a sudden he whirled ninety degrees to the side.
"Cool Newell. My man."
He lunged to the left, but a tug there made him stumble. Pulled by his belt loops, he was walked toward a sweet black Expedition.
"No," he said, twisting around. "C'mon."
"Better knock it off," the voice said. Tough as nails, definitely amused. "Somebody might see."
"Let go of me."
"Naaaaah."
"Coaxswain -"
The driver's side door opened.
"Where are your smokes?" it asked. A pair of gloves floated toward him, and iron hands steadied his right hand.
"Don't do this. My dog -"
"Is at Dal's. Bills are all paid." The gloves were pulled on him, while he watched helplessly. Flexing his fingers quickly, they cracked his knuckles.
A jacket drifted out next. Heavy leather racing jacket, dark brown -
"Dammit," he said mildly. His trapped hands pulled it on, and the sleeves took control of his arms.
"Yeah. It fits good."
"Thanks, I guess, but I don't wanna..."
The fingers in his belt loops turned him and sat him down. Engineer boots bobbed up from the back seat as unseeable hands started pulling his tennis shoes off.
"Did I ask what you wanted?" Coaxswain grumbled. "No. Hold still." Hand after hand clamped around his lower legs, stuffing his feet into the boots - which promptly took over and swung him around.
He shut the door, even though he tried not to. His right hand was reaching into the jacket.
"Not... those again," he complained, seeing the nonfiltered smokes in his fingers.
He heard a rumbling chuckle of satisfaction, and the jacket slammed him back against the seat. Sighing, he looked at the glove shaking a cigarette up. When it raised the pack to his mouth, he took the smoke without another word.
The glove swapped the pack for a black lighter, flipping it open with his thumb almost violently. He lit up.
"There," it said, making him reach for the key and start the engine. "Better."
Silk gloves squeezed the rim of his armpits...
"I could do this all night," it growled.
"Unnggghh..."
His clothes were scattered around the floor of the house. As usual, he didn't know where the place was. Not exactly. It had made him drive around for an hour. South past all the houses, to some dirt road, and the gloves had covered up his eyes for the last three turns. It was a dumpy little house where it didn't matter if he yelled as loud as he could, because there was no one around to hear him. That's how Coaxswain liked it. This was the third place he'd seen, personally, and the seventh time it had grabbed him.
It had him tied to the bed with the usual frustrating thoroughness, and three more packs of cigarettes were on the bedside table next to the beer.
"Hey, Cool, where the hell were you all summer? Well, Coaxswain caught me. It tickled my ass off, night and day. Eleven weeks."
He gulped, breathing hard.
"I've got a job for you after graduation, too," it taunted.
A hand pumped his shaft, slowly, and fingers rubbed below his navel.
"Know what I'm gonna do first?" it asked.
Between him and the boarded-up window, a pair of gloves floated away from his left armpit and hung there. "I'm going to tickle the fuck out of these armpits," it said decisively. "An hour, minimum -"
The other pair got all ready to dive back onto his right side too.
Cool groaned, shaking uncontrollably.
"Then I'll move down to your sides. An hour and a half there, I think. Then belly and nips, then legs... and then your feet. Let you rest up, feed you, and do it all again."
He made a weird creaking sound -
"Cool. Don't you dare. Breathe, now."
With a last desperate flop, he passed out.
"Son of a bitch," Coaxswain exclaimed - not at Cool, but because it happened again.
It sat him up, cuffing his hands together and to the top of the headboard. A couple of pillows were stuffed behind him...
Five or six minutes later, he moaned. Opening his eyes. Coaxswain had let the gloves fall on the bed - an old signal. He looked around at them and nodded quickly.
"Breathe," it said patiently.
"Dammit."
"I know."
"M-maybe... if I was drunk. Or tweaking."
"We've tried all that."
He looked around the room, all frustrated. "I tried, Coaxswain. Really."
"I know. Breathe nice and deep. It was obvious that you hung in there as long as you could. Okay?"
"Okay."
A cigarette floated up to his chin, waiting.
"T-thanks," he said, when he saw it.
"You're driving me crazy, you know," Coaxswain said irritably.
"Right back at'cha. Go grab somebody else -"
"I don't want to. You're my only failure, you little shithead."
"Still?" he said, taking a drag. "You know how to pick 'em, then -"
A glove become occupied and started to float. The fingers taunted his cock long before they arrived.
"Ironic," it said, giving him a friendly squeeze. "The clearer it becomes that I can't tickle the snot out of you, the more I want to. And the more I try, the more you want it."
His head flew up. "Hey. I never said that."
"Oh, save it. I can see your dick."
"I'd rather you had your fuckin' way so you'll get it over with. Leave me alone."
"Optimistic. I like that. If I can keep you conscious for this, just one time, this fainting bullshit will be gone for good. I know it."
It played with him awhile. His right foot jerked.
"Hey," it ordered. "Check this out."
The glove let go of him, and the thumb rubbed the underside of his shaft, quickly -
His foot started to kick a little. Rhythmically.
"Knock it off," he said, with an expression on his face that said he knew full well he was in no position to make Coaxswain stop.
"That cracks me up," it chuckled. "You look like a Doberman."
"Shit."
"Just another animal, fit only for tickling."
He didn't say anything, because the fingers working on his meat were sorta commanding his attention.
"Beer?"
"Yeah. Uh... is there any way to get you to stop doing that?"
"This?" The thumb rubbed his glans.
"Yes, that."
"No. I gotta work out my frustration. Three spurts, Cool. No - four. If I can't get you delirious, at least you'll be sore down here tomorrow. Think of me all day long."
"Dammit..."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm not giving up yet, either."
"You should," he grumbled.
"How's your brother doing?" it asked innocently, to get a rise out of him.
"Do not even think about it, dammit. Leave him be. That's the only thing I've ever asked -"
"Relax. If he's behaving himself, I'll keep from frying little ol' Cool's mind any further. I still wanna break down the walls, here. Party with you."
"Lucky me." He had a thought... "Could I see my cell phone?"
Coaxswain laughed. "I don't think so."
"No, not - that," and he rolled his eyes. "I just wanna see if Josette called again."
"Who's Josette?" it asked, picking up his new jacket.
"Dash's girlfriend. He did someth-" Cool shut up quickly, and his eyes got bigger.
"What did he do now?" Coaxswain said, holding the phone away so he couldn't read the screen.
"Nothing. Just stupid Dash shit. People fight sometimes, Coaxswain, it isn't always a big deal."
"Okay," it said reasonably, bringing the phone closer. But it knew him well enough - and Cool was lying through his teeth...
Dash sleeps on his side, relaxed and helpless. His alarm was set to wake him up a half-hour ago... but Coaxswain had turned it off.
Claw has no trouble imagining the arrogant look he'd usually have. "Jackass," it mumbled.
"Yeah," Coaxswain agrees. Cool's tendency to pass out had to be this fucker's fault, too, even though Cool had been real careful not to say anything to confirm it.
They hang over his bed and watch him sleep.
The supplies are laid out in his living room, and he's been measured. The restraints are all adjusted, just right, so he can't fidget too much. They aren't in the mood for any spontaneous movement.
It's going to be a wild Sunday for ol' Dash.
His girlfriend is still pissed off, so she won't be interrupting the fun. She deserves better than him anyway, Coaxswain thinks, but people are funny - and some of them are hilarious. Or hysterical...
"Wake up, little tickler," Coaxswain croons.
"We've got a surprise for you," Claw snickers.
He grunts, then yawns nice and big. "Hunggghh?"
By the time he sees the gag, it's already getting wedged between his jaws.
Dash claws at the cloth as it's knotted -
And his arms are stretched high in the air. His legs are lifted up next...
He ends up swinging a good two feet off the surface of his bed.
Fear has him stunned, even before the grisly truth registers. The way the voice said "tickler"... just the tone of it. If the voice means what he thinks it means - he's gonna die. The hard way, too. Oh, shit.
He's never been gagged before. Well, not without permitting it to happen, really. And now there are hands he can't see, right here in his bedroom, strong enough to pick him up. Serious magic hands. His attempts to get loose aren't doing any good.
It dawns on him that there's no such thing as invisible hands.
But that's a problem he'll have to think about later, because somebody was definitely taunting him - after making him helpless - and he can't see where they are. The most urgent thing of all is that they can't start tickling him, not really, because within about ten seconds they'll know what a basket case he can be, and then they'll -
No. They won't. They... can't. Not to him.
While he flails around, trying to watch the motion below him, Coaxswain and Claw pull a rubber sheet over his mattress. Then a white satin sheet is next, tucked in just as efficiently.
The unshakable hands lower him back down...
They watch him stare at the cuffs - surrounding his wrists, and then his ankles. Steel cables are clipped to each set of D-rings.
And he's caught. Totally defenseless.
"Now why do you suppose you're laid out like this, Dash?" Coaxswain teases.
"Hau. Hau, hollf - daamihhb!" he shouts. The volume isn't loud enough to be heard in the hallway, much less from any of the adjoining apartments.
"C'mon, fucker," Claw says, with a sinister growl. "Take a guess."
He's not in the mood. Trying to stretch enough to turn himself over is Dash's immediate goal.
Coaxswain, enjoying this almost too much, whispers in his right ear. "Mouse-baby."
It takes seven seconds for his face to change, as his nickname for Josette sinks in - and the recollection of what he did to her, immediately after the last time he used it.
His eyes are huge!
"Yeah," Coaxswain gloats. "The look on your face, Dash - it was interesting. Triumphant. But you didn't stop. Did you? She begged you to stop, but your grin just got bigger and bigger. And you kept on tickling." It had wandered in on them about five minutes before the fireworks started, like it was meant to witness what went down. Fresh flowers on the coffee table, so maybe he'd been trying to smooth the waters... but something got into him. Coaxswain watched him stalk Josette, slowly edging closer, with those predatory eyes. He just couldn't stop himself from doing the very same thing that had pissed her off before.
"Nuh, nuh, nah hisss... Ah dih do aaahthih -"
"We watched you," Claw says quietly. Strictly speaking, only Coaxswain had watched him... but Claw was in a pause between victims, and it loves nothing better than tickling for revenge.
"We know," Coaxswain snaps.
"And it's time -"
"Nuh, nuh, nuhhh-hhhhh," Dash whines. "Yih caownn. Peeez, ah juh cah stannn..."
His voice trails off - as he sees four shiny gloves approach. Two are red silk, and two are black silk.
"We thought about taping this, so she'd see you got a long... endless dose of your own medicine," Coaxswain tells him, "but we didn't feel like taking a chance that she'd feel sorry for you, and want us to stop."
Dash screams like a teenybopper, throwing his body around as much as he can.
The fingers reach for his feet anyway.
Oh, hell...
The whole world starts cutting in and out. Every time he tries to look at something - anything - or even think, his mind is full of the image. This is happening right now, these four gloves, soft and slippery, mean as they come. And now they're tickling my feet. Energetic - and the voices sound real pleased...
But the way they tickle is so much more intense than he thought it would be.
There is nothing else he can manage to think about. His body whales around and brays and howls automatically. He can't make himself hold still, and nothing is helping him tolerate the meticulous overload.
They just keep going...
Gentle fingers suddenly dig in - fiercely.
Another hand that had been squeezing his heel travels around the side of his left foot to trace his instep.
He can't move as much. Covered with sweat... and his laughter is quieter, more hollow.
Stop this, he thinks, you're absolutely killing me. Then he just imagines what the gloves look like, for awhile, based on where they seem to be tickling.
A jolt hits him. It came from his left foot. Big toe?
Again.
Oh... fuck.
Sliding -
And it's barely there. Not a fingertip.
Again! He slams up and down, but he's still caught right there. And that foot doesn't budge at all. Not even his toes. Wailing, he kicks out a weak howl.
Repeating, it's like a current being applied there. Or a burn.
He opens his eyes, but everything's too blurry. So he tilts his head back and roars...
Over, and over. Unspeakably intense. That's because it feels too good. Paradoxical, but true. He actually might not mind this, once or twice, slowly - but it's happening every few seconds and all the gloves are still tickling intently. No, he doesn't even need to see it now. In his mind, he's got a mental picture.
There it goes again - a feather. Between the biggest toes on his left foot.
Oh, fuck, it's way too much softness, a whole new class of tickling, and the skin is apparently so damn sensitive -
Again.
He hiccups and lets out a screech. It's too much tickling, can't they see that?
The feather settles back into place, and drags again.
On his other foot, right down the sole, fingers get mean -
He just roars.
Feather, fingers, and squeezing there, petting here, his feet are all there is to concentrate on -
Right foot.
Oh, no.
Another feather...
This is my worst nightmare ever, he tells himself. Watching the gloves get closer -
They're reaching for his armpits.
For the hundredth time, he wishes this was all just a dream. Then he could wake up.
"Whooo-ooooo," Coaxswain laughs... from somewhere over the red gloves about to start tickling his right side.
"Git'im," Claw barks, bringing the black hands down on his left. "Yeah!"
As they make contact, Dash closes his eyes.
He had no idea now ticklish his nipples were...
Other hands absolutely terrorize his knees.
There are six gloves on him now, he thinks. Maybe eight. Definitely more than four.
All of his adrenaline is gone. He can't move at all, and they keep on roaming all over him. The last shred of hope that they'd stop, when he got this far gone, is fading away.
You made your point, he wants to shout. Whenever he tests the prospect of actually saying something, he just starts snickering again -
"Got something to say, little tickler?"
"We're listening."
"Hah hah hah hah hah hah," he burbles.
"You're wrecked," Claw announces.
"And you looked so confident, there, straddling her. Oh, you got her real good, didn't you?" Coaxswain asks. "She just fell apart. Second by second."
"The woman who loved him. Just think if he'd been on her for... a hour."
"He paused, just long enough to light a cigarette, and before he was even done with it she couldn't fight at all. Three, four minutes."
"Arrogant little cuss."
"And that expression. Well, Claw, if we had faces, I bet we'd look exactly like that."
"Now. Yeah," Claw gloats.
"Nuh huh hah hah hah huh huh huh..."
From a gray snowy place, he finally recognizes the sound of his own labored breathing.
The ceiling looks like his bedroom. Yeah. He's in bed.
His arms won't move.
"Oh, no," he whispers, wondering why his voice is so raspy. "No, now c'mon." So the gag has been removed -
"Dash," Coaxswain greets him in a suspiciously friendly tone.
"You passed out, there," Claw says. "Hope you enjoyed it, 'cause we're definitely not gonna let that happen again."
"Yeah. You missed a whole five or six minutes of championship tickling."
He blinks - and starts to struggle again. "Help! Help, help, please, pleeeeee-"
"He's getting hoarse," Coaxswain says. "Nobody's gonna hear him, unless he yells a lot louder than that."
Claw chuckles once. "Good. I bet he'll have no voice at all by... four o'clock."
"Hmmmm. I say six - no. Seven."
"Really? Okay."
He glances over at his clock-radio. 12:46. Oh, hell, it's only been four hours since -
"You can't keep doing this," he whines. "Not until seven."
"Watch us," Claw fires back.
"Hey, Dash," Coaxswain says. "You don't think... Look, there's no deadline here. Seven, ten, three in the morning -"
"We're not gonna stop."
He slams his arms down and kicks real hard, making a weird wailing groan.
"That's the most important thing," Claw continues cruelly. "Three things are set in stone."
Feathers. Oh, no...
Inside his thighs.
He yelps, tightening up. Giggling slowly... because the inner surface of his thighs just makes him absolutely nuts, even when it's stroked as lightly as this.
"Can you guess what they are?"
"Let me go... help meeee-"
Claw chuckles triumphantly. "Thought you were a tickler, yourself. Huh?"
"I guess he's a little preoccupied right now, Claw."
"Lots more of that coming. Hell, yeah."
The feathers make him want to pull his legs together something terrible - or at least roll over. "Nuh huh huh huh huh huh..."
"Rule one," Coaxswain says louder, over his scratchy sniggering, "is that you can't do a single thing to make the tickling stop."
"And there will be a quiz, later," Claw growls. "You better listen good."
After a second or two, he nods frantically.
"Good. Rule two," Coaxswain continues, "is that no one else will find out you're being tickled. Claw, you do the honors. Make it hurt."
"What? Oh - okay." It chuckles menacingly, and then its tone of voice drops. Dark, and completely sinister. "Rule number three - the tickling is not gonna stop."
All of them laugh, then, but only Dash sounds the least bit unhappy about it.
The door closes.
He shakes his head involuntarily, looking over...
Plates. Two gloves are bringing him food.
Panting hard, he can't even lift his head yet.
They're gonna feed him. And while he is pretty hungry, the food just seems like another serious nail in the coffin. More food, more energy, more fuckin' torture, real hysterical, feverish, just totally gone.
His hands are still cuffed down. Dash can't remember the last time he was this overdue, so thoroughly desperate, to shoot his wad, and he can't take care of business himself. Since they've been ignoring his dick - except to clean up piss - he's hopeful, and yet scared, that they won't jack him off. But he needs it so badly...
And yet the whole idea of drawing attention to his crotch - giving 'em ideas - is too horrifying. As if they need an excuse to tickle him harder. Hell, they've been all around his damn dick, working so carefully.
Dash wakes up. Something is nagging at him, but he can't quite remember what.
Blinking, he takes in the restraints. Oh, no.
No way, he thinks. The fear wakes him right up. This can't go on.
It's dark, outside the window. He hasn't slept all night or anything. Could it be Monday night? That seems too unlikely, so the fuckin' truth probably is that it's 9:38 at night - Sunday.
As he shakes his head very deliberately, it's clear to Coaxswain and Claw that he wants very much to believe that the same disorienting hysteria isn't about to take him again.
"Nightmare," he whispers.
"Hell, no," Coaxswain booms. "More hysteria for you."
"This is not a nightmare," Claw says carefully. "You wanna know a secret? How you can tell the difference between real life and an incredibly bad dream?"
Eventually, he nods.
"A nightmare ends."
Coaxswain makes an excited, affirmative noise. "But not this tickling, Dash. It's never going to end."
"Yeah. We got you."
"Never."
And his face shows terror... then confusion. And finally, he scowls.
Both ticklers laughs for a long time.
"Gotcha," Claw growls.
"Yeah. Alright, you really had me going, there -"
"How about 'almost never'?" Coaxswain wonders. "It's gonna seem like years and years before it ends..."
"I don't think that's reassuring him any," Claw says.
"Dammit," he croaks, snapping at the wrist-cuffs.
He really freaks out whenever they put the blindfold back on. His fit lasts about two minutes... and then Dash just whoops like never before when the tickling attacks him again.
"Could be fingers, next," Coaxswain teases.
"Could be brushes. Or feathers. You never know," Claw agrees.
"But it's coming, Dash. Somewhere, any second now, more tickling."
He babbles quietly, almost whispering. It doesn't seem to be actual words, just random syllables.
Claw brings an oily rubber glove up to his right hand... and starts stroking his palm.
He jumps again and starts bawling laughter.
"Tickle the tickler," Claw hisses.
"Endlessly."
He warbles mindlessly until the glove lifts off.
"Where will it strike next?" Coaxswain says, pretending to be anxious. It brings two feathers down to his nipples, and Claw gets ready to shove a mascara applicator in near his asshole...
The ticklers are talking about somebody, as they work him over. But he's feverish most of the time now. The meaner voice seems to be more experienced, or maybe it's just more into head-games.
He doesn't know anybody who goes by the name of Cool, anyway, so he turns his attention back to the insistent... mountain of hot pleasure that creeps over him.
He's so far gone that they have to prop him up.
"Look, Dash," Claw orders. And he does -
A bigger piece of black cloth is coming. He tries to back away, but they hold his arms tight.
"We got you something," Coaxswain teases.
Squinting, he sees the shirt unfold, snapping gently. Jet-black silk.
He struggles, but they just lift his arms up over his head and pull it on him. As soon as the material touches his shoulders, he thrashes weakly - and starts giggling.
"Nice, huh?"
No matter what he does, the silk is pulled down over his ribs. Tight enough to hug his sides and armpits, it tickles him every time he moves - or laughs.
Dash flops right over, and the ticklers let him grind his face into the damp satin. He's in a cycle of gasping and hooting, ceaselessly, like he won't ever stop.
"Looks good on ya," Claw says loudly. "It's so shiny."
Happily, each tickler puts a pair of hands on the silk and starts roaming - as if he's cold and they're just trying to warm him up. The shirt shows the progress of their unseen hands.
He bucks frantically, and the volume of his laughter fades away. After a few more seconds, he can no longer watch the magic indentations slide over his chest and his belly.
They slow it down so he won't pass out again.
It's a good time to pull the silk pouch on him, and hide it under black boxers made from the same tortuous cloth.
He does manage to bounce, again, as if that contact just kicks him into a whole new level of crazed awareness.
Each tickler grabs a leg... and a pair of socks. More silk.
As the first pair is pulled on, Dash claws frantically at the sheet, kicking and howling. His eyes are red and big.
More socks are tugged over the first.
"Now, let's see," and Coaxswain pulls a combat boot out of his closet.
"Oh, yeah," Claw agrees. "Very nice."
With the boots tied tight over the doubled silk, Dash is thoroughly unhinged. His hands, finally uncuffed, only twitch except for occasional pounding on the mattress.
"Don't you want to finish getting dressed?" Coaxswain asks snidely. "Aw." It lifts the largest article of clothing yet.
New bib overalls begin unfolding.
He manages to watch the clips loosen, and the straps drift up...
The ticklers pull his legs through, forcing 'em over the width of his boots.
"There."
He wriggles, still laughing without a sound.
"Hmmmm. Something's missing."
Claw flips him over, and Coaxswain tosses it a pair of handcuffs.
"Yeah."
After his hands are trapped behind his back, Coaxswain curls some fingers around his ribs.
"Whoooulp," he barks. He looks from one place to the other, and back again, but these hands are invisible too. The new denim moves just a little as they settle down.
Coaxswain snorts once. "Let's see if this... tickles."
The hands dig in!
He jumps around like a live wire hit him, screaming laughter.
"Oh, yeah," Claw says approvingly.
After a few minutes, they slide fingers into his armpits again, just to watch him roar and jump around.
Five intense minutes go by.
And Dash is too tired to move - again.
"Ready, little tickler?"
They pick him up.
His head doesn't move, as if even that is too much effort for him. His legs keep buckling.
The sheets they brought and the trash they generated is thrown into a bag, and his old sheet is quickly pulled back over the mattress. There is no need to leave any suspicious clues. Then it's easy enough to carry him out, and the trash bag behind him, pausing only long enough to lock the door of his apartment.
Fingers slip down to his ribs -
"Easy," Coaxswain purrs. "Quiet, Dash."
His ability to struggle is completely short-circuited, and there isn't really enough of his voice left to wake anybody.
"The coast is clear," Claw says happily.
A few minutes before four in the morning, he cruises down the hall with his boot-toes dragging on the carpet. No one is in sight. It'll be three hours before the dawn light will make it easy to see Dash giggling in the front seat of his car - but the trip he's going on will take only half that time.
When they unlock his car door and throw the trash bag in the back, he makes an respectable effort to pull free. Somehow he even finds the ability to whine. The noise is getting louder...
But the ticklers slam him against the side of the car, and then shove him behind the wheel.
Claw closes the car door.
"If you try to yell," Coaxswain warns him, "we'll tickle you harder."
The fingers speed up, making his head fly back. He wants to move, but the result looks like quivering, or hyperactivity - certainly not delirious agony.
Claw starts the car. "You didn't really think it was over. Did you?"
"No fuckin' way. You got a lot to learn."
They both laugh, and back the car out of its spot.
The most likely time for somebody to notice and intercept is within the first five minutes... but not a soul crosses their path.
After that, they hit the highway - and back off the tickling, just holding onto his arms in case he gets restless. Dash is almost in the cage now. Every mile brings him closer to the full-blown education that Coaxswain will give him. He'll be amazed each day how much more sensation he can manage to feel.
Only Claw will know. Even Cool's thoughts will be... somewhere else.
Maybe it'll give his mouse-baby a hint about what Dash is doing, and why.
"I'll lose everything," he growls, yanking at the unbeatable iron stocks.
"Wow," Coaxswain shoots back, "you figured that out all by yourself? It's gonna be a long time, Dash. Oh, yeah. You don't have a job anymore. If you entertain me enough, I guess I'll cover your rent, make sure your stuff doesn't get hauled off."
Dash starts to bark something -
But then he sees a half-dozen gloves on their way, and he lets forth with a mighty squeal instead.
"Have fun," Claw teases.
"You too," Coaxswain says. "Don't break him."
"I won't."
"He's gonna be so surprised. Probably thinking he's in the clear for a few more months."
"Well, I like the sound of that," Claw agrees. "Surprise, buddy. Heh. Well, I had a good time with his dumbass brother, here. Good thing you ran into me. Hystipro is definitely the drug, alright. That and a little whiskey in his gut, he'll be wide awake for the whole ride."
"Excellent. You're gonna really like his pits, and his basket." Coaxswain sighs. "I know I do."
"Well, that fainting thing ends now. Leave it to me."
"And his fuckhead brother won't be running loose for the rest of the year."
"Stick it to him. I'll keep the kid busy until then. He'll be ready for ya."
"I think his big brother's wanting a hard time."
"Yeah?" and Claw squeezes Dash's knees for a few seconds before it heads on out.
"Maybe I'll win him over too," Coaxswain says darkly.
29jan2005