"Six-hour shifts," Duggrip said coldly. "I'd rather go for ten, but they're strict about that."
"I bet," I sighed.
"We got enough talent. Four guys per day. Five installations. We even got relief guys to cover the leftover days."
"I'll take that shift. Okay? Just a couple days a week. Sounds great t-"
Cutting laughter. "Forget it. You're too good. I want you on prime-time, Ace. It's thirty hours a week on display... or my dungeon in the woods. More like seventy-two hours a week. I'm sure you remember."
"Dammit..."
Before I was even really awake, my brain was figuring out what the fuck was going on.
Cuffs. Each wrist - yeah. Foam, or padding, under something really heavy.
Apparently it was showtime. I forced myself to look.
Chrome, shiny and thick, below my right hand. Aw, shit.
"Here." A cigarette landed on my lip.
After a couple drags, I heard metal hooks snapping - and my arms went way up.
I was dangling -
And on the move. Pushed along. There was some kind of track in the ceiling.
Part of the wall slid away.
"Fuck," I groaned. It was a stage.
A few guys started to clap and whistle.
I was moved along right into the middle of the fuckin' display. The lights made it hard to see and I wasn't sure if there were really all that many people looking at me, but it seemed like about a hundred.
Throwing myself around didn't matter, and there was nothing in reach that I could grab with my feet. I mean, slamming my boots together was about all I could do.
The fucker had me dressed. That didn't make any sense. It felt weird to be covered up and in any kind of cuffs at the same time.
"Gentlemen... and ladies," a voice boomed - low, rusty, and as cocky as they come - "A world premiere. Get ready to enjoy the unlimited suffering of - Ace!"
Hoots. More applause.
I felt a slight tug, behind me - and a zipper sounded off.
"Fourth-generation biker trash," the announcer said proudly. "You're gonna like this."
"Hey," I said, trying to yank my arms free.
"He doesn't wanna be here."
Most of the crowd made an "Aaaw" sound, and two or three guys whistled again. That was okay with them.
"I don't... Dammit!"
A piece of paper floated in front of me.
"Or does he?" the voice teased.
"I didn't sign anything. No way. This ain't okay, now, help me out, this is bullshit. Somebody -"
Music started playing. It was that old stripper tune, loud enough that probably nobody could hear me.
"His year of fun-time employment - working for a change - starts right now."
With a yank, the leather jacket came off me. I saw the open zipper as it fell, right down the back. So that was why Duggrip had gotten me all dressed. I'd wondered how it was gonna get the clothes off.
Another zipper slid down the crack of my ass.
The leather pants hit the stage. I had a fuckin' thong on. Red mesh. There was more applause.
"No!" I shouted at them, slinging myself this way and that.
The t-shirt was next.
"And these size 12 puppies need to be let out," the announcer said.
Hands tightened around my shins... and other ones, just as invisible, pulled the new boots off. Duggrip hadn't bothered putting socks on me.
Then the music faded out. I hung there with just a little scrap of a pouch on -
Something heavy was sliding over to me, from behind.
Leather pads. Metal frame -
"No no no no noooooo!" I yelled.
The fuckin' crowd liked that.
Dugg got my legs strapped down. Ankles really stuck tight, giving the audience a real good view of my soles.
A cart wheeled up. Toe restraints - shit. All the usual gear that it liked to use...
Suddenly I dropped a couple inches. When I grunted real loud, the audience laughed at that too. At least my arms didn't hurt. My weight was held up by the thick cushions under my thighs.
I had a bad feeling about why my ass was exposed. Sooner or later I'd probably get turned around so the twisted pervs could watch some first-class spanking action, probably a vibrator or two shoved up there. Plus all kinds of tickling. My ass-cheeks were bad, too. Impossible. I don't know why, but that was a fuckin' passion for Duggrip. It had built a couple racks and fixed up three kinds of slings so that my butt would be wide open. So stupid to be that sensitive there - and after all the riding I've done? Fuck.
It could burn six hours on my ass and feet without even thinking about it. Duggrip had no lack of techniques it liked.
A pair of long white feathers lifted off the cart.
"No," I whined.
It didn't matter if I sounded like a pussy anymore. "This is so fucked up. I never signed that damn paper, it's making me do this - help! Somebody!"
Most of 'em made the fake-sympathy sound again. Oh, they were real interested. The feathers were gonna start in on my feet, and some of the assholes wouldn't have missed that for anything.
"Here goes," a woman in the crowd said, chuckling.
"Couldn't get me up there," a guy near the front said. I barely heard him. "No way in hell."
"Dammit!" I yelled. They still bought it. It was almost as frustrating as the damn feathers which were only a inch or two away - they wanted to believe the whole bullshit story about this being a fuckin' art thing, performance art, with paid actors. Dudes who liked to get tortured for money. Tickled senseless. The audience could just walk up as close as the force-fields would permit and watch me suffer every which-way, getting off on the sight... while they made themselves feel better by saying it was all play-acting. Pretend.
Oh, I told 'em - like all of the other poor slobs did - that it was bullshit. We were forced to be there. But the crowd must've already talked themselves into believing what they wanted to be true. Like it wasn't really real, but we just acted like we were prisoners. The general level of excitement in the fuckers watching me made it real clear that nobody was gonna do a damn thing to stop the party.
Being embarrassed, it turned out, made me more ticklish than ever.
The feathers crawled up my feet.
I seized up, sucked in a big breath and hollered, "Nooooo!"
Up and down. Up and down and up and down and up and down. Then the one on my left foot started dusting side-to-side.
I was like a madman already, jerking and slamming all around, moaning. A chuckle got out, and I clamped my jaws shut again. There was nothing happy in the sound - they had to know. I was pissed off, doomed, and the feathers kept tickling, not a damn thing I could do about 'em... and deep in my gut I still thought that somebody, anybody, would come to the rescue and do something to get me out of there if they thought it was real.
The whole fucked-up display was being forced on me, by Duggrip, and not one of 'em was gonna try to stop it.
Right then the point of a feather found that awful fuckin' sweet spot above my right heel, and I started to cackle like a fool.
Several dudes started to cheer.
I was arching as I laughed, trying anything to just move this way or that, when the toe-restraints lifted off the cart. No, no, aw hell no! Wailing and whooping, I shook my fuckin' head at 'em. But I still got to watch the damn things get put on my poor feet -
And two more feathers came to life.
Slamming back, all-out howling, I just barely caught how much the pervs liked it when that second pair started playing between my toes.
So many more feathers sitting there... and all the usual toys.
There was a bank card in my hand when I woke up.
Oh, shit, I felt like death warmed over. Took my time getting up. The thought of a big breakfast was the only thing that kept me moving. I needed a shower worse 'n anything.
The closet was full of jeans and boots and Harley t-shirts. Three different leather jackets, and all of 'em looked like my size.
I picked out a pair of shades and checked myself out in the mirror. Uh-huh.
Then I looked over at the fuckin' gloves...
Duggrip had been clear about that. I could come and go as I pleased, except for "work". Fuck. But I better have the damn gloves with me, if not on my hands, or else I'd really get it.
It expected me to run. That was obvious. I figured there was something about the gloves that made that harder. Also, there had to be a couple other ways it was tracking me. Duggrip was a lot of things, but dumb wasn't one of 'em.
I lit a smoke and picked up the fuckers. They seemed ordinary enough. I knew better. Any second they could turn on me...
There was a slip of paper in the thumb of the right glove. A four-digit number, over a dollar sign.
After a minute, I thought I had it figured out.
Yup. My stomach was growling, but I didn't find any cash in the jeans.
Found an ATM machine - and the number on the paper worked. I punched up the balance.
Three hundred dollars.
Damn.
I pulled out two hundred, the most it would let me have, and went hunting for a diner - the kind of place where I could get breakfast without the suits starin' at me as if I was a cockroach that just snuck in.
Fifty bucks an hour, room and board thrown in. Damn near a hundred grand a year, tax-free. Shit.
The hardest work I'd ever done. A fuckin' prisoner... who got paid. Damn well. No wonder it was hard to get anybody to believe it was a trap.
I kicked back on the couch and took another drag. Fuckin' wonderful. Smokes were a hundred times better when I was in charge of 'em, using my own hands. I didn't know why that would be...
Five grueling nights. All behind me now. A nap, a long shower, a good meal - and no more tickling until Monday night. Yeah.
Toro and I were the only ones in the lounge. He'd just been moved to days. Day shifts. Hah.
It seemed like a year ago that Duggrip had dragged me into this mess. Not a week. That was for damn sure.
There was a big picture over the TV. Damon - the traitor.
It was good to have something to aim the hate at. We all wanted him to die real slow...
He'd done interviews, making sure everybody knew that we were all in it for the bucks. Feeding the bullshit they believed. It was okay to enjoy what we went through, if was just a big ol' sham. That's what he'd told 'em.
Trouble was, he wasn't real.
Duggrip and its fucked-up buddies had leaned on some geek. The guy must've been a genius, because he whipped up a dude on the computer that looked and talked like anybody I rode with. Smoked like a chimney, full-sleeve tats. But Damon didn't exist except in a fuckin' computer somewhere.
He was used to make sure we all came off like it was just a job. Toro had to explain to me what "breaking character" meant, but the bottom line was that the whole fuckin' world thought we were just really good at pretending we were forced to be there.
All this torture, and we were supposed to be guys who weren't trapped in it but just acted like we were. This cartoon asshole said shit like that and put their minds at ease, alright.
So we were totally fucked.
"Hey," Duggrip said, all friendly.
Uh-oh. My head swiveled. "I got five more hours."
After a few laughs, I saw a carton of cigarettes swing down. It landed next to me.
"On the house."
I squinted at 'em, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Yeah?"
There was a chuckle or two from above. "Suspicious cuss."
"So why -"
"You like to smoke. A lot."
It sounded way too innocent. I just waited.
"Or-rrrr you could quit. That would work too. Funny as hell - you not gettin' to smoke at all. You swear your head off. The rubes would like that." The carton moved a little further away. "Up to you."
"Yeah, sure." I grabbed the smokes. "Real fuckin' funny. Either way."
"You know it."
I kinda got used to it. Not the actual tickling, so much, and getting watched as I flipped out... but being tracked, having to work out, all the rest of it.
Duggrip and the other torturers all promised that we'd be cut loose after a year. Toro's time was more than halfway through, and he kept in touch with a couple of guys who had lived through it and were actually free now.
I'd talked to one of 'em, Jean-something, on the phone. The fuckers had left him alone, except for two times - and he'd been sprung the next day. He sounded like he was telling the truth. A couple more nabs made his story feel right, even if they were incredibly short.
We needed what they said to be true. Real bad.
326 days left for me and counting...
Vic recognized me at a bar. He was extremely cool about it.
I can't tell you how much good it did me to be on top for a change...
"I knew right quick," he said, between rounds, head almost touching mine. "You really didn't sign up for that shit. But it's so hard to hold that thought. I like the forced shit, in my fantasies." He studied me.
"Nonconsensual," I sighed.
He thought it over, and nodded. "In what I dream about. I don't do that shit for real... to people. But yeah, watching you - it's, like, mesmerizing."
After staring at him for a bit, I switched the joint from one hand to the other and slugged him in the arm.
"Ow," he laughed.
"It's torture," I said.
He leaned over and bit my earlobe. "I know."
Thing was, he really did.
I went back to Duggrip's idea of "home" the next morning, all worried about Vic getting sucked in. Being responsible for that was the last thing I needed.
After I ate, the kitchen door flew open.
"Ace," it greeted me.
"Listen -"
"Tore a piece off. You look nice and relaxed. The most I've ever seen you. Of course, I got ways to rev you back up again -"
"About that," I said. "Uh. I could use a good word, okay? For real. If everybody's gonna get in the crosshairs just by bein' with me, I just wanna ride the time out and stay away..." And then I just clean ran out of words, because maybe it was finally dawning on me what I was asking.
The refrigerator door opened. A beer floated over to me. This gesture was not an offer, really, so much as a fuckin' command.
"Let me tell you something about Victor," Dugg said. "No, just shut your mouth for thirty seconds. The first night he watched you, he came around to the stage door. Conflicted. You know that word? But he followed through. It freaked him out to talk to a pair of my gloves - they wanna think it's all bigtime special effects - but he hid it pretty well. Big brass ones. Just making it clear that ol' Ace better really be okay."
"Well. Shit."
It chuckled at me. "He was the first one to stand up for you fucks there. I stuck to the cover story, of course, but mostly talked him down. You sons of bitches are a real pain in the ass sometimes. He came back, and each time he saw that you weren't any worse for wear. That got him to relax. Enjoy the show. And now you can feel like shit, buddy, 'cause I'm the one that told him which low-life bar you were at last night."
"You?"
"Ask him. Anonymous text message. You're welcome."
"Don't... make me wanna thank you," I mumbled.
That got a bigger laugh. "Well. He's safe. Obviously he's into tickling, but it doesn't do me any good for you to think you're some kind of virus carrier. I suspect you two... need each other. Hell, I know you look a lot less wild today."
"Maybe I wanna move into his place," I said quickly. Testing the waters.
There was a pause. "Hmmmm. Play along - and yeah. Okay." I must've reacted to that somehow. "Don't be late for your shifts. Right now that's the priority, asswipe. Our priority. Do what you're told, and I don't give a shit what you clowns do on your days off."
"Huh."
"Relax. You got no reason to trust me - but sometimes I'm actually not jerking you around. And I'm still gonna nuke your ass tomorrow night, though. All week! Crank it up, biker." And after a mystery hand slapped my back, the kitchen door swung open again and Duggrip was gone.
More and more, I forgot the pervs were there. There were a few voices I heard often enough to recognize, but it didn't take too long to get just as feverish as the other times Duggrip messed with me. After an hour I could've been on stage in Pac Bell Park and it came down the same, whether all those dumbasses were watching or not. Dugg's fingers and brushes and buffers, versus all the squeamish places on my fuckin' body...
Coming back into the house, I was pulling the gloves off when I froze. One of those phantom hands curled around the back of my neck.
"My man Ace," Duggrip said.
I squirmed out of its grasp. "What now?"
"It's good to see you."
Like hell. I smelled bullshit. "Yeah, and you better tell me why," I said. It's hard to show how pissed off you are to some asshole you can't even see.
"Got any plans for Monday?"
Dammit. I rocked back on my heels. That was just another way to say there were plans made for me already. Vic was gonna be pissed. "You know I got Monday off."
"Uh-huh." Duggrip was tryin' hard not to laugh.
"But... Shit. C'mon, Dugg, I can't... Gimme a break."
"Ya think that's gonna happen?"
"Dammit -"
"Triple pay."
"No."
It made a sound like a sigh. All impatient. "Private party."
"Oh no you don't -"
Insane laughter. Sure it would.
Six hours never went by so slow.
Duggrip alternated rounds where it nuked me, with training sessions for a bunch of coked-out dudes who got damn good at pushing my buttons... and thanks to my invisible fuckin' boss and its new buddies, there wasn't any time more'n five minutes long when I didn't have a few touchy spots getting worked over.
The look on their faces, when they walked in and saw me already chained down, made my gut churn. It was like Dug made a bigtime fantasy come true. That hunger in their eyes stayed with me the whole damn night.
I woke up to a lighter clicking near my head. A joint hung there by my chin.
"Yeah, this is real," Duggrip said. "Dreamtime's over. Load up."
Since the last dream had been pretty much a replay of all those hands and gloves workin' me over, it was mostly a relief to reach out and take the hooter. "I really hate you."
"Sore, huh?"
"You have no idea."
It laughed at me. "This'll help some." Money floated over. As I toked up, twenties started falling on my legs. "Nine hundred," it said, "and they threw in a tip." Five more bills dropped down.
The sight of all that cash did make me hesitate. "Now, some ticklish guy who liked it would be real happy to, uh, be put through the wringer for serious coin -"
"Aw, they just don't come unglued the same way," the bastard said. "Some of my buddies are trying hypnosis, but you got a gift -"
"You better let me walk," I warned. "Nine months, eighteen days."
"That's the deal. Let you rest up. Ride off on a new bike, whatever... But I don't know if I'll ever get distracted enough by other low-lifes, Ace. And you are developing quite a rep."
My neck got a quick squeeze.
I opened my mouth, and the whole deal was too fuckin' ridiculous to even start bitching about. So I got loaded and quit thinking about what the future was gonna be like.
28nov14