Tan carpeting. Thick, expensive...
Deke lifted his nose out of the rug. Where was he?
A voice... close by. Loose, relaxed chuckles.
He looked around, saw no one. Five seconds, maybe... and it was gone. Right next to him, from the sound... so a hidden loudspeaker was out of the question. He started to speak, and caught himself.
The room was unfamiliar, large... way too ritzy. Pastels, nice wood. He had no idea how he'd gotten there. A bed was behind him, way out from the wall, and the door was only a couple of yards away. He sat up and looked at his stomach. Why did he - had he really taken his shirt off? It lay in a ball, past his hand.
Uncertainly, he reached for it - and it sprang well out of his reach, toward the bed. Almost... froglike. He got to his feet and stalked his t-shirt, embarrassment and annoyance giving way to worry - and it eluded him again. He doubted a quicker pounce would do any good...
Somebody was playing games with him. He was out of his element, he didn't know how he ended up here, and that mysterious chuckle gave him a real bad feeling in his gut.
"Alright," he said loudly, looking around him and starting to move toward the closed door. "What's the deal? Wh-whoa-"
He'd tripped over something, landing on all fours.
A bug ran across his right foot. He kicked immediately, seeing no bug, wondering how it could have run straight down his sole like th-
The same sensation traced down his spine. Quick and soft, like a butterfly. No, more substantial. A feather? He turned around, craning his neck. There just wasn't anything in sight. A finger? That's cr- Oh, no way.
"Wha- No. Oh no. Just forget it, " he ordered, turning around. Exit pronto. He started to stand -
Both sides of his rib cage were attacked.
Deke yelled and flopped over, expecting to see several hands. He swung an arm wildly and trying to cover his sides with the other. Finally he made it to his knees again, and lurched toward the door... chortling angrily.
Weight, like sandbags, pinned and wrapped around his ankles. He landed on his stomach and flopped around for all he was worth, laughing steadily. The contact was cool and wide, and he couldn't shake it. Why couldn't he see whatever was... on him? Flexing, trying to roll, attempting to shield himself - and the sensation just skipped to accessible areas and dug in, driving him nuts. His hair was pulled aside, and an invisible hand squeezed the nape of his neck. He howled and fought harder, panicking, unable to get either leg free. Crazy. Impossible...
Distracted, he finally realized his right arm wasn't moving. A... band was coming. It floated right up to his wrist. Leather, black, real wide, and -
"Shit!" He pulled harder than ever. He squinted, hooting painfully, as three smaller straps circled around the cuff and buckled down. He couldn't bend his wrist. His wrist was cuffed. This is insane...
"No! Stop it!" he managed.
Another cuff came up to his left wrist. All by itself -
The assault on his sides turned mean.
Deke went ballistic...
When he opened his eyes, he saw he'd been dragged halfway onto the bed. He lunged away - and the unseen hands kept provoking his feet, and his pecs...
He bellowed, thrashing mindlessly.
He was tired. He was in bed. Bad dream...
Deke opened his eyes.
No. Fuck. In bed, all right. His wrists were trapped in cuffs and anchored a good half-meter from each hip. Dull steel cable dug into the mattress as it disappeared over the side. He couldn't move his legs. His heels were a good yard apart and hung over the edge of the mattress.
Beyond them and a little to the left, the door - an impossible twenty feet away - was still closed. An ordinary-looking room... solid fetters on his limbs, on him, and... any moment now -
"Aw, no. Nooooooo," he wailed.
Smooth fingers dug into his armpits.
Deke jumped, and barked angry laughter, and tried to snap the cables. He saw his skin moving a little where the contact was occurring - there, a wisp of armpit hair being pressed down. There's hands there, he thought, and fear ballooned in him - not of the unknown, for the game plan was all too fuckin' clear. It was the obvious that chilled him. In for it now. Why the hell couldn't he see 'em?
The top button of his jeans popped open. He wailed, twisting frantically, as he watched his Levis slide down. When his underwear followed, he saw he was... getting excited. Deke was too distracted to figure out why that would be...
A metallic sound. Scissors. By the time it registered over his noise, he shook tears out of his eyes and saw his jeans and shorts levitate away, legs split open. Rags now. He was naked -
Hands began sliding up his thighs. He screamed laughter.
Firm coverage on both feet, all over his belly, on both shoulders.
Deke roared - like he'd never, ever roared before.
It went on. Unbelievable intensity.
On and on.
Hearing noises he didn't know he could make...
Wide awake, suddenly. Sore throat, dry -
He... where is he?
And then Deke saw the cuffs around his ankles. And his wrists. Stared at 'em, tested 'em. Gotta be a nightmare -and he remembered it all. No such luck. Worse, he was still stuck tight...
"No. Lemme go, now!"
Color, alongside -
It was... a pack of Marlboros, hovering up from alongside the bed.
He stared at it until it stopped moving. "You've gotta be kidding."
Little pads, cloth maybe, started to roam all over his left foot. They felt like fingertips... must be some big fingers -
"No, no, shiiiiitt," he chortled, squirming away. His foot was a little too shiny - hell, like everywhere else. All over him, some kind of... lube?
He watched his foot move, spasmodically, from the touch of... nothing. Invisible fingers. Yeah, sure. Deke kicked and flailed diligently, and was discouraged by the pathetic result. Cellophane and bits of foil were peeled off the pack and dropped.
"C'mon, I can't, you - no, I don't - Stop it," he stammered in between bouts of cackling. He shook his head hard.
A couple of filters crept partway out of the pack, and it travelled to his chin. Another hand started petting his right foot. Deke yowled.
He tried to buck, whooped a few times, lifted his head off the pillow, and snapped at the 'Boros. Clamped onto one on the third try. The pack retreated, and he let his head fall. The cigarette fell alongside his neck.
The tickling... increased. Coverage area, sliding more heavily.
Giggling insanely, he tried to wrestle, then looked for the cig. The pack reappeared, and he snagged another butt, hanging on to it grimly. The cig he'd dropped came up, and slid behind his left ear.
A few seconds of keening... He heard a clink, and opened his eyes. A silver Zippo was over him, firing up...
It was so hard not to laugh, just long enough to get the damn thing lit. Finally, success. The Zippo left. A large crystal ashtray was set down right next to his shoulder.
The hands eased up some. Chuckling maniacally, he squinted at his feet, then around him... Out of desperation, he inhaled smoke, his first in a couple years. The rubbing all but stopped. The room started to spin, but Deke tugged hard on the 'Boro anyway, and the stimulators lifted off him. Sighing out smoke, he closed his eyes.
They want me to smoke, he thought numbly. They? It, maybe. One chuckling voice, before. He'd lost track of how many phantom hands had been workin' him over at once. "They", then... Hands he couldn't see, fuckin' with him. Then they open a pack of sm-
A finger traced lines up and down the bottom of his right foot. He sucked in, and the touch went away. Deke still didn't see anybody else around. The room was... all his. High ceilings, pale orange paint, oak trim. Some expensive wood. No other furniture except the bed, sorta in the center of a big ol' room... Like a stage. Real classy suite, chosen for... this.
He couldn't figure out how they got him here. Went to the movie, went home... didn't he? Was that just yesterday? He couldn't think of anyone he knew who might live in a place like this, or belong to such a fancy club. He stared at the door... Totally fucked. They want -
The finger returned, and he smoked hurriedly. They want to have some fun, so they get a place all ready, cables anchored around the bed, and then they go out and snag a ticklish fucker, stake him out...
Too much. Deke looked for a distraction. The sheet - was it wetter under his ass? Darker? So did he just piss himself, or -
"Dammit!" he exploded. "No more! Lemme go right now!" He went wild. His smoke was pulled from his lips, and he paused fearfully, but they just dropped it in the ashtray and left him alone. So he tried every kind of force and motion he could think of...
The butt had long burned out when he gave up, sweating freely, panting like a dog. The cuffs hadn't budged. He was spread out just as securely as before. It was ridiculous, totally crazy. People don't get roped down in empty rooms and... tickled.
There had been no contact while he wasted his energy. They let him learn what they'd known all along: He wasn't shakin' these cuffs. Which meant he was there until...
"Oh," Deke muttered. "Oh, shit."
The 'Boro slid out from behind his ear, and found his teeth. There were wet patches on it from his sweat. The Zippo cruised back over, smooth and assured. The lid clinked back, and it fired. Lit him up. He blew out smoke and watched it leave. Then he stared at the wood-and-plaster detail on the ceiling.
This just had to be a real bad dream. He went to scratch an itch, and the leather cuffs stopped him. He felt their coarse texture, the sweat trapped underneath.
Okay, an incredibly detailed bad dream...
More smokes. He dragged on 'em at the pace that kept the invisible fingers away... sucking in more often than he would've chosen. Deke had a couple more bouts with the cuffs, but they both ended with smoky, labored breathing. Once, a 'Boro was delayed by an unlabelled bottle. He was hugely relieved to discover it was only water. He drained it, the whole quart.
He studied the cuffs, the walls. The mutherfuckin' door. Normal room. Cowhide, and steel...
For the better part of two cigs, he yelled his head off. Nothing.
"I got a bad heart. You hear me?" he announced hoarsely. "You keep it up and you're gonna have a corpse tied down here. Won't be laughin' for ya then." The only reply, if it could be called that, was another Marlboro lit off the old one. They didn't buy it, apparently...
By then, the room was menacing in its foreign luxury. It didn't go with the ti- with what they were doing to him. He had no idea where this could be, how they hauled him in here. Could be anywhere, another town.
Another cigarette floated up. He'd be hooked again after a few more... the rest of the pack or so. They wanted a guy who smoked, so why didn't they get one? Or was this part of their deal?
How the hell did they pick him? How... could they know? Did he look ticklish or something?
It was already obvious they'd chosen well.
And they weren't done with him yet. Oh, Deke tried to convince himself they'd had their fun. Big head-games, and they made their point... But the whole setup continued to taunt him. Stuck as tight as when they first laid him out.
Fuckin' tickling suite, here. Center of attention, pinned down nice and snug. Not goin' anywhere. He made the cuffs creak, and relaxed again. Built to last. Durable. Deke started to wonder how many d- how long... they -
No more. He couldn't take it, not another minute. He got agitated -
And the cig was pulled from his lips. He shot a look at the side of the bed, about where the pack should saunter up. Time for more water...?
The ashtray left his shoulder and drifted out of view. He stared, lungs not yet empty of smoke -
A few chuckles. The voice again, purely delighted.
Deke froze. "Aw, you can't be serious," he finally croaked, terror-stricken, "aw please, just listen here, I got t-"
Touch. Pecs - contact, flattening his chest hair, widening and bearing down. Right away, he was in motion...
Silk, he thought crazily. Or fur. Big fur mittens, silk gloves -
"No no no no aw wait a minute you're killin' me you can't do this t-"
Satin? Boxing trunks, warmup jackets, prom dresses. Not... gloves. He strained, flopped back into place, and saw his nipples shifting, being indented a little. He yelped, and shuddered, and kept yelping.
"I can't take this d-don't my har-har-aaaarrrrrr..."
More fingers, digging into his armpits, made his words dissolve into lusty ravings. He thrashed. He gave it his best. More satin, or maybe feathers, made themselves known between his toes. With a blurry stare, he saw his kicks and efforts to flex being hampered. He stared at his toes, slightly spread apart, and was unable to close 'em up... just as if there was something sliding there.
All at once, they started massaging his temples, his own hands, the crest of his hips - and he shrieked, then brayed in a high-pitched fever. Snorting now and then, or baying just like a wolf.
Impossibly solid hands, slippery, tyrannical, started in on his shins and belly and heels.
Deke quit trying to see 'em. They were sure enough making themselves felt.
He came to, lying on his stomach. Cuffed just as tight.
A squeeze-bottle of water, this time.
The disembodied chuckle, and -
They repeatedly buffed every square inch from neck to soles.
He woke on his back, too well-rested. Limbs, chest and throat pretty sore. Slightly shiny, all over - some kind of... skin cream?
The chuckling voice - sounding even more amused.
Deke tensed up - useless. The cuffs held him all too well. More of the same, still here, gotta get outa here. They're not through -
Soft, mysterious fingers resumed the polishing of his shins.
Not done with me -
Broad hands slid on his belly and shoulders.
This is what I'm here for.
In some way, his mind still refused to believe this could be happening.
Then the tops of his feet, his rib cage, under his chin...
The cream, lotion - whatever - made it worse.
Much worse.
Hoots, yuks... haggard yelps. Raspy whoops.
Surely they'd been at him the whole night. His train of thought was interrupted by fingers creeping under his ass... when he could concentrate again, he figured his sense of time was fucked up anyway.
It felt like twenty or so hands, at that moment. After another attack of hee-haws, Deke steeled himself and opened his eyes, blinked out the tears -
They rode his chest, working as hard as he laughed. Sweaty skin, reliable cuffs, nothing new in the room. Fur-like hands clutched and swept all over him, and under him. Invisible. Magic... Squinting, he watched his chest hair move, soaked with lotion and sweat. Large patches of hair shifting direction, then shifting back... like trees in the wind, he thought feverishly. Deke watched, and felt, and barked.
The door was still closed.
He hated this fuckin' place.
A hand rubbing the bottom of each foot, another on top, at least three caressing each leg... et cetera. So much movement, all that activity -
Covered with satin, or silk... fur... massaging hands. Wide, sadistic phantom mitt- no, there were definitely fingers. So - gloves. How the hell could they be invisible, feeling like this?
The cuffs were solid enough. No worse for the wear. He stared at his ankles, tried to kick and twist. Nothing, at first... then a feeble little twitch. His nervous system was extraordinarily distracted.
Holding him here, anchoring his legs down and apart. He tried to point his toes down, but the ticklers didn't seem to notice. Deke made fists helplessly, pointlessly. Stuck, stuck tight, stuck good. Laughing his ass off. Stripped, staked out, in a ritzy torture chamber, gettin' stroked all over...
He got lost in the need to bellow for a while, and then became aware that his head was tilted back. Fingers were in his hair, so others could slide heavily on his throat. The impossibly slick sensation also started to ride the strip of muscle between his ass and his balls.
Deke snatched an extra breath and began to howl.
He blew smoke at the ceiling. Seventh pack, he figured.
Fourth day? He didn't see how it could only be Wednesday. It felt like he'd been in here a couple months.
Deke came to about an hour ago, weak and ravenous. Watched a meal-replacement bar being unwrapped, and shoved between his teeth. Three more bars had followed.
Lots of water. Eleven Marlboros.
The water bottle had returned once again, full as always - there had to be a few of 'em under the bed, plus other shit. A hospital urinal had coasted into position, too...
He saw only one way to interpret the energy bars. They wanted him all fueled up. So he wasn't goin' anywhere just yet.
Deke was less sore now, but his voice was shot, completely gone. For a while, the need to laugh was unbelievable - because he couldn't hear himself howl. Then he got distracted again and just let 'er rip, shaking with silent, gargantuan roars. Obviously, they weren't in it for the noise.
While they rode him, Deke caught himself thinking, "You fuckers, fuckers, fuckers..." pretty often. Even resting up, he was inclined to think of 'em as the fuckin' hands. His anger was cold and substantial in his chest, like layers of steel under his muscles.
One of 'em laid down a couple warning swipes, and he smoked up. That was getting to be rare. His stomach wasn't upset any more. He chain-smoked obediently.
Whenever another cig was on its way over, being swapped and lit by the old butt, he could pretty much count on four or five more minutes of the fuckers staying off him. Leavin' him alone. The 'Boros has come to mean "relief", and he needed that. So the urge was on him somethin' fierce, and he knew why.
Smokin' more each day - but it was worth it, to stall that heart-stopping chuckle.
The pack bobbed up just then. He was ready. Gimme all of 'em. The rest of the carton... if they'd just let him lay there and fidget. Deke exhaled and watched the last cig get snuffed in the ashtray, ground out as if by itself. Kamikazi smoke.
Actually, his throat burned a little - where the hell was that water bottle? - but figured it was too risky to talk to 'em, much less ask for anything. They knew. Yeah, too well... head to toe. He let his eyelids droop some and watched the coal glow. Long drag, held in... he tried to remember what it was like not to smoke. Last Saturday. Impossible it was only last weekend. He couldn't remember why he had ever quit. A girl? They cost too much?
It felt so good. He tugged in again, and daydreamed... Maybe a full carton, floating into view and landing alongside him. Yeah. Three or four days of peace. Probably they'd leave him cuffed, the fucks, but all those hours of... no gloves. Lots of water - and shit, he'd been craving about five Big Macs. Burgers, and beer. He'd gladly lay here and smoke like a chimney, if they'd lay off. No prob.
Hell. Two cartons, if they'd just open the fuckin' door. He'd even stay here without the cuffs, if he knew somehow they'd let him leave after the last pack was gone... Of course, he could be in for a whole lot more smokes here, anyway.
Deke paused at that thought. This couldn't go on like it had been. Not for much longer. Last "night", he'd wondered a few times if he wasn't going numb. It'd serve 'em right. Maybe four days is all you can get out of a guy, rubbin' him this hard. Or five. A happy thought...
He smoked, and thought about hitting the first McDonald's drive-through he saw on the way home. After picking up a carton, of course. And a Bic, until he could get his hands on a Zippo -
A new shape rose from alongside the bed. As it was laid on his chest, he already knew. Hopes evaporated...
Jack Daniel's. Pint bottle.
"Fuck that. Fuck you, you're all insane -"
The bottle was picked up and cracked open. Deke put up a fight...
And wide hands crept under both of his knees.
He groaned, trying to squish 'em, twist his legs... The bottle came up to his mouth, tilting.
"No! N-no Nnnnnaw haw haw haaaah haaaaawwww!" Squeezing, moving around. He chuckled wildly.
This was very bad. He just wanted water. He couldn't get shitfaced here -
They insisted. picking up the pace. He hooted for a few minutes, after the cigarette was taken away, and they kept hounding him. A brief pause, while the bottle moved in, and he fought again at the last second.
Then he drank.
When the cigarettes came, he smoked 'em. Drank the water.
As soon as the arrogant little chuckle came from somewhere over him, Deke tensed up and closed his eyes.
21apr02